The Doves
by Fly Girl
Marci had 4 doves. She hated their cries. I told James one day that they
were in a garage. He had dreams about those doves, and so power tool in
hand, he built a coop for them. It is a beautiful thing, one of his
masterpieces. He builds like a cook. Maybe I have said this before. One of the doves escaped, and we can't find her, so now we have three. I
am beyond heartbroken. Then it was too cold, so he put a lightbulb in.
Then the case for the lightbulb. Still too cold. And then, last night, a
raccoon came and tried to attack the cage, because the doves were lit at
night. Display case for a meal. I got hysterical. Nothing in my care now can
die. I just have a thing about that. I can feel myself regressing into
childhood where the questions are so simple, and imagination cannot
fathom complex answers. The woman at Stone's pet shop, who answers the phone, "Stone's Nut House,"
took my hand today and said, "You're a worrier, aren't you?" Oops. I
had forgotten to notice my knuckles were white when I was talking about
the doves. So we went to another building supply store and got plexiglass, thick, and
James came back and cut it to go against the chicken-wire windows. Then he
put nails sticking out of the hay cabinet down below and I looked at the
doves. Finally happy, but for the missing one. They were flying back and forth eating dove food with gravel, pecking at
things and drinking fresh water. James also put a cover on the light so it
would heat up the coop, but not light them up at night. Then he put a fire
extinguisher on the side in case anything happens with the bulb. So now we have three doves. Warm and beautiful. James sits inside the
coop and talks to them, and I still look for the lost one.
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