Baby Birds on our Balcony

After a long hiatus from blogging and an over-indulgence in administrative work, I’ve got to write about the baby birds that brought joy to our life for the past month-and-a-half. Unfortunately, I’m not able to post photos at this time, so readers will have to use their imagination.

We knew the pigeons were spending an unusual amount of time on the tiny balcony off our kitchen, but we did not realize at first that strips of wire, a metal plate, bottle cap, old business card, plastic tape dispenser, and a few twigs would actually constitute a nest. For Bob and me, life in Kuwait is often austere and unnatural. These two eggs sitting on concrete seemed analogous to our life in Kuwait. But instead of getting philosophical, let me focus on the birds.

The eggs appeared on April 4 and the baby birds two weeks later—April 19. Mama was proud, and she let us know it those first few days as we looked on from inside the kitchen. Each day thereafter, we woke up anxious to see what the birds were up to. The tiny balls of yellow feathers stayed still under their mama at first, and she never seemed to leave them. Then they curled up on their own, usually side by side, but with their heads facing opposite directions, waiting for Mama to arrive. Every time she flew in saying “It’s time for your feeding,” they chirped and squealed and competed with each other to be the first to her beak.

Watching them try out their wings was the most fun of all. We wondered when they would fly. Then tragedy struck, and at three weeks old, the smaller of the baby birds fell seven stories to its death. Was it an accident or intentional? Was Mama unable to find enough food for both of them and had to choose, like Sophie? On May 9, I felt sad all day.

A few days later, Bob and I watched the surviving baby bird grow into a small adult bird, no longer having its cute baby features. The bird practiced and practiced flapping its wings. We wondered when it would fly. Then the bullying began, with three pigeons arriving every hour or so, encroaching on the frightened baby bird’s space. We hated leaving for work in the morning. Who would scare the bullies away and protect the little one? A couple days later our baby was perched on the railing, ready to go. “Today is your day!” I said before heading out the door, wishing we could see the great departure. It was May 17, and the birdie was four weeks old when it left our home for a different one.

Within 48 hours, there was a new pigeon roosting on the already-built nest of plastic, metal, and paper, but we decided once was enough. Armed with rubber gloves and a mask, it took me half an hour and a bottle of Clorox to clean up four weeks of bird droppings.

Philosophy and analogies aside, the birds were a welcome addition to our life in April and May. My mom has been watching three baby robins in a nest in a tree in their back yard. It sounds like she’s having as much fun as we did.