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“Damned doves!” May times, I’ve heard people proclaim those two abrasive, yet predictable words as they take a shot (sometimes two or three) at the passing birds. When you hear these words, you know that it can only mean one thing - a miss. If doves were more civil and make an easy target for the shotgunner, then shooter may proclaim something like, “Gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t down one of those lovely creatures. Oh well, better luck next time!”
However, mourning doves don’t play fair and they don’t slow down to make shots easier. They just jet past. When they do, and a shot is taken and the lead falls short of its mark, primeval, testosterone laden, gutter-speak prevails. “DAMNED DOVES!”
The words don’t bring home the birds but they seem to be a fine substitute. Their utterance seems to satisfy the orator until the next squadron of winged rockets pass. |
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Doves fly so fast that you’d better be on your game. An inch or two off and the bird keeps going. “Follow-through,” you tell yourself but your words fall short - just like the 8-shot you sent flying into space. |
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You try everything you know to try to increase your odds. You put up decoys, wear camouflage, scout your favorite stock tank the day before but the gray ghosts still have the edge. You are only a boy in their game. |
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Mourning doves are the F-16 fighter jets of the bird world. Capable of going from ZERO to KICK-YOUR-ASS in a heartbeat. They fly with reckless abandoned and come in as fast as Tom Cruise did when he flew his Navy jet in Top Gun. The only difference, Tom Cruise announced his arrival. |
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Keep trying and you’ll get lucky. After all, the national average shots-per-hit ratio is 8:1. You can tell that doves didn’t make that statistic. If they had, they’d boast that 87.5% of the time, you’ll miss. |
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By the days end, you might get a bird or two. Or, since dove hunting is one of the great social sports, you might get a friendly smile or a kiss from your best dog. |
