Bunny the Dove – Part Two

I just assumed that after Bunnies two chicks had “flown the coop,” we’d have our porch back. I cleaned the bird poop off the brick column, and there was plenty. Washed off the porch, and said good-bye to porch-birds forever.


That was three nests, or broods, or litters, or whatever in the hell you want to call them ago and I still can’t get the dove shit off the porch. Bunny decided that our porch, with its nice big awning for shade and wind blocking was perfect location for her dove farm.

For three seasons she returned, laid her eggs and made a huge mess on our porch. One day she wouldn’t be there and the next day she would. I always assumed it was the same bird, because after that first season she didn’t spooked quite so easily.

Bunny and I had several strange adventures.

There was the time, to get more on her level, I slowly pulled a chair up close and tried to use my new digital camera and get a close up of Bunny. Every movement I made was laboriously slow. I didn’t think that the camera’s sound would be enough to frighten Bunny and I was right.

I took three shots and then quickly viewed them without moving anything but my index finger, which was hidden from Bunny's view by the camera. I decided they were too dark and needed flash. In a blink of an eye I learned that pictures without flash – okay, pictures with flash – not okay.

Stop your laughing.

Sure, with hindsight anyone could tell you that a sudden bright flash of light would scare an already wary bird. But I was in my own little Bunny photo world. There could have been a plane crash 10 feet away and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Not only did the flash scare loads of crap out of Bunny, it also blinded her. She takes off frantically trying to get away from this bizarre intruder who she can no longer see. I, on the other hand, am trying to not get hit by a scared shitless bird, not fall off a now teetering flimsy porch chair, and figure out how to save my new digital camera if and when I do fall.

The whole incident only lasted a few brief seconds, but it seemed like slow motion. As the chair started to twist and bend I jumped off hoping to smash my back against the wall about three feet away. I thought if I could hit the wall, pull my camera into my chest and slide down onto my butt, then my camera would be okay.

It worked like a charm. It also hurt like hell.

Somewhere in all the confusion Bunny got off the porch and I didn’t see her again the rest of the day.

We had many similar adventures involving my daughter, pets or lawn equipment. Over time I got used to Bunny being there. I began to enjoy having a dove for a pet.

After Bunny’s last batch of chicks she flew off she hasn’t returned. That was a couple of years ago. I still haven’t cleaned her nest off the perch. I don’t know when I will.

Part of me knows that between hunters, other animal predators and the short lifespan of mourning doves she’s probably not coming back.

But there is part of me that believes in the child who struggles with every new concept, it’s the same part that believes my daughter really does still believe in Santa Claus. It’s that same part of me that clings desperately to the dream that Bunny will come back someday.

Sometimes you’ve just got to believe.