Who needs Hallmark when you have pigeon?

Hannibal has perfected his courting technique. He shops the neighborhood for a culinary delight, brings it to his favorite branch and starts calling. "Yoo-hoo! Oh, yoo-hoo! Come see what I have for you!"  He actually goes, "SCREE! SCREE! SCREE!" This is different from the "cak!cak!cak!" sound they make when they call in alarm or warning.

Shortly, the missus comes swooping out of nowhere and lands beside him. He offers up a lovely meal to his Valentine. No sooner does she grasp it against the branch and bend for a bite than he jumps her bones. Quite often she shakes him off as though to say, "What do you think you’re doing!?" and Hannibal, looking offended, mutters, "I gave you dinner, what else do you want?" Usually, there’s a fair amount of flapping and ruffled feathers whether their little tete a tete amounts to anything or not. It’s all so romantic.

This week and next will be the brief window when we see the two of them out and about together. She will lay between 3 and 5 eggs, one every other day or so.
Not until she’s done laying will they start to incubate them so all eggs hatch in unison. It will take a little over a month before they hatch so during that time one or the other will always be on the nest. It will be late April before we see the youngsters out of the nest. Between now and then we will find evidence of many small birds, much lower on the food chain, consumed.Hannibal2

6 responses to “Who needs Hallmark when you have pigeon?

  1. Very romantic.

    Have you bought that hard hat yet?


  2. I’ve known men like Hannibal. Overly eager.

    I’m looking forward to watching this story unfold.

  3. Hannibal sees no need to go beyond step three. With all the good food and good sex, he’s thinking self-actualization can wait.

  4. When you come up for air: Happy Valentine’s Day!!

  5. Men…they buy you dinner, and they think they’re entitled.

  6. Gosh. I got flowers . . . I guess my husband doesn’t know that true love means you bring dead pigeons! Sigh.

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