Interesting to watch Mom Pigeon feeding her little ones.  Pigeon parents first provide pigeon milk, then later they regurgitate seeds and grains for their hungry babies.  Meanwhile the little ones grow bigger and stronger every day – until feeding time rather looks like assault and battery.  Baby pigeons squeak frantically, flap their half-feathered wings, and reach into Mombird’s craw for the good stuff.  Today I pulled the corner of the balcony curtain back to see Mombird from behind with both little ones simultaneously squeaking, flailing their wings, and reaching into her craw – both greedy little beaks stuffed into hers at the exactly the same time.   Human kids can be a handful – evidently, baby pigeons are a beak-full.

Later in the day I crossed the Rice University campus after several hours of  rain.  On the mulched, sodden ground near Herring Hall,  robins were much in evidence, especially ones with the streaked breasts of half-grown birds fledged this year.  They were eagerly hopping around after juicy worms flooded out of their worm-holes.  Young birds are definitely creatures of hearty appetite.   Bon appetit to them all.

Yesterday Junior Pigeon was hopping around on my balcony (including hopping onto the wrought iron bench and into the potted rose bush), watching the other pigeons here in the corner of my building’s courtyard, and so wanting to fly.  He preened nervously and stretched first one wing and then the other.  I marveled at how baby pin feathers had turned into strong gray flight feathers.

This morning I found him peering down from the roof of the building across the courtyard.

He’s a more relaxed bird today, easily flying from building to building and back to my balcony to perch on the bench and preen at length.   He’s a bird who can fly.  Even with silly strands of yellow baby down strands still remaining on his head, like an absurd crown.

This morning I saw the fledgling pigeon on my balcony take one of its first flights. Junior Pigeon was standing on the wrought  iron bench, making squeaky feed-me noises, while Papa Pigeon walked  around on the balcony floor.  Junior upped and fluttered down off the bench to Papa.  It wasn’t a great flight, but it wasn’t falling like a feathered rock either….

Junior can fly upward too, from the balcony floor to the wrought iron bench to the balcony railing.  A balcony with a bench and a railing may be a perfect pigeon playground to give Junior little flights less drastic than falling out of a nest on the edge of a cliff!

Now (Wednesday morning) Junior is perched on the railing, watching Papa fly from the balcony to the roof of the other building and back again and a few other pigeons flying around.  Papa is making encouraging cooing noises.  Junior is restless, scooting back and forth on the balcony rail, doing some quick anxious preening, looking all around.   Quivering with anxiety.  Junior so wants to be a flying pigeon like Papa.   He’s just not sure he knows how.

Like every human student pilot, Junior won’t really know he can solo until the right time comes and, with encouragement from an attentive expert, he does.

Here is the baby shrike that goes to work with the wildlife rehabilitator so that she can feed him every few hours.  What a serious-looking little character!

Here is the baby pigeon on my balcony now.  It’s funny how this creature’s adult plumage is coming in:  from back to front.  The back end now looks more or less like a fine-feathered gray pigeon but the front end is all pinfeathers and baby-chick down.

So here is the pigeon nest in the potted dragon tree on my balcony now.  Baby pigeons not only start out ugly-looking, they stay that way.  I had baby chickens when I was little, and they are way cuter, and  more precocious.  Baby chickens scurry around almost from the beginning.  Pigeon chicks are late bloomers.  They stay in the nest for a long time being fed and watched over.  This parent pigeon did not trust the big staring eye of the camera being pointed at them!

Well, here’s what’s happened in the potted dragon tree plant on my balcony.  Baby pigeons bring to mind the old saying, “So ugly only a mother could love it.”