Letting Libby Go

Libby the dove stayed in her outdoor flight tent from May 14-23. We kept it zipped closed, but we visited with her and made sure she was eating and drinking and that she didn't get too lonely.

Phoebe and Liam spent quite a bit of time out there with her. Phoebe would take a book and read, and Liam would gently play with Libby.

He'd hold a handful of her favorite finch seed while she ate.

On May 23, it was time to open the tent. Libby had been trying to fly in a straight line and bouncing off the soft nylon walls, especially when something scared her. I was pleased to see her panic when a raccoon came trundling alongside the tent one afternoon. She's so blase about Chet Baker that I was glad to see her primitive little predator alarm still worked. Three other largeish dogs have visited us in the time Libby's been out of the tent, and she's refused to come down to visit while they've been in the yard. She seems to understand that Chet is all right, but other mammals aren't. Phewww. You always wonder about hand-raised birds.

Libby made a short flight into nearby birches and sat for an hour. It was nice to be able to tell the kids I thought she wouldn't go far when we finally opened her tent. The other two doves I've raised were homebodies.

She moved from there to her beloved lawn chairs and sunned for a long time. She's 43 days old in these photos. I wondered if she would sit there all day. At 12:38, I looked out to see her take off like a rocket flying high and hard, due east. Wow! She was gone for the rest of the day. At 8 pm, she winnowed down into the yard, landed on her little food table, and ate. She was so tired and hungry she was trembling all over. She filled her crop with millet and gradually became calm. We were so happy to see her.

photo by Bill Thompson III

When she was full she flew back into her tent. Aww. See her in flight?


photo by Bill Thompson III

She landed on the tent netting, trying to maneuver her way back inside.

Finally on her favorite lawnchair inside the tent, she looks undeniably smug.
But then doves look a bit smug anyway. And Libby's behavior should go to show that they're not near as dumb as they look. She explored who knows where, and then navigated her way back home and into the tent where she felt safe.

At dusk that first night she was nervous and unhappy even inside her tent, flying from perch to perch and landing on my head, so I took her inside the house to spend the night on my desk lamp or on her favorite chair.

She settled down with a contented pweep. I would take her inside for the next seven nights, until May 31, when she didn't come flying in to ask to be taken inside. Seriously. She'd come down at dusk, go into her tent or land on a nearby tree or someone's head, and as much as demand to go in the house. She'd climb up on our fingers like a cockatiel and ride inside, where she'd be safe from owls and storms and raccoons.

Of course, we greatly enjoyed taking her inside and tucking her in on a comfy chair with a kiss on her dear little head. We'd made a pet of her, but even so I knew she'd be all right in the end. We were just stretching the inevitable parting out a little longer.

And it was nice to be able to give her breakfast in the studio before taking her outside for the day. Please don't poop in my palette, Pweep.




And so she spent the next week coming and going from her tent. Most of the time, she'd disappear mid-morning and not be seen until almost dark. I don't know where she went, but I knew she was building her strength and learning about being a dove.

She was free to go, but she chose to stay for awhile.

Sending this from Pittsburgh, where we took in a Pirates game (total rout for the Buccos, unforch, but great fireworks!) with the Heeters. Now motelpooling with the kids. Wherever you spend your Fourth, have a wonderful one!

Flight Tent Bonding

Once Libby started flying, which happened when her wing feathers fully emerged from their sheaths, it was time to put up the flight tent. This 17 x 19' screen tent, which I bought from Campmor.com for $100, has seen a lot of young birds through the vulnerable fledgling period. It would be Libby's home for the next couple of weeks. In its safe confines, she'd get used to the sights and sounds of the outside. If you're in the market, you can see a similar one here
which is being advertised at Campmor.com for $79. Not suitable for raptors, or anything that can peck or tear its way out of fine nylon mesh, but great for most songbirds. I wouldn't trust a woodpecker, chickadee or nuthatch in it.

She'd learn to come to a little table for seed and water. She'd fed herself entirely from Day 32 of age, which happens to have been May 10, our Big Day when Bill, Shila, Steve and I ran all around the county racking up birds. I told Libby it was sink or swim; I wasn't going to be around to feed her. Technically, she probably could have fed herself at a younger age, but I don't like to rush the birds I raise. Or kids, either.


By May 14, she was eating reliably and ready for the flight tent.
She seemed very happy to be outside, and to have new perches and even a hibiscus tree to explore.
Helping herself to white millet, her favorite seed.

