I awoke this morning to a tap-tap-tappin'...
It was too early for me and I had a bit to drink at Kinky Quizzo last night (by the way, I lost again...), but needless to say, the tapping woke me up and, headache or not, there was no falling back to sleep.
I heard this familiar coo-ing coming from right outside my bedroom window and it brought back memories of a teenager. Three years in a row, between the age of about 16 and 19, every spring, I would find a nest in my bedroom window. Through the winter that first year, I had accidentally left the storm window open about six inches and, at some point, a pair of morning doves had taken up residence on the sill. Every morning, I would be awakened by this soft, but endless coo-coo from just beyond the drawn curtains. I ignored it for the longest time but then, as the days grew warmer, I decided to open the window and air out the bedroom. To my surprise there is a morning dove sitting in a nest on the other side of the glass, the head bobbing up and down and a startled look in its eyes (but they always look startled). But even more surprising to me, when the dove moved off the nest and towards the edge of the sill, was the discovery of three tiny eggs sitting in the twisted mangle of twigs and dried leaves.
Now, you always see television shows and movies about eight or nine year old boys climbing a tree and discovering a nest of eggs and staring in awe while waiting for that first crack to appear, but I was never a tree climber growing up, so the experience of seeing life being created through the protection of a sheet of glass was incredible.
Each morning I would peel back the drapes and there she would sit, mother-to-be, her eyes staring up at me. She refused to move from her eggs and the father dove would all of a sudden fly down from the sky and land on the sill, making a soft sound sort of reminiscent of a vehicle in a Jetsons cartoon. Mother would stare, father would pace. I felt the sudden urge to rush out and buy cigars.
This ritual went on between the three of us for a couple of weeks until I finally realized that I may be doing some harm and both birds may abandon the nest, leaving the eggs behind. But, at fifteen, I had to know what was going on! The Discovery Channel was still ten years away! But my conscious won out and I let the happy couple alone. Until I heard all the chirping.
About two days later, the eggs hatched. Two of the three eggs were completely broken open and pushed to the side. The mother was sitting on the new arrivals, so I couldn't see what they looked like. The father swooped down (bbbrrrrrrrrrrr) and landed on the sill. His head bobbed back and forth like a proud pappa (das right...I'm da man....coo-coo-ca-choo).
Throughout the next couple of weeks I peered through the glass, but the knowing mother wouldn't budge. The third egg had also hatched by this time. I knew now that I would never get the chance to see what these little creatures looked like. But my dog proved me wrong when she came prancing into my room, raised herself onto the sill and let out a loud "WOOF" like only a German Shepherd could do. The poor mother dove sprang to life and took off flying, leaving her little grey fuzzy children behind, their beaks wide open expecting to be fed. I chased the dog out of the room and closed the drapes. Every once in awhile, I would sneak a peak and the only ones on the sill were the babies. I felt horrible and wanted to do something...anything... The poor chicks were chirping uncontrolably. I wondered if they liked Apple Jacks...
Again, I left them alone for a time and was glad to see that the mother evenutally returned.
The weeks passed. Spring turned into Summer. My bedroom STILL had yet to be aired out, but there was nothing I could do about it. Eventually, I awoke one morning and found the nest completely empty of life. At some point the mother had taught her children to fly (I looked around the foundation of the house 3 floors below and was glad to see no stupid little chick had fallen out of the window). I was saddened to see my tenants gone...
But, like those families who travel to the Jersey shore every summer and rent the exact same house for the same two weeks, the following spring I awoke to cooing...
YEAH!!!
I don't know if it was the same mother and father (I don't know the life expectancy of a morning dove) or if it was one of the children who's instincts have brought them back or if, in fact, it was just some completely different dove altogether. It didn't matter. I was excited to be able to watch the whole thing over again.
When I awoke to the now familiar sound the following spring (this is the 3rd year now), I was like: enough already!!!
The following winter I made sure to remember to shut the storm window.
That was twenty years ago.
I awoke this morning to a tap-tap-tappin...
Yes, a pair of doves are walking around ontop of my air conditioner in my bedroom window. I'm hearing the familiar Jetsons cars shooshing back and forth as the doves go fetch twigs and bring them back. Every once in awhile, I would look out the window and see the mother sitting there and the father standing over her, preening her feathers. There are no eggs yet, so I'm discovering this early on.
With all the stress of being an adult: bills, rent, job, and life in general, I'm thankful for two things. First, I'm thankful that I'm going to once again be able to witness life in the making.
And second...
I'm thankful that this bedroom has two windows and I'm still able to air out the room...
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