A Mother’s Tale
It was cold and gray in LA, or thereabouts on this mid-spring morning. The sun was just starting to rise and breakthrough the early low clouds. I slipped off my black cotton peds that were keeping my feet warm in the house, determined not to get them damp and dirty as I went out to fill the bird feeder in front of my window. I left the screen sliding door open a tad so that my little dog could accompany me around the side of the house. My old girl would have nothing of the damp grass and cool breeze and stayed instead on the chaise lounge where I would spend the rest of the morning hours. As Dalai and I approached the seed feeder I heard a rustle in the crepe myrtle. When I looked up a mourning dove flew out of the foliage and dropped down on to the ground with her wing outstretched and lame.
“Dalai, leave her alone!” I shouted to the little dog. But Dal seemed more frightened by the strange behavior and simply stood on the sidewalk with her head sloped to one side.
The dove flailed around the wet grass hopping on one leg and pulling this cockeyed wing behind her. All the while she was moving farther and farther away from the bird feeder where I was standing.
A warm smile came to my face when I recognized the slick charade. “Oh, I see.” I said out loud. “You have a baby bird here somewhere in the brush and you want me to leave.” I remembered seeing a mother Plover perform the same trick two summers ago when her baby bird had become stuck on the wrong side of the curb as they were crossing the street. “Dalai go in the house.” I shouted, and was surprised that she obeyed without hesitation. Then again it was COLD and she really didn’t need much encouragement to return to the warm blankets next to her hairless buddy. “Ok, mamma bird, I will leave you and your baby be.”
I mused to myself that I was just lied to by a bird. As the mother of three my world is about teaching my children not to lie. Keeping my own word impeccable and my karma intact is the corner stone of my family values. Somehow I rather believed that dishonesty was a trait unique unto humans. While the tendency to anthropomorphize is great when it comes to imbuing meaning on the puppy who chewed up your favorite Jimmy Choo, it’s not often such a clever prevarication so well staged and executed as the lame duck as it were in my yard this morning.
And speaking of ducks, it was to be the path of the feather these last two days in my suburban purlieu. As with most mornings my body was being raked over the POTS coals and my mind was digging in the mud of detesting this life … I saw from the corner of my eye a little mallard with her crew of peeps all in a line walking through the tall grasses at the edge of my yard. For the next hour my world was reduced to the amazing story of the waterfowl’s walkabout. As you might expect there were adorable photo ops and the inevitable encounter with an exuberant dog who is fortunately even more frightened of a mother duck in full waving wingspan than she was of the not-so-lame dove yesterday morning.
As for that mourning dove brood, I did get a chance to catch a glimpse of the little one when the sun was warmer. She looked like a Victorian child — a miniature version of the adult — a half pint of her parents. I could hear the tell tale coo of the dove’s song as I watched through my open window. No doubt explaining to their offspring to not tell a lie and other not-so-shaggy dog stories from a Mother’s Tale.
