The Afternoon Delight of Eurasian Collared-Doves
It was mid-afternoon in late September when Serindipity crossed my path. She joined hands in mine and wove for me a golden chain of unrelated events that produced one of the most memorable moments in my birding experience. True to form, her magic became manifest while I was occupied with mundane routines of everyday life.
I wasn’t looking for birds. I wasn’t thinking of birds. I wasn’t even outdoors. Yet, when I happened to glance outside a bedroom window, toothbrush between my lips, I witnessed wild bird behavior that most people will never have the opportunity to see.
It was over ever so quickly. I was spellbound, frozen in the moment, relishing my good fortune of being in the right place at the right time, the details of which I will elaborate after first setting the stage for this bombshell exhibition of biological bird love.
The story actually begins a full month earlier. I discovered an intact, solitary egg lying in the dry grass below one of the many oak trees on my property in the foothills of the Sierra, south of Yosemite National Park. I scanned all the branches directly above, looking for a nest; there was none to be found. I used binoculars just to be sure. I even climbed a ladder to inspect lower branches for the most minimal platform composed of a few twigs that some birds are known to assemble. There was no nest in the branches above that egg; nor did I find one in surrounding trees or foliage. There were never any birds around that area, either, anytime I went outside to look.
How this egg came to be there remains a mystery to me. It does bring to mind, though, the proverbial question: “Which came first, the bird or the egg?”
Eurasian Collared-Dove egg
The oddity of this discovery sparked further investigation. The size, shape, and white color of the egg suggested a dove, Mourning Dove (Zenaida macroura) or Eurasian Collared-Dove (Streptopelia decaocto). I leaned toward the Eurasian Collared-Dove because of a slight gloss on the shell, as well as their occasional presence around my property in the early morning. They perch high in the trees or on telephone lines and utility poles.
Why now, this solitary egg? The timing seemed off. Nesting season for all the avian regulars in my geography had long passed. In some locations, I discovered, Eurasian Collared-Doves can have a breeding season extending into fall. They may produce up to six broods in a single year when food sources are adequate. These ground foragers love the millet, corn, milo, and sunflower in the bird feed I toss in the front and back of the house throughout the year.
As their name implies, they are an invasive species to North America. Introduced into the wild in the Bahamas in 1974 on the occasion of a pet store burglary, then Florida in the 1980s, their numbers have rapidly spread across the American continent. Very shy and easily spooked, I’ve never paid much attention to them at all.
The enchantment surrounding the mysterious appearance of that solitary egg crescendoed a month later when the improbable turned to actuality.
Envision, if you will, a south-facing bedroom window, which during summer months always has the shades drawn throughout the afternoon. On this eventful day, though, the shades happen to be raised, allowing for an expansive view of the woodland habitat behind the house.
It is 2:25 p.m. I’ve just finished a late lunch and am brushing my teeth. I step momentarily out of the bathroom to watch birds bathing in a multi-tiered fountain (most often, Anna’s Hummingbirds) in the shaded sitting area nearby.
About thirty feet away, on the top rail of a privacy fence, sit two doves, cuddling closely together as doves are known to do. One is preening the neck feathers of the other. It is a tender moment between a monogamous pair that mates for life. I know what is going to happen shortly.
Do I rush to grab my camera from another room? That would be my normal instinct. The conversation happening in my head goes like this:
Voice #1: “Wow. They are getting ready to mate. Quick. Go get your camera. You will never have an opportunity to photograph this behavior again.”
Voice #2: “Wow. They are getting ready to mate. Don’t move. You might startle them. Don’t leave the room to get your camera. You won’t get sharp photos, anyway, when shooting through double-pane windows. You’ll completely miss everything.”
Seconds tick away. The debate continues.
I’m transfixed. I don’t dare move. This preening foreplay is the exact opposite of the raw mating behavior I’ve seen between birds like drake Mallards, who sometimes simply mount the female without asking. The male dove hops onto the back of his mate and orients himself forward. The female arches her wings, creating a stirrup-like platform onto which the male plants his feet for balance. They both move their tails to the side, thus allowing them to press their sexual organs (cloaca) together for the briefest moment, and consummate their pair bond. With the mating over, the two doves stand side by side.
In all honesty, a touch of remorse now sets in at not having gone to grab my camera; in retrospect, there seemed to have been enough time to do so. For consolation, I take my cell phone out of my pocket and slowly move towards the window in order to at least memorialize this pair standing together. Startled by my approach, they fly away.
Given the improbability of the moment, though, the memory of what I observed is firmly etched in my mind. What a delightful scene I’ve just watched, and I saw it all from start to finish.
Three days later, against odds greater than winning the Powerball, the improbable coincidence of similar random acts comes to pass once more. Picture this now:
It is 2:15 p.m. I’ve been staring at my computer screen for too long. I walk into the bedroom on the way to get eyedrops to relieve the dryness in my eyes. Again, the bedroom shades should not be raised, but they are.
There, on the fence rail, I see those two doves, standing a few feet apart. I’ve seen them there only once before. This time, though, I am not transfixed by what I see, nor by what I hope will happen again. I quickly go to retrieve my camera. Remaining out of sight, I photograph this pair as they mate once more.
The improbability of making that first observation three days before is remarkable. The improbability of repetition, in the same place and at the same time, is astounding. The coo-Coooo-coo song of these doves rings in my ears, and I want to sing along.
I’ll pay more attention to Eurasian Collared-Doves in the future. I’m seeing them more often now. Perhaps they plan to colonize my yard.
Note: the title of this story is inspired by the 1976 hit song, “Afternoon Delight,” by Starland Vocal Band.
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