FRIENDS IN FEATHERS 



but I did not realize what I had hoped to do with those Doves, 

 nor the extent to which I had counted upon them for something 

 fresh and characteristic, until the dainty little nest and the pearls 

 of eggs lay trampled and broken at my feet. 



Here is another point for nature students. Having had bad 

 luck in a low location and seen their nest torn down by browsing- 

 cattle, what did they do? Go somewhere else and build another 

 nest as low, from instinct? They followed the line of the fence 

 to the river-bank, and at the height of at least twenty-five feet, 

 they built the highest nest I ever saw constructed by Doves. It 

 was in the branches of a very large hickory-tree. 



So there was no " series " of these Doves. A week later, how- 

 ever, Bob told me that across the river, in the woods pasture, lie 

 had found a nest the preceding day with a pair of Doves in it 

 almost old enough to fly. We rowed across and found them still 

 there. 



These Doves had homed in a brush heap so old that the limbs 

 were rotten and covered with a tangle of wild rose and grape-vines. 

 I remember that the grapes were in bloom. In fact, so vividly is 

 every surrounding of each of the studies in this book photo- 

 graphed on my memory and sensibilities, that though it is 

 January and a white world as I write, I can scent the pungent 

 grape-bloom and a rank succulent odour of green things crushed 

 underfoot, hear the bumbling of bees and the lusty challenges to 

 combat of a pair of Brahma roosters separated by two miles of 

 space, as I did when working with these Doves. 



The young were not so near ready to fly as Bob had imagined. 

 That day we photographed them in their nest, which was typical, 

 the merest little handful of twigs imaginable. They could 

 scarcely cling to it while a heavy wind would have wrecked it 

 completely. Two days later we found them sitting side by side 

 and made a study of them. I very nearly said we induced them 



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