She found a spot of sun for her first sunbath. Photo by Phoebe Linnea Thompson
Liam came to share the moment. Photo by Phoebe Linnea ThompsonPhoto by Phoebe Linnea Thompson

Mourning doves smell wonderful, a warm, dry, seedy scent. They don't mind being smelled if you've hand-raised them. In fact they prefer kisses to caresses. Which makes sense, since they don't reach out to each other with their wings--they reach out with their bills.
Photo by Phoebe Linnea Thompson

Sometimes a single finger is OK, especially if you're knocked out by the sun.

Photo by Phoebe Linnea Thompson

Is it any wonder my boy is so gentle and tender? He's had the best teachers--the birds themselves.

Photo by Phoebe Linnea Thompson

That goes for the female, too.
Photo by Phoebe Linnea Thompson

A Dove in the Studio

photo by Phoebe Linnea Thompson

There are pets, like Chet Baker, and there are wild things, and when you hand-feed a wild thing for weeks and help it learn how to do what it needs to do to survive; when you become its mother, that line blurs. My style of raising birds is labor and time-intensive. It's rooted in my need to know that they're going to be able to make it on their own.

Most people think that when a baby bird "learns to fly," it's ready to be on its own. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The post-fledging period is a critical one. It's when the bird follows its parents around, watching them and learning from them. It's the time when a bird learns what's good to eat and what's inedible. It learns vigilance and wariness and it gets the lay of the land. You make darn sure that bird knows how to pick up all its own food and keep its weight up before you ever let it go. At least I do. I err on the conservative side.

It's hard to impart any of that to a bird when you're a big lumbering grounded human. The first step, for me, is to allow the bird some freedom in the comparatively safe confines of my house. This means you get doo-doo on your laptop now and then. It's all part of the scene.

Hmm. What to blog about?

Blog about meeee. People will like that. I like looking at pictures of me; why wouldn't they?

Like when I met Sara and Kelly. That was awesome. I'm not sure they'd ever held a mourning dove before.

When Phoebe's in the studio, we come up with photo ops together. This was her idea.

It was about at this point that "Olivia" went from "Libby Lou" and straight to "Pweep."

Pweep is what she says when you speak to her. So we figure that's her name. Or maybe it's her word for "people." Or the dove equivalent of "Mama."

Like when she's perched on your 2-terabyte hard drive, which you got so you won't lose all your data when a mourning dove, say, overturns a water jar on your laptop (which she didn't; I'm just giving a what-if)

and you say, "Libby Lou! What are you doing?" and she answers, "Pweep!"

Gotta go! Got dove bidness to attend to.

Ooh, I just love this lil' post, love remembering what it was like having a dove around for a few blessed weeks. Speaking of remembering, my friend Debby Kaspari is moving on with her life. She and Mike may have found a house to buy. They're still dealing with disposing of all the debris from the one the tornado flattened. Because their subdivision was unincorporated, insurance won't cover any of that cost, which could go as high as $20,000. What a drag, to have to pay to haul away the bits of what was once your house.

Dear friend Murr, she of the Baker quilt, who has never met Debby in person, created a T-shirt design so she could help. All proceeds will go to the recovery fund. It's got some nice Murr-created Oklahoma birds on it, and it says "Nest in Peace." There are a million different styles of shirt; scoops and tanks and all kinds of cool ones, so you won't be stuck with a crewneck Fruit o' the Loom. I'm thinkin' nightshirt, myself. You can get yourself a Team Kaspari shirt right here.

Thanks, Murr. You're the bomb.

A Dove Grows Up

Libby the mourning dove quickly worked her way into our hearts. Doves are gentle, mildly curious, and extremely affectionate birds. Libby wasn't the kind to crash into walls and windows, even after she started flying. She just wanted to be in the same room with whomever was around.She took up residence on my drafting board lamp

but the back of the drawing chair was always her favorite spot.

She is a dove of comfort. In this photo, taken May 22, she's still being hand-fed, so she just sits around and waits for the next syringe full of happiness to come her way. After a bad early start (falling out of her nest into a yardful of cats), life definitely improved for Libby.
She stretches a wing
and preens her ratty tail. Her tail shows evidence of a period of starvation, with fault bars where the feather growth was interrupted, leading to a weak spot on the feather. We'd soon fix that.


She does that head-bob thing doves do, where they shoot their little heads out as if they've just seen something really interesting.

It's really nice having her nearby as I work, because I'm painting mourning doves for the chapter in my book.
Being able to look out the window and see courting doves, draw their poses from life, and then to bury my nose in the warm grainy smell of a hand-raised baby--for a bird artist, it doesn't get better than that.


A little horn-toot here: NPR just released a new compilation CD called Sound Treks: Birds. Three of my pieces and one of Bill's are featured in its 25 fascinating tracks. You can purchase the CD or hear a teaser featuring both Zick and Bill here. I'm mighty pleased that they ended the CD with "Hummingbird Summer."