It was the chubby dove's fault. "Look at that poor thing," my daughter said, pointing at a twig-toting dove that hovered by a birdhouse in our back yard. "She can't fit through the hole."
It was the chubby dove's fault.
"Look at that poor thing," my daughter said, pointing at a twig-toting dove that hovered by a birdhouse in our back yard. "She can't fit through the hole."
The large-bottomed bird was having little luck fitting much more than her beak into the house. I felt an immediate swell of compassion. I've been there, feathered sister. I know your pain.
That same morning, I'd tried to fit into last summer's shorts. The dove stood a better chance fitting through the nugget-sized door.
"It's not fair that birdhouses have such tiny holes," said Celeste. "I bet she's feeling just like you get when you're going through a clearance rack filled with nothing but 3s."
My girl knows just which buttons to push. We soon were shopping for a bigger, better birdhouse.
We came back empty-handed.
"Can't we just build one?" Celeste asked.
"Can't we just drill a bigger hole in the old one?"
"But the entire house is too small," she said.
"Explain that to the dove," I said. "What kind of self-respecting bird is she anyway? She should be collecting sticks and doing that whole nature thing, not trying to freeload housing from a stranger."
"I'll go with you to ReStore to get wood," Celeste said.
Like I said, she knows which of my buttons to push. I'm addicted to ReStore (where Habitat for Humanity sells new and used building materials). I make regular visits hoping to find just the right treasures to make possible - and affordable - one of the many projects on my wish list of renovations.
It was the chubby dove's fault.
"Look at that poor thing," my daughter said, pointing at a twig-toting dove that hovered by a birdhouse in our back yard. "She can't fit through the hole."
The large-bottomed bird was having little luck fitting much more than her beak into the house. I felt an immediate swell of compassion. I've been there, feathered sister. I know your pain.
That same morning, I'd tried to fit into last summer's shorts. The dove stood a better chance fitting through the nugget-sized door.
"It's not fair that birdhouses have such tiny holes," said Celeste. "I bet she's feeling just like you get when you're going through a clearance rack filled with nothing but 3s."
My girl knows just which buttons to push. We soon were shopping for a bigger, better birdhouse.
We came back empty-handed.
"Can't we just build one?" Celeste asked.
"Can't we just drill a bigger hole in the old one?"
"But the entire house is too small," she said.
"Explain that to the dove," I said. "What kind of self-respecting bird is she anyway? She should be collecting sticks and doing that whole nature thing, not trying to freeload housing from a stranger."
"I'll go with you to ReStore to get wood," Celeste said.
Like I said, she knows which of my buttons to push. I'm addicted to ReStore (where Habitat for Humanity sells new and used building materials). I make regular visits hoping to find just the right treasures to make possible - and affordable - one of the many projects on my wish list of renovations.
She went with me. We got wood. Enough to build a birdhouse large enough for a beagle.
I said beagle, not eagle, although I admit that it's close. We didn't rein in our enthusiastic compassion for pudgy birds until we'd reached a point nearing the ridiculous. A family of homeless geese has been gathering to monitor our progress. And I suspect more than a few people will pass by and wonder why we have a crooked doghouse on a pole in our yard.
When it came time to decide what size hole to cut in our birdhouse, I went online to look for information. I found a chart listing hole dimensions and house hanging heights for a large variety of birds.
Doves weren't on the list.
Turns out they prefer open-ended nesting shelves.
I shared the news with Celeste.
"That's probably just because the holes are never big enough," she said as she lined up a roll of masking tape on the birdhouse and traced the inside circle to serve as the door.
I felt a bit silly, but I obliged. Our birdhouse soon had a big, crooked opening that coordinated well with our waggly windows.
After it was fully assembled, although not yet painted, we stepped back to admire our structure. A birdhouse that was, quite obviously, constructed by loons.
"We did a good thing," my girl said proudly.
"We sure did," I said.
Karin Fuller can be reached via e-mail at karinful...@cnpapers.com">karinful...@cnpapers.com. Her columns can be accessed easily online through her blog at thegazz.com.
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