Birds of Prey

I was standing on my table, leaning forward to brace on the back wall so that I could see out my window.

Earlier, Flaco had encouraged me to go to my window and “check it out.” “What is it?” I asked.

Flaco’s voice was faint. Obviously he was already observing whatever had drawn his interest. “Birds …” was all I could make out of his reply.

Once I could see out the window, sure enough, across the way there were birds! Two gray doves were moving about on top of a wall-mounted light, working on something. I didn’t have the best angle to see exactly what they were doing, but from time to time, one or the other would fly off and then return, carrying a small stick or grass in their beak. After an hour of watching them I got down and went to call Flaco.

It took him a moment to respond, but when he did he sounded like he was in a good mood. “Yes?”

“What are they doing up there?”

“Making a nest!” He laughed. “I used to raise doves. That is a mated pair. It is just crazy to me they would pick such an exposed place to build a nest!”

We spoke for some time on the subject. He told me about the house he once lived in, and the tree beside it where many doves nested. He spent a lot of time interacting and feeding them, until the doves got used to his presence and would fly down to be with him. He was even able to train a couple to land on his shoulder or arm and eat out of his hand. Flaco was usually always calm and respectful, but he was still a gang member and could be ruthless. The love he expressed towards doves, or any birds I soon learned, was heartening to discover. Every man, I believe, has a subtle depth to their character, which will be revealed if given the right environment or stimulus. Seeing those doves was, to him, like a spiritual message, a benevolent hand of the God he believed in showing a kindness. Flaco’s mind was easily transported to a better time, when he was free of prison, younger, with a young wife and daughter. Truly, Flaco marveled that he was getting to see the doves nesting like that.

“Just watching them makes me smile. But I do worry,” he admitted.

I figured he was talking about the doves being on the light. “If you think about it, it seems to be a decent enough place. Maybe little overhead cover, but with the light being set between walls there is a windbreak. And at night, especially when it gets cold, the light casing will provide warmth.”

“That is true,” he replied. “I guess it was clever of them to pick the light for those reasons. I just worry about the Red-Tailed Hawk I often see flying about.”

It was fairly well known that a hawk roamed out there. I had heard stories from other guys who had seen the large raptor perched out by the satellite behind the building (which was outside the fences in a field) or soaring high in the air. Such a steady presence meant the hawk considered the area its hunting ground.

It was easy to understand why Flaco was concerned. As the conversation seemed to dampen his mood, I wondered aloud that maybe the doves had chosen their location to escape those concerns. I didn’t feel there was any need to worry, but I doubt my suggestion provided Flaco any comfort. Time would tell the tale.

*****

By the time I moved later that week, the doves had finished the nest. It was a small, very shallow sort of bowl big enough for at least one of them to rest on at a time. From my new cell, in the next section over, my view was too distant, and at such an angle that I could only see a portion of the light where the doves were. I did see one fly by throughout the day, or sometimes it (no doubt the male) posted up on the roof, perched on the framework holding ducting in place as if on guard duty. Mostly, though, I relied on Flaco for updates. He was all too happy to share what he knew.

Within a few days, Flaco excitedly called me, barely giving me any time to acknowledge him before he blurted out, “There are two small eggs in the nest!”

I already knew that Flaco had made it an established part of his routine to watch the doves for hours, usually while drinking his first cup of coffee. But the coming of the eggs brought on a new level of watchful diligence, probably because both doves would be absent for periods of time leaving the nest unattended. Maybe Flaco’s presence staved off misfortune, because all the reports were good. Lively. And then the day came when it sounded like a party was taking place in his cell. Both eggs were hatching! Flaco was cheering, telling everyone who would listen about the baby doves greeting the world!

Is it crazy to believe that life would be cherished in a place as dismal as prison is often perceived to be? Maybe, but our 2017 was made all the better for the experience.

I would end up getting moved to cells in the coming weeks where I was unable to follow events directly. Luckily, I only rotated around F-Pod, which is where all of normal Administrative Segregation was then housed. The rest of the building was filled with guys in the Mental Health Therapeutic Diversion Program. When on the opposite side of the pod, I’d keep in contact with Flaco (and others) by kite. If near him, but in a distant section, I could always catch up with him from the dayroom. He never shied from sharing how quickly the little doves were growing.

