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.