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Our Newest Mid-Citizen June 2, 2008

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, New Orleans, NOLA, Toulouse Street.
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A bird I believe is a dove has taken over one of my coconut husk hanging baskets. My friend Eric, with a good knowledge of the outdoors, thought the bird sick or injured that it would quietly sit not three feet from me seemingly unperturbed, but no: I’ve seen her fly off as her mate took a turn in the nest. They just seem to have decided that we’re no threat. I think its what I call the St. Francis Is A Sissy, Patron of the Homeless, the Mad and the Unattended Children effect I seem to have. I must seem the least threatening person in the world since all children left on their own at McDonalds or the playground seem to adopt me as resident adult, and people with no visible means of mental support frequently choose my bench or bus seat, and proceed to share their life’s tale.

Momma bird must have taken one look at me and decided this was a safe place to raise her baby. I think she first nested in a hanging basket at the far end of the porch, away from the door and around the corner from where I sit. I took it down not long ago and before discovering the mother bird and moved it. I later discovered an abandoned egg the size of a large oblong jawbreaker in that coconut basket. Instead she ended up choosing the one closet to my chair. I discovered her (or perhaps it was him) when I watered that basket after they had settled in. I wasn’t paying close attention to the basket which stands perhaps a foot higher than my head when standing when I put the watering wand up to it, and then the bird exploded out in startled flight.

We co-exist quite peacefully hnw and I don’t jump quite as much in my chair at shift change, as the one usually arrives with a loud call and a wild flutter of wings. Then the other takes off FLOP-flop-flop-flop-flop with its own piercing call. Look out world, here I come. Yesterday we spotted a single chick. It doesn’t cry or call any attention to itself, but seems to enjoy just being nestled up close and picking at the slowing dying wandering jew (as I have abandoned watering after our my startled discovery).

Here they are in less of a close up and much better focus. (Christ on a crutch but I need a decent camera).

Here is a shot that shows where I routinely sit, morning and night, day after day. My head reaches about to the top of the green plant beneath the nesting basket. My wife isn’t too fond of the outdoor life around our house, the anoles, the toads and the green frog as bright as a piece of flourescent poster paper, a sort I haven’t seen around before that has laid tadpoles in the backyard fountain. (I hope the stick around) She particularly is not fond of birds, and finds the sounds of them singing in the early morning annoying. She seems to have adapted to the dove quite nicely and sounded excited when she spotted the chick.