When Flaco started talking about how both parents would leave the young doves for long periods of time throughout the day, I interrupted to ask, “Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Very much so,” he admitted, “especially when it is hot out there. Then when it rains, or it is windy I worry about them getting knocked off the light.”

I got the sense that when the parents were gone, Flaco stood sentinel in their stead. Not that he could go out there and help in any direct way, but he honestly felt his presence made a difference somehow. When asked, he admitted that he would not leave his vigil until at least one of the parents returned.

“Can you even see the little doves?”

He laughed. “When they are hunched down, barely. But when they are feeding, with little puffed up bodies and reaching necks, they are lovely.”

*****

As the baby doves grew bigger, they started to move around more. Even exploring outside the nest on the limited area the top of the light afforded. Whether it was pecking at each other, or stretching their wings, the detail I received was as vivid as if I were seeing it for myself. Flaco had grown so attached to the doves that he could easily distinguish them. Male from female. The variations in their color, or distinct marks. Even certain nuances of character didn’t escape him.

As luck would have it, I was moved back to Flaco’s section when the flying lessons began.

“Daniel, go look!” Flaco called.

By then I had grown fairly attached to the doves myself, so I didn’t hesitate. When I could see out the window, I noticed one of the small doves perched on the edge of the light, fluttering its wings. It looked like it wanted to fly, but was confused? Distressed? It kept turning its head to the nearby parent.

The larger dove was on the other side of the light, I guess giving instructions? Its beak moved, then it flapped its wings, and in the next motion hopped off and flew in a gradual arc up and around to land back on the light.

The younger dove seemed encouraged as it tried to mimic its parent, but it kept lifting one foot at a time and fluttering its wings without any true forward motion. Finally, it seemed fear won out, because the poor thing folded its wings in tight, ducked its head and backed away.

It was like watching a silent movie! I wasn’t the only one vocally rooting for the bird to “jump,” to “go on, fly, you can do it!” Several guys were engaged in the unfolding drama. Watching the poor little bird back away was quite sad. And it seemed the parent (likely the dad) was frustrated, because with a wide-open beak and puffed chest, he flared his wings.

While the father was venting his displeasure, the mother flew in, alighting on the edge of the roof above the light. She began gracefully craning her neck down in a slow bobbing motion, chirping, then she stepped to the side and continued the harangue. Or maybe it was encouragement? Hard to imagine the difference under the circumstances.

It surely seemed like the young dove was being bullied for its failure as it hunched down in the nest. But its sibling, evidently inspired by all the activity, displayed surprising courage when it tottered forward, flexing its little legs and flapping its wings.

The dad promptly stilled to watch this development intently. The mom’s neck remained lowered, keenly observing as her little one bravely reached the edge of the light, then hopped off and beat its wings with furious determination.

I cried out, “Ah hah!” And I clapped my hands. I could easily hear Flaco celebrating from his cell at the end of the run. Several other guys around me were cheering the newest little flyer as well.

The young dove didn’t go far. Maybe a total of six feet at most, as it swooped then rose to land on the roof ledge. Soon the mother joined it, offering affectionate nudges. The father took flight and ended up landing on the roof, where he could lower his head to offer fresh abuse to the cowering dove still on the light.

I could easily imagine the young, quivering dove replying with feeble chirped-replies equivalent to “I can’t. I’m scared! Leave me alone!”

But then abruptly it was no longer ducking out of sight. Instead, it rose, ambled forward, and even though it was still hesitant in its movements, the little dove found the courage to hop and fly! You would’ve thought its wings were on fire they moved so fast!

Another round of cheers and applause broke out on the section. It was wonderfully satisfying to see the little dove overcome its fear and adversity. It landed on the roof as well and was rewarded with loving nudges from all its family.

From then on, doves were flying all over the place! The young ones exuberantly made short trips from the light to roof ledges, always observed by at least one parent. The other parent would leave to go find food, or maybe for a dove-version of a cigarette break? Whatever the case, by late afternoon the fun ended. The young doves might have grown more confident and stable in their flying, but they were obviously tired. Their dad herded them into the nest, waited until they were settled and resting, then he flew off.

Each day the doves pretty much followed the same routine. I watched the young ones grow in size, strength and daring. But my passion towards them wasn’t on par with Flaco’s. I didn’t spend hours gazing out the window, memorizing eating habits and flight capabilities. They were doing just fine out there, which was easy enough to establish after five minutes. The majority of my time went towards reading, writing, or attending to other in-cell needs. So, one afternoon when I went to simply “check,” it came as a complete surprise when they were gone!

