To speak of a pigeon’s nest is to engage in a generous definition of the word. We imagine nests as woven cups of twig and feather, cradles of intricate design. The common rock dove ( Columba livia ), however, operates on a philosophy of sublime minimalism. Or, as some ornithologists wryly observe, profound laziness.
Yet this flimsy construction is a masterwork of function. It allows rainwater to drain away from the eggs instantly. It provides no purchase for predators’ claws. And it is built with astonishing speed. A pair can complete the foundation in a single morning. pigeons nesting
The male begins the rite not with a song, but with a display. He puffs his iridescent throat, fans his tail, and bows before his chosen hen with a series of low, coaxing coos—a soft, throttled sound like water running over stones. If she accepts, he leads her to a potential site. This site is chosen for two things: a modicum of shelter from rain and sun, and a flat surface. A ledge on a cliff face, in the ancestral tradition. More commonly now, a window air conditioner, a broken gutter, the corbel of a cathedral, or the steel I-beam of a highway overpass. To speak of a pigeon’s nest is to