Lonesome Dove

 “I see you’re in a hurry to get someplace. It’s a great mistake to hurry.” “Why?” Joe asked, puzzled by almost everything the traveler said. “Because the grave’s our destination,” Mr. Sedgwick said. “Those who hurry usually get to it quicker than those who take their time.”

― Larry McMurtry, Lonesome Dove

Lonesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry, is one of my favorite books and movies.  The characters are something to behold!  Not to mention, the scenery and music is stunning.  I'll watch it ever so often and catch myself repeating some of the lines.  

Tonight's post isn't about the movie, Lonesome Dove, but about a lonesome dove I found in our garage.  Two days ago I had gathered eggs.  We have a table in the garage with empty egg cartons.  I take the eggs I collected, brush them with a luffa and pack them in egg cartons and put them in the outdoor fridge.  As I was mindlessly doing this task, something startled me.  A rustling sound coming from behind the cartons...

It moved!  I grabbed the critter and found it was a dove.  Not a mourning dove or a ring-neck dove, but a small dove.  People around here call them Mexican doves.  I also see them called Inca doves, although I don't know if that's the same bird or not.  They tend to show up each evening around feeding time for the chickens.  When I throw the scratch grains out, the little doves fly in to enjoy a little "government cheese."

This little guy was scared.  If I was a betting man, I'd bet you that it was attacked by our cat, Ginger and somehow escaped with its life.  Although it was beat up, it was still alive.  I whisked him out of the garage surreptitiously so as not to alert Ginger to the whereabouts of the dove.  I assured the little dove that he was safe with me.

I gently placed the dove on the trampoline and stepped back to allow it to fly away.  It sat there, hunched over.  

I glanced around to keep a watchful eye for Ginger.  I walked around to see if I could find her, but I think she had gone into the house for a bit.  Good.  I went back to the trampoline only to find the little dove was gone!  I hope it regained its strength and gathered its wits and flew off.

The dove got me to thinking about dove hunting.  It's been a while since I've been dove hunting.  As a young man in high school, we would do a lot of mourning dove hunting.  Mourning doves have a distinctive, mournful cry from which they get their name.  Just south of our town, I had a friend whose dad owned a concrete business and his house was just east of that.  Right past his house a little ways, the gravel road turns back south and if you follow it around, it will take you right near the Kinder Canal.  That canal carries water pumped from the Calcasieu River to be used to irrigate rice fields.

At the point that Mayfield Road runs parallel to the Kinder Canal, was a prime spot for hunting doves back then.  We'd load up our hunting vests with 12 gauge shells and shoot doves until we had our limit and our vests were full.  The smell of gunpowder and freshly killed doves are two scents I can distinctly remember.  We would pluck the feathers off the doves and clean them.  Plump little dove breasts ready for cooking.

Once we had a 'mess' of them, we'd cook.  One particular time I remember, we'd added a little oil to the bottom of a pot and browned the doves and then removed them.  We'd then added flour while stirring until the roux was chocolate brown.  Of course we were cooking a big dove gumbo.  It smelled delicious!

My great Aunt Myra was visiting from South Dakota at the time.  She and my parents walked in the back door and the delicious aroma met them at the door.  My aunt Myra asked, "What are you cooking?"  "Dove gumbo," I responded.  Aunt Myra began to cry!  I didn't understand.  I was later told that she sat on the Save the Dove Committee up in South Dakota.  I remember my Dad having to try to clean up that mess for me, telling her that doves were as numerous as sands on the seashore down here and they didn't need saving in Louisiana.  I don't think we were ever able to get her to eat a bowl of dove gumbo.  If you've never eaten dove gumbo, you're missing out.

Lonesome Dove? Not These Two. They're not Lonesome at all

One of my favorite books/movies is Larry McMurtry's "Lonesome Dove."  The scenery is great.  The music is great.  The dialogue is great.  In fact, I think it's high time I set aside a little time and watch it again.  Lonesome Dove is the name of a small border town in Texas where Gus and Woodrow run the Hat Creek Cattle Company.

Here's the thing.  We have doves around here on Our Maker's Acres Family Farm.  They are pretty birds and they are very clever.  They wait for when we throw chicken scratch to the hens and they swoop down and eat alongside the hens.  Most mornings and afternoons we can see them, flying in.  Like me, they're never gonna turn down a free meal.