I called Flaco to get his attention, and when he answered, I asked, “Where did they go?”

“They flew off together a few hours ago.” He didn’t sound bothered by their departure..

I, on the other hand, was concerned because it was my first time experiencing young birds being raised and taught how to fly. “Will they come back?”

“Not the young ones,” he answered confidently. “But the mating pair might if nothing disturbs the area.”

What was left unsaid: assuming the pair survive.

*****

I received the news a month later. They’re back! I was skeptical, but Flaco assured me it was the same pair. And luckily for them the nest was right where they’d left it. Along with all the bird crap. Happy home!

But wow, back so soon? Were they sex addicts or simply an extraordinarily fertile pair on a mission?

Flaco found my ideas hilarious. But he assured me that as long as the conditions and resources continued to be favorable, there was no reason why the pair couldn’t continue to bring little doves into the world. Huh. Yeah, that’s all well and good–and I’m not an expert on bird mating habits by any means–but if I were that female dove, I would have enjoyed a vacation! Maybe the birthing process isn’t as painful and bloody as what humans endure (all the respect in the world to those women!), but the time squatting on eggs, then all the hectic flying about for food. Teaching the fledglings to fly. Not to mention remaining vigilant against a predator that might swoop in! Do birds get stressed out?

I was well aware of how weird (or crazy) birds could be, because I’d just read a book on bird mating habits … and, wow. Brown sparrow females not down with the seed from one partner, capable of ejecting it so another could contribute? Herons tossing their own young out of nests. Other birds kicking out unwanted eggs. Penguins capable of internally controlling how one egg’s shell would develop better. And blackbirds with their harems! Pimps in the bird world, what?

The doves kept at it, returning again and again to the same light. By the third visit they had to build another nest, and I was thinking some cleaning was in order, because the once reddish light casing was encrusted all around the edges with speckled-white bird crap. Streaks of the same had leaked down behind the light, turning the whole area into an abstract piece of art. I can’t imagine it smelled good, but the doves didn’t seem to mind.

The third wave of baby-doves-to-be proved a bit dramatic. Flaco faithfully continued to watch the birds as often as he could. Me? Not so much. After the first round, the only time I would try to watch, assuming I was close enough, was when the little doves began learning to fly. The rest was admittedly boring. So, my curiosity was peaked when Flaco called for me, excited and alarmed.

“Daniel, can you go look and see if you see the eggs?”

I didn’t immediately answer, just went to look. Both the parents were gone, and I knew from previous “Flaco updates” two eggs should be in the nest. I could only see one, though.

“Where is the other egg?” I called out to him.

“I think it was blown out of the nest,” he replied. “Can you see it in the grass?”

Once I began studying the ground, it didn’t take me long to locate something small, roundish, and white. And soon enough that was confirmed when one of the parents returned and noticed an egg missing. I think it was the mother; she paused, as if confused, bobbed her head around looking, then eventually I guess she noticed the egg, because she swooped to the ground.

Unnoticed, though, was a black-and-white cat lurking at the corner of the building, which began slowly creeping forward along the wall. Mom was nudging the egg when an explosion of sound came from Flaco. He was over in his cell beating on the window and yelling. Startled, the dove immediately took flight! A good thing, too, because the cat was almost in pouncing distance! Instead, the cat rushed forward, leaped and swiped, but the dove was beyond reach.

Heck, I hadn’t even noticed the cat! But it was hard to miss it prowling back and forth for the rest of the day. The doves were certainly agitated by its presence. Any thought they might have had of rescuing the egg was made impractical with a predator below them.

The next round of drama came when the one little dove was big enough to begin learning how to fly. I don’t know if it was overconfident, or simply too weak, but without much hesitation at all, it tottered to the edge of the light, hopped forward and flapped its little wings as best it could. But it couldn’t stay in the air! A disoriented, downward glide was all it could maintain until it tumbled in the grass.

Flaco was vocally distraught. “Daniel do you see the cat anywhere?”

“What happened now?” I had been writing a letter, so I was late to the action. Flaco caught me up with the above details rapidly, so by the time I reached my window I already knew where to look, and why.

No cat, though, not as far as I could see. I began enlisting guys near me, and a few from the next section over, to keep a look out. The cat was often around. Recently with a few kittens following along. It was really easy to imagine all sorts of worst-case scenarios. I’m sure the grown doves would fight, diving to peck and beat at a cat with wings, but against a feral feline? It would be a massacre!

