The reason why this isn’t a General Question is because you’re gonna want to flame me for being a fucking idiot. So you might as well do it here. I can’t excuse myself for what I did, so I’ll just tell the story.
On May 18, I was ill. I got hit by this nasty little virus or something that flashed through my circle of friends. It laid me low for but a day, then I was back to the grind.
That day, I awoke from my torpor several times to a scrabbling sound at the window beside my bed. Sometime in the early afternoon, I checked to see what it was.
It was a pair of beautiful morning doves making a nest in my window sill.
See, the problem is, as much as I like nature and shit, my better half also likes air conditioning, and my window unit has to go on that window sill here soon if this shitty weather will ever decide to bypass spring and decide it’s now summer.
Hell, my woman requires it. She’s from Minnesota, Lord help her. I think she sleeps on icebergs back at home, when she’s not pillaging other villages from her open boat.
So the love-birds had to go.
So I opened the window, shooed the birds away, and tossed the nest off the window sill.
I’d like to blame the fever, but no, I’m really just a heartless asshole.
Here’s the thing I didn’t expect: nature has a way of fucking with you. Just like women. When I mentioned the horrible thing I did to the birds, well, I was told in no uncertain terms by Ms. Viking that… I’m an asshole.
And lo and behold, so did nature. The birds came back.
The next morning, we awoke to much scrabbling, and jaunty tail-feathers poking into my room through the blinds. Those damned birds were here to stay.
Unfortunately, not before an egg was lain. It rolled into the window sill and it’s utterly fucked. But somehow, those damned birds cobbled together another nest, and plopped two more eggs there.
Worse, I kept startling the poor bird (it looks like Daddy has flown the coop) by turning the lights on, having alarms go off, adjusting the blinds, throwing parties, and I must admit, peeping at it, because I’m starting to take a liking to it. The bird spent a lot of time away from the nest.
But it’s still there.
So look, I know I’m an asshole, and I can’t see a metaphor when it waves its very ass in my bedroom. But I want to know this very badly:
What is the nesting period for a dove?
It’s been two weeks. Hell, at this point, I look forward to huffing my Viking’s second-hand cigarette smoke while watching her swelter, all the while listening to the wee-wee-wee of little baby birds get a crap-ass start on life, probably well before I normally wake up.
So when, in the words of this incurable romantic, are the little fuckers gonna hatch, and how soon will they be gone if I didn’t kill 'em already?
Take some pretty pics.