Yesterday I was walking out by the garden just to check on things.  I am waging a war with squirrels right now.  They have developed a bad habit of digging in the garden, digging up freshly planted beans, for instance.  I told Tricia that I was going to shoot them, skin them and we'd cook them.  When I walked outside to hunt them, they were no where to be found!

Anyway, while walking out to the garden, we have an old backboard from a basketball goal that I keep around.  It has been used for numerous other things after its primary basketball life was over.  I looked and observed a lot of bird poop on it like a bird had been roosting directly above it.

I looked directly above it.  I was only partially right.  Actually TWO Mexican doves were roosting above it in the water oak tree.  Can you see them cuddled up on the branch like a couple of love birds?  They might have migrated over from Hat Creek Cattle Company in Lonesome Dove, except they aren't lonesome!

Did you know that doves mate for life?  That is kind of an endearing thing to think about.  Now, each afternoon I walk out, look up, and the two doves are in their regular spot.  It makes me think that despite the chaotic world we live in, at least with the doves (a symbol of peace), things are still good, loving and true - creatures of habit, like the couple sitting in the same church pew Sunday after Sunday, year after year.  Faith, hope and love.  And the greatest of these is LOVE.

Here, Chick, Chick, Chick

Each morning we go out and open the nesting boxes in the hen house.  The chickens are clucking and scratching and waiting for us.  When you have an empty nest, like we do, I guess it is somewhat fulfilling knowing that someone is still depending on you to feed them.  The feed room in the barn contains all sorts of feeds and minerals.  We have sweet feed, alfalfa, rough rice, and hen scratch.  

We mix up a half a gallon of rough rice and a half a gallon of  hen scratch and mix it up nicely.  Walking outside, we call, "Here, chick, chick, chick."  The hens fall over themselves to come to us.  They can't wait.  We take cupfuls and scatter it out in the barnyard.  The barnyard is mostly mud now - just an absolute mess.  But the fat hens don't seem to mind scratching through the mud to uncover a morsel of cracked corn, a grain of milo, some oats, wheat and millet, and plenty of locally grown rice.

The hens aren't the only fowl attracted to this free feast festivity.  Wild birds have gotten to where they appreciate the free meal.  In the photo below on the right middle, you can see another bird that isn't a chicken partaking.

Here are six more of the same, sampling the hen scratch.  These are "Mexican Doves" or Inca doves.  They are protected and may not be harvested like the Mourning Doves, Ring-necked doves or White-winged doves that are prevalent in our state.  These Mexican doves weren't common when I was growing up.  It was mainly Mourning Doves that were around.  They are called Mourning doves due to the sad, mournful call that they give.

In high school we would hunt doves south of town in soybean fields.  We would shoot them with 12 gauge shotguns and bring home a bag full of them.  I can recall plucking them and cleaning them to cook.  Doves are a delicious meal.  I remember one time we had cleaned them all.  I had friends over and we had browned our doves and were making a roux to make a nice dove gumbo.

My great Aunt Myra was in from South Dakota visiting on that fateful day.  She walked into the house and exclaimed, "What is that wonderful smell?"  The hunters proudly exclaimed, "We're making a dove gumbo!  You want some?"  Aunt Myra burst into tears.  We had no idea why.  We learned that Aunt Myra was active in the South Dakota Save the Dove Foundation.  My Dad had the unenviable task of comforting Aunt Myra and letting her know that doves were plentiful, a nuisance really in our area, and harvesting a few for a gumbo was a noble undertaking.

Stretch Out Your Wings and Fly!

Yesterday I was in a large home improvement store for a meeting and I looked up and saw a male cardinal flying around frantically in the store.  The poor fellow undoubtedly flew in when one of the doors opened and now was hopelessly trapped, flying from aisle to aisle looking for a way out.  That's how I feel when I have to go shopping, too, except I can find my way out through the exit.  I don't know if the cardinal found his way out.

Last Sunday when we drove back into the garage from church, there was a bird in our garage.  With two large overhead doors, you'd think he'd be able to find his way out.  He couldn't.  He was fooled by those darned windows!  He kept flying into one and Benjamin and I went and scooped him up.  He was just fine.

It was a little dove - certainly a cute little guy. Just like the cardinal in the big box store, he was trapped and just needed a little help - help we were glad to give him. We admired him for a bit.  I think he is a mourning dove.  In the mornings or late afternoons, you can hear them with their haunting sounds.  This little dove was in mourning after running into the window in the garage numerous times.  He's okay now, though.  Benjamin took him out of the garage and gave him a gentle toss and he was up, up, and away...

