The Secret Lives of Doves

I've often given my doves credit for no more intelligence than a chicken, and probably less. They move around relatively little, fly rarely, really just kind of stand around pecking at stuff on the floor. Pokie once spent days staring at a wall.

I wonder if she was really speculating about the nature of the shadows cast on the wall and her perception of the items that cast those shadows based on understanding them as shadows. It almost seems more likely than one of God's creatures being so uncurious that it stands and doesn't even realize that it's staring at a wall, and that there are more interesting things behind it. Maybe the dove is considering its' own nature deeply, in which case, facing the wall or not is entirely irrelevant.

You would think that if they consider their own nature, and recognize themselves as essentially birds, they would express that by flying more. Maybe their thoughts go deeper than that. Maybe they are considering their place in the cosmos, and the futility of flapping their delicate mortal little wings.

Maybe my doves are depressed, immobilized by existential angst.

Maybe they are so full of joy that standing still and moving are all one for them, equally joyful expressions of their beings.

Maybe they fear to attract the attention of the parrots with their keen curiousity and sharp beaks. Maybe they can't stand the bright light of curiousity that the parrots throw into their existence. It embues their every move. They are novelty junkies, forever trying to figure out how things work, including how to best operate me for their own ends.

It's Hamlet meets the Terminator.

It might be fun to add a few more beaks to the mix.