I’m not talking doves. I’m not talking birds bred for beauty or trained for tasks. I’m talking about garden variety, gray pigeons. Not coy, but carp.
On the one hand, they are dirty of feather and dim of mind and deserving of the epithet “rats with wings.” On the other, I remember as a boy awaking to the cooing of a couple nesting in our eaves, and the sound still brings me peace.