It was the chubby dove’s fault.

“Look at that poor thing,” my daughter said, pointing at a twig-toting dove that hovered by a birdhouse in our back yard. “She can’t fit through the hole.”

The large-bottomed bird was having little luck fitting much more than her beak into the house. I felt an immediate swell of compassion.  I’ve been there, feathered sister. I know your pain.

That same morning, I’d tried to fit into last summer’s shorts. The dove stood a better chance fitting through the nugget-sized door.     

“It’s not fair that bird houses have such tiny holes,” said Celeste. “I bet she’s feeling just like you get when you’re going through a clearance rack filled with nothing but 3s.”

My girl knows just which buttons to push. We soon were shopping for a bigger, better birdhouse.

We came back empty handed.

“Can’t we just build one?” Celeste asked. 

“Can’t we just drill a bigger hole in the old one?” 

“But the entire house is too small,” she said. 

“Explain that to the dove,” I said. “What kind of self-respecting bird is she anyway? She should be collecting sticks and doing that whole nature thing, not trying to freeload housing from a stranger.”

“I’ll go with you to ReStore to get wood,” Celeste said.

Like I said, she knows which of my buttons to push. I’m addicted to ReStore (where Habitat for Humanity sells new and used building materials). I make regular visits hoping to find just the right treasures to make possible–and affordable–one of the many projects on my wish list of renovations.

She went with me. We got wood. Enough to build a birdhouse large enough for a beagle.

I said beagle, not eagle, although I admit that it’s close. We didn’t rein in our enthusiastic compassion for pudgy birds until we’d reached a point nearing the ridiculous. A family of homeless geese has been monitoring our progress, and I suspect more than a few people will pass by and wonder why we have a crooked doghouse on a pole in our yard. 

When it came time to decide what size hole to cut in our birdhouse, I went online to look for information. I found a chart listing hole dimensions and house hanging heights for a large variety of birds. 

Doves weren’t on the list. 

Turns out they prefer open-ended nesting shelves. 

I shared the news with Celeste.

“That’s probably just because the holes are never big enough,” she said as she lined up a roll of masking tape on the birdhouse and traced the inside circle to serve as the door. 

I felt a bit silly, but I obliged. Our birdhouse soon had a big, crooked opening that coordinated well with our waggle-y windows. 

After it was fully assembled, although not yet painted, we stepped back to admire our structure. 

“We did a good thing,” my girl said proudly.

“We sure did,” I said, wondering if ours might not be the first birdhouse ever to be constructed by loons.