I noticed her around 7: 30 a.m., when I checked on Tuesday's snowstorm from my living room window. The female rock dove (Columba livia) was hunkered down on the southern side of our porch post ledge, struggling to stay out of the snow and wind. I pulled the window blind all the way up so my son and I could check on her while we finished re-reading Peter Pan.
"There's another one," my son cried out excitedly. A male rock dove had landed on our porch roof, awaiting an invitation from the female. They huddled together on the ledge, her head often buried under his wing, as the snow swirled around them. They stayed for about 5 1/2 hours. During that time, my son and I marveled at the different markings on their feathers and the delicateness of their tiny beaks.
They left during a lull in the storm. The female stopped back a couple of times today. But the feeling of connectedness is gone. They're just a couple of pigeons we pitied during a storm.
"There's another one," my son cried out excitedly. A male rock dove had landed on our porch roof, awaiting an invitation from the female. They huddled together on the ledge, her head often buried under his wing, as the snow swirled around them. They stayed for about 5 1/2 hours. During that time, my son and I marveled at the different markings on their feathers and the delicateness of their tiny beaks.
They left during a lull in the storm. The female stopped back a couple of times today. But the feeling of connectedness is gone. They're just a couple of pigeons we pitied during a storm.
What a perfect time to "hatch" a future birdwatcher.
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