I went out to take out some trash the other day, and heard a Mourning Dove. Sure enough, it was secure on the wire above my drive. We’re actually overrun with the darn things, but as far as I can see, they haven’t caused any trouble.
Each time I hear one I think of my Dad. Long ago, I remember hearing the dove’s call. I was outside, and Dad was with me. I believe I was between 6 and 11, based on where we were living at the time. Anyway, I mentioned the bird’s call, and Dad said, “That’s a Mourning dove.” I remember replying that it is afternoon, why was it singing. I got a story of a different kind of morning. Funny that I remember that to this day.
