A fine feathered friend
Looks like something's ruffled this mourning dove's feathers, doesn't it? But looks are deceiving. Messy plumage aside, he sits calmly on the back fence this morning, greeting the new day with gentle cooing. Other than the mockingbirds, what better alarm clock could there possibly be?
Both he and his mate like to plop themselves in the middle of things, especially if food's involved. Every morning, it's the same. The goldfinches gather for a breakfast meeting–a songfest, with lots of seed consumption. The mourning doves make a crash landing. A commotion ensues. The goldfinches take wing, scolding the mourning doves as they fly away en masse. The feeder swings wildly, but those bulky doves just stare straight ahead, as if to say, "Nothing to see here, tra la la. Move along folks, move along." I watch this recurring drama from my kitchen window every morning, join the house finches when they laugh. Mighty fine background music, don't you think?
"It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds," the legendary Aesop once said. They may be the stuff of folklore, but Aesop's words contain an underpinning of truth that I witness through my open windows every day.