It turned out the dove actually was in the house after all – I KNEW IT!!! It takes more than a small bird to pull a fast one on me.
I discovered it the next morning as I was checking my e-mails. The cat had finally managed to stir herself from the back of the house where she’d been comatose for the past 12 hours or so, strolled in, and miaowed at me. Then she cocked her head at a funny angle, hunkered down low to the ground and started stealthily creeping towards the sofa. I knew something was up so I dumped her outside the room and looked under the sofa. It took my eyes a minute or so to adjust to the darkness, but there the dove was, stashed all the way back to the wall - while we were at work on Friday it had evidently walked all the way from the back to the front of the house. Pretty good for a sick bird. The most remarkable thing about this is that the cat had had the run of the house all night, but hadn’t realized the bird was there. Bless that cat’s slothfulness! Clearly this is a dove with nine lives. So that was two down.
Disaster struck later on Saturday. The Man and I returned from shopping to find feathers and drops of blood all over the floor. We had left the dove in a box on a chair. The bird had managed to jump out of the box, but it got stuck between the bars of the chair and struggled frantically. I don’t know how much damage it did to itself, but I don’t think it was good.
Three lives down…poor thing. It must feel like one of the kids in ‘Final Destination’, being stalked by death (and before you think, 'doves don’t watch TV’ – think again. This one has no choice).
It’s Tuesday and the dove is still with us, and there have been no more near-death experiences (except when the man took it out of the box to change the newspaper lining, and dropped it splat on its back – poor little bugger). We moved it to a better box, and the Man threaded a twig through the holes in the box, to serve as a perch. It’s eating, and is less docile now than it was on Saturday afternoon, which is a good sign. This morning as I was filling the kettle I heard a faint ‘hooo, hooo’ sound, like the sound of someone blowing gently across the rim of a bottle. The dove was singing! (Either that or it had spotted another dove outside and was crying weakly “Help! Help!” But I prefer to think it was singing). Interesting, because although our back yard is often full of doves, I’ve never heard their song before.
I'll be keeping you updated!
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2 comments:
Aww the poor thing. I bet your cat is just itching for a crack at it.
You bet it is. It knows something's up. The other day it was sitting on the rug next to the bird's box. I caught it looking steadily at me, then furtively looking at the box, then back to me, then back to the box. I pretended not to notice. Suddenly it jumped up with its paws resting on the box, about to do God knows what. I shreiked so loudly I even shocked myself, and the poor cat went and cowered under the clean laundry.
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