Good Morning, Mourning Doves

They sense the snow storm on its way and come in early to feed while they can. Strange birds they are, so twitchy, so flighty. Eyes on the sides of their heads, all standing and pecking at different angles, a total world view. At the first sign of movement,the twitch of a curtain, a shadow on the floor, they give a sharp piercing call and fly in all directions. Sometimes, the shadow of the hawk falls over the feeder. Then they scatter. An individual may perish, but the flock survives.

When they leave, we throw out seed. But the yard is silent and they won’t come back, not for a long time. In the meantime, in comes that big, fat, grey squirrel and look, there’s a mourning dove in mourning for his long-lost, squirrel-gobbled breakfast!

And they are so difficult to photograph. Since the slightest movement scares them away, I must try from a distance, sometimes in not very good light. They can be so subtly beautiful, but oh dear, they can also be so dumb!