More than ten years ago, my cats alerted me that there was something going on outside the living room doors on the terrace.

Convinced by their dashing about and audible jaw quivering, I went to see. There, to my amazement, was a pair of Mourning Doves, trying to build a nest on the metal box that holds the alarm system.

It was in an excellent location; high up, against the wall of the house, protected from sight and the weather by the terrace roof; yet with a long, uninterrupted sight line and near excellent sources of food (seed) and water (running fountains in the nearby park). It was prime real estate but the flat, metal surface of the box was never going to hold the nest they were so desperately trying to build.

Mourning Doves build light, open-weave nests; some so loosely woven that their eggs are often visible from the outside. It was easy to see that even if they were successful in building it, it would blow away with the first good breeze.

There was no mistaking their firm choice to build here so I quickly began to garner thought on how to help. It was actually quite simple.

I had a bread basket at the ready, and with the aid of electrical ties secured it to the box. I put in some light/thin twigs, pine needles, evergreen sprigs from a willing Aborvite shrub and hoped it would help.

….and help it did. They loved it ! The happy couple flew all about, circling, calling to each other in their plaintive tones and when the celebration was over they went about the business of sprucing the nest up a bit and settled into the more serious business of having a family. They sat on the railing of the terrace and graced me with their exquisite billing & cooing rituals and when the dance was over, retreated to their custom made nest and produced two eggs. They cared for them with absolute devotion, military precision and delighted themselves and me with two squabs (baby doves).

The monogamous pair returns every year. Mourning Doves generally live between seven and eleven years and are one of the ten longest free-living birds the but banding data bases have recorded one at 31 years of age.

They’ve returned every year and every year my heart dances at their first sight. I put up a fresh nest and they move in. When the last squab has fledged they’re gone… until next year.

Copyright © Barbara Meyers
March, 2008.
Printed with permission of the author.