COO COO CA CHEW: Dove, more than a bar of soap
Posted: Saturday, May 09, 2009
by John Brazell
The atmosphere in the most intimate corner, the master bedroom, changed from wooing to cooing. Romance flew out the window.
For weeks, my sweetie's attention was drawn away. It was first thing in the morning, later at dusk and intermittently throughout the day.
I'd watch her stare silently through the shimmering glass window overlooking the verdant back woods alive with winged and footed creatures. She was charmed by the intricacies of detail and the tiniest change. In time, the object of her focus experienced life, energy only a few arm-lengths from the surface of the darkened room.
Reluctantly, I, too, was drawn to the occasion.
It appeared too small and too fragile, but not all things are left to the logic and understanding of the human mind. The maternal instincts of the feathered symbol of peace, a dove, had crafted a birthing cradle, perfect for the purpose of her propagation. But she, too, suffered the perils of an uncertain and cruel world.
A spring storm rocked the nest and sent a marble sized egg -- an incipient feathered life -- tumbling to the limestone ledge below. It was a sad and depressing moment.
She was a diligent and nurturing mother who filled the oft gaping, squeaking mouths of her remaining offspring with whatever sustenance she could forage. In a matter of days, the twins began resisting the constraints of an over protective mother. Shortly thereafter, in the silence of the day, or night, they took flight.
Sadly, SB my lover and friend, returns to the window and stares longingly at the empty nest. In a fast forward mode and on a miniature stage, she had witnessed life at its best and at its worst.
Enough of the theatrics! The darn annoying cooing has gone and its time to get back to the basics in the bedroom throwing dirty socks and underwear on the floor, and snoring.
Do you think doves and pigeons get postpartum depression? Oh, you don't? I think SB caught it.
`````````
That was three years and a gazillion fewer doves ago.
Like an obedient hound caught up in a ritual of playful servitude, I stumbled into the morning dew for a monotonous game of hide and seek for the morning news. Immediately I was struck by a loud and discordant chorus. Still in my pre-coffee stupor, I was sure it was either a hooters convention of owls or an owls' convention of hooters. I saw neither.
This you should know, "coos" sound like "hoots" when you're sleep walking and chronologically advantaged.
The persistent cooing echoes every morning, annoyingly, across the yard, deck and into our house. We've replaced our large bird feeders with petite size inviting only the tweeters who can peck a coffee ground through a screen door. The doves, littering as they go, pace the deck-rails, stalk the smaller birds and wearing a hood and brandishing a tiny tire tool wrest the seed away.
My Sweetie yells and flails at the large birds, and should she get the darn thing cocked, takes aim with her Daisy Red Ryder BB gun. Attired in her Shorty PJ's she's a dead ringer for Daisy Mae, until she shoots.
In the spirit of public concern, postpartum is nothing to shout and shoot about. Obviously it can have a delaying and delusional effect. Have you tried hitting a flying, car-bombing feather ball with a BB, from thirty paces, with cream on your face, fire in your eyes and malice in your heart? It can't be done.
This Article has been viewed 873 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)You are hilarious John. Well written! I always tell my husband I'll make a great senior citizen one day, because I could sit on my porch and watch the birds for hours. Haven't felt the need for a BB gun yet. :)Brianna,Thanks for dropping by. Well, if we can't laugh at ourselves, we might resort to watching politicians or someone else equally inane, though no one immediately comes to mind. Keep your great sense of humor and keep writing. Both are becoming.Best to you,John
Hey John, great story as always...reminded me of my ordeal with the neighbor's rooster, which by the way, I eventually won. I love your writing style and read everything you publish...just wish there was more of it...is there, anywhere else? Take care and it is not as easy as most men make it out to be to shoot a BB gun and hit a boobing roosters...uhhh, I mean a Doves head. lolMyla,Actually we love all God's creatures - though convinced some weren't created by him. Obviously I could use a little sensitivity training. It's so good to hear from you and I appreciate your great sense of humor. Moreover thanks for stopping by, I know you're awfully busy.Oh, most of my writing is just for my own amusement. There's probably too much of it scattered here and there.Best to you,John
We want your comments! If you can read this, you don't have javascript enabled, so you can't use this comment system. Please enable javascript.