He flew up into the pear tree...  And a partridge mourning dove in a pear tree...  And then he was gone.  Unlike the cardinal trapped in the store, this guy had his freedom.  He stretched out his wings and flew away and never looked back.

It reminded me of Noah and the dove he sent out that never came back.

Genesis 8:8-12 James Version (KJV)

8 Also he sent forth a dove from him, to see if the waters were abated from off the face of the ground;

9 But the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot, and she returned unto him into the ark, for the waters were on the face of the whole earth: then he put forth his hand, and took her, and pulled her in unto him into the ark.

10 And he stayed yet other seven days; and again he sent forth the dove out of the ark;

11 And the dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth.

12 And he stayed yet other seven days; and sent forth the dove; which returned not again unto him any more.

Maybe there's a morale in the story about the cardinal and the mourning dove. There's life to be lived out there - life outside of the big box stores and cramped garages and even arks.  Freedom! Why, there are blue skies, fresh air, and trees adorned with leaves.  Sometimes you need a little help.  Sometimes you just need to stretch your wings out and fly.

Birds of a Feather Flock Together

We have a couple of palm trees in our backyard that have grown like crazy. Apparently, they like the location that we planted them in.  I only wish that they were the type of tree that produced something to eat.  What they do produce is a bunch of fronds that turn brown and die.  The fronds have large thorns on them that you have to be real careful when you carry them or they will stick you. (Experience speaking)

While nice to look at, they really don't provide anything of benefit.  Or so I thought...

Flocking Together

They provide an excellent place for birds to build a nest.  The other day I got out an extended wooden pole saw similar to the one in the photo below and began to cut off the dead fronds.  It won't be long before I'll have to get a ladder to perform this task as the trees keep growing and growing.

While I was cutting, I noticed a bird flying around.  As I looked closer, I identified the bird to be what we call a Mexican Dove, but I think the correct name is the Common Ground Dove.  They are much smaller than the Mourning Dove or the Ring-Necked Dove that are also prevalent around here. A closer examination showed that the dove had two little ones in a nest she had built in a cozy place where I had previously cut a dead palm frond off.  It created a perfect protected indentation to build a nest.  If you look closely at the picture above just a hair above the center, you can see two birds sitting in their nest watching me.  Their mom was not to happy!

Image Credit

I watched the birds for about a week.  They grew very quickly.  Before I knew it they were testing their wings out and flying in short hops out on the palm fronds.  In fact you can see one sitting on the frond after a test flight.  He's right in the center of the photo below.

One Dove out of the nest and on the frond

And then the next day, as we watched them, they both flew off into a neighboring pecan tree and we haven't seen them back.  Benjamin likes to shoot doves with his pellet gun.  We have a few doves in the freezer right now.  After watching these grow up, he said he'd be a little hesitant about shooting any more around the house, but I assured him that there are tons of doves.

It is that time of year when all the birds are hatching.  If you walk around the yard, you see pieces of egg shell in the grass, signalling that another bird has hatched.  If you look closely, sometimes you'll see little birds that try to fly before they are ready and end up on the ground.  This young bird below is one of those.  He's a baby Mockingbird, I think, and I saw him in some Indian Hawthorn as I was mowing. When I got Benjamin to show him the bird, the little fellow was gone.  I don't know if his mom somehow rescued him or if he fell prey to the cats that patrol the area.

Mockingbirds are appropriately named.  The other morning as I walked to work, I saw one mockingbird sitting on the top of a light pole and this bird went through 7 or 8 different songs of different birds, mimicking their song like an Elvis impersonator.  It was almost as if he was showing off.  He wasn't finished with his song list either, but I had to go inside.

I haven't talked about Penelope, our India Blue pea hen lately.  She has a great personality and a regal head dress that she wears with pride as she struts around. The old girl is still around and like clockwork everyday, she flies into the yard and then later on flies up into the very top of a tree to roost for the night.  The poor girl needs a mate.  She had her feathers all fanned out and ended up laying 5 eggs on top of the barn that she sat on, but they are not fertile since we don't have a peacock and they didn't hatch.  

Penelope, the (lonely) Peahen

I really need to remedy that.  A mate for Penelope would be cool to have around:

Image Credit

Oh, but the price is sort of prohibitive!  On Murray McMurray Hatchery, they sell an assortment of 8 peafowl for $392.40!  That's almost $50 per bird.  I'm going to check around locally and see if anyone has a peacock for sale at a better price.