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Dying To Fly: What Two Zenaida Doves Taught Me About Life
When I discovered two chicks nesting atop a cupboard in my patio, my parental muscles started flexing beneath my shirt. Not that those birds needed another parent, since their mother was doing a fine job already. But I still checked on them every day like a security guard on routine patrol. They were growing fast. I called them Bill and Ted.
At first, Mother Bird was there all the time, alert, yet unmoving. I’ve often seen live birds flapping around — and messing on — statues of men, but Mother was more like a statue of a bird, fixed upon two live chicks. That didn’t last long; in bird time, two weeks is a lot. Mother began to leave Bill and Ted from time to time for, I assumed, food and exercise. Perhaps COVID lockdown and being a mother of two baby Zenaida doves called for similar routines.
By week three, Mother was leaving more often, at times, leaving the siblings to settle their own arguments over perching rights. They also became more aware of my presence. If I got too close, they would extend their wings, creating a defensive barrier between my phone lens and their fragile bodies. Mother must have known that I was no threat because she was there…
