HUMAN BESTIARY

Here in Southern California there is another fairly common and thoroughly delightful wild creature, the dove. Each year about this time, a pair of doves arrives on the balcony of our condo. They do their billing, cooing and mating on the wrought-iron railing and then take up residence in one of our hanging plants.

They bring grass and twigs to make the nest, lay two little eggs and take turns sitting. The two tiny hatchlings grow to almost a third of their parents’ size in about three weeks, thanks to a constant commute by the doves to regurgitate food into the babies’ open mouths. Then they begin their perilous attempts to fly--from the nest down to the balcony table and chairs or guard rail, and then flutter and struggle back to the nest. I ache with sympathetic effort.

And then, some early morning, they will simply be gone, not to return until early the next spring. The plant is dead and a mess, what with droppings and lice, and we simply chuck it down the chute.

LARRY KNOPF

Glendale