My daughter raced into the house an hour ago, cradling something in her hands.  “Mom,” she yelled in her Come Now voice.  She widened her fingers a smidge to reveal pin feathers and a damp back.  “Ilanna’s dog had it between its paws.  Ilanna’s dad checked it all over and said it seemed fine —  no broken wings or legs or anything.”  “Oh!” I said. “It’s a fledgling…. mourning dove,” I said, taking a closer look at the small gray bird whose feathers didn’t completely cover its scrawny body.  My daughter chattered on. “Her dad said he thought it looked O.K. but he he said he’s no expert.”  I am.  Sort of.  I’ve been listed under a wildlife rehabilitator’s license for over twenty years.  That means I never took the formal test, but I did pass a six week workshop that taught me how to care for orphaned and injured wildlife.  And, one big lesson I learned was that adult birds will feed their fledgling on the ground for up to two weeks. What my daughter cradled in her hands now was a fledgling.  What we needed to do was rig a nest for this foundling:  Cool Whip container with holes poked in the bottom for drainage and in the sides for stringing to a tree.  We filled the “nest” with leaves and grass and a few seeds and returned to the place the fledgling was found:  Ilanna’s yard.  We knew we couldn’t leave the bird on the ground because Ilanna’s dog would only go after it again.  Hence, the nest which would keep the bird well out of the dog’s reach and still allow the parent birds access to their beloved baby.  When we got to Ilanna’s yard, we got lucky.  Ilanna’s family has a vegetable garden surrounded by an eight foot fence, compete with latched door.  Perfect.  The baby could hop between sunny spots and shade and even peck around for its own food.  Too, it would be safe from predators and completely accessible to the parents.  We placed the fledgling mourning dove under a wide brimmed pumpkin leaf.  Blinking its ink-black eyes at us serenely, it nestled deeply into the shadows of the pumpkin vine.  I looked around but couldn’t see the four ink-black eyes that were surely watching us from the trees.