The backyard mourning doves have taken flight, and we just discovered Monday that they are out of their nest in our Belmont Shore patio. The nestling pair prefer to bounce more than fly, and perch long minutes before hopping with semi-opened wings. We got one video but nothing much happened. We'll keep trying.
We've watched them for days, marveled at the mother's brilliant location of her nest--between two prickly succulents in a window box-type of flower pot atop a stucco alley wall. Good camouflage, plus the solar shade offers cover from larger flying predators who might spot the nest. There is nowhere for a cat to hop and land, either.
The fledglings, also called squabs or squeakers, depending on their development - we aren't sure on ours - burst from the nest rather suddenly and just as suddenly, their mother stayed away quite awhile Monday. We actually thought she was gone. But at twilight, she could be seen watching them from an overhead utility wire, as our family watched hers.
At dusk, her offspring plopped into the alley--wide-open as prey--the mother dove somehow coaxed or led them back to their safe perch high in the flower pot nest.
Among our concrete yards and postage sized patios, nature is alive and well in Belmont Shore, on the verge of August, and it feels hopeful.