Mom was on the ground bouncing about in distress, fluttering her wings, trying to encourage the young dove to take to the air. Dad was on the roof, pacing and watching for any trouble. All the while the little dove kept hopping, fluttering, tumbling, but it was obviously getting tired.

With each attempt, a collective, “Come on, you can do it,” rang out. I could feel my adrenaline spiking, so I knew Flaco was on edge. The situation was not looking good. The young dove finally stopped trying.

“No!” Flaco yelled out. “You have to get off the ground.”

Talk about stating the obvious. There was no cover, nowhere to hide down there. I was imagining the Mom quietly chirping to her child those very details. “We are helpless down here,” she was surely explaining. “Rest if you must and gather your strength, because you simply have to succeed!” How convenient would it be if doves had some fore claws to grasp with?

Time passed slowly, or perhaps stopped, because nothing was changing. Thirty minutes gone, then nearly an hour and no predators. But there were still birds on the ground. Actually, Mom had begun pecking about for food, as if without a care in the world. Dad was still on the roof maintaining his vigil. Needing to use the bathroom, I stepped down, and I was just flushing when I heard someone call out:

“Look.”

“I think the little dove is ready,” Flaco offered.

I quickly returned to the window where, sure enough, with a mighty lunge the little bird rose, hung in the air … seemed to be about to fall, but then those tiny wings became a blur!

“Go, go, go …” I muttered.

“I think it’s going to make it!” A neighbor called out.

And sure enough it did. When the little dove cleared the roof and landed, men in two sections cheered and clapped. Watching that little bird overcome a desperate situation was hugely inspiring to all of us.

Both parents reached the young dove’s side in a flash, nudging it with clear affection and relief. Then they all walked together back over to where the light was, and one by one carefully fluttered down to the nest.

*****

Everything comes to an end eventually, and the same came true for the doves with their nest on the light. I don’t know how many times they returned all together, but it lasted all of that Summer for sure.

I wasn’t around for the end, so it fell to Flaco to tell me how the Hawk finally made an appearance. One moment all was calm, then Flaco watched the parents fly off in haste, leaving two baby doves in the nest. Two tiny gray balls trying to be as quiet and small as possible, because the nearly three-foot-tall raptor was on the roof. Less than five feet away!

I’m sure the baby doves were terrified hearing the Hawk’s cry. Flaco was nearly out of his mind with worry. Eventually he took to beating on his window with a deodorant, yelling, trying to use noise to get the Hawk to leave. But it persisted! Flaco swore its head swiveled so that it could stare right at him, mockingly.

Not even Flaco remembers how much time passed. His hand grew numb, and his voice faded, but he refused to stop. And then finally the Hawk lurched into the sky and quickly disappeared.

Flaco believed there was just enough distance from the edge of the roof, down to where the light was mounted (about six to eight inches), to keep the nest hidden. Maybe true.

I personally found it hard to believe the Hawk was that close but somehow failed to sense the nest. The smell alone had to be a dead giveaway! I felt it was equally possible that by staying in place as it did, the Hawk hoped to entice the desperate parents to make a mistake and return. Using the baby doves to lure the elders seems more in line with how intelligent I know Hawks to be.

My dad speaks often enough of a Red-Tailed Hawk out on the ranch that defies him constantly. The raptor knows when my dad is away and uses that time to evaluate how it might steal a succulent lamb. Then dad will show up with his 30-30, and the chase begins. Bullets versus mastery on the wing. The Hawk always gets away, then will perch on a distant pole, or high in a tree. Watching and waiting.

Undoubtedly the doves were lucky. Staying away saved the parent’s lives. But surely they knew it was only a matter of time before the Hawk returned. For it to simply know they had been in that area was enough to make it unsafe.

Those were the last baby doves Flaco watched grow. The day they flew away, his tears fell freely. There was no shame in letting his heart go out to those gentle creatures, hoping they would find a safe place to rest. And when his story ended, I shared in his prayers that they would survive.

Hawks and Doves. This world is full of many kinds, literally and figuratively. All of us in here have, at one time or another, likely been predators and prey. But we do not have to be defined by the roles we played. How we might have failed. There is always a way forward if we can allow ourselves to be guided by nature’s blessings.