Tag: Mourning Doves

Those Annoying Mourning Doves

 

Let me lay this flat out: I hate Mourning Doves. I know some sensitive types do not like to hear (or read) anyone exclaiming, “I hate” this, that or the other thing. But I can’t help it any more. I’m over the edge with these birds.

I always thought Doves were signs of peace. I mean I have seen paintings of Jesus with a dove flying over his head. But evidently that only reflects the white doves, of which I know almost nothing since I have never seen them outdoors.

I kid you not; the Mourning Doves are anything but peaceful. They are closer to warrior birds than harbingers of love and peace. If one were hovering over Jesus’ head, well, his hair would not survive it.

My wife the Beautiful AP and I enjoy sitting on our deck whenever the weather and our schedules permit. It’s our pandemic oasis.

We put our parrots’ leftover seed in small clumps spread along the 20-foot railing to feed the birds and squirrels, creating individual portions for our feathered and furry guests. We set the conditions for a peaceful activity for all concerned.

We sit about five feet from the railing and enjoy nature. We talk to the birds and the squirrels—and each other—and everyone seems happy. Except when those darned Mourning Doves arrive. Then our little visiting Sparrows, Cardinals, Tufted Titmice, and Catbirds, get edgy. Our infrequent Blue Jays will take off too.

The first Mourning Dove will appear in the tree overlooking the deck. He will then land on the railing and start feeding. He doesn’t bother any of the other birds—yet. Once the Mourning Doves appear, the squirrels tend to head into the bushes that line the deck. I never knew that squirrels were so skittish.

Then you hear the others overhead, a flock of Mourning Doves. Their wings make a signature sound, a squeak that calls for some WD-40, a sound I have come to despise. They plant themselves in the trees and stare at the deck. Now a second Mourning Dove lands on the railing. The small birds take to the air and land in various bushes and trees on our property to witness the descent of the doves and the abrupt end of their feast.

When the second Mourning Dove alights on the railing and although yards away from that first one—the battle begins. The first bird launches himself at the second bird. He does not want any other Mourning Dove to have any of that 20-foot smorgasbord. So, they open their wings and do battle. They flap like crazy against each other, bullying and battling until one loses and flies off.

While that battle rages, more Mourning Doves alight on the railing. The all-out wars begin. Usually the ones on the rail can chase the new arrivals away but some of the newcomers are pretty tough and they flap, flap, flap their wings at the early-bird diners.

These battles scatter the seeds and peanuts (peanuts are for the squirrels) all over the place. Into the yard, onto the deck. Our carefully-laid buffet for the birds is flung hither and yon. Essentially, the Mourning Doves fight until the food is no longer on the railing.

Some time later, the Mourning Doves flock to the roof of our house and then they fly off to war at some other place.

I propose that we officially change the name from Mourning Dove to Annoying Dove. Will you sign my petition?

Frank Scoblete’s web site is www.frankscoblete.com. His books are available at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Kindle, e-books and at bookstores.

Camera Shy

“They are smart,” said my wife the Beautiful AP. “This can’t be just coincidence.”

I agreed with her. We were talking about Hooded Mergansers but such applies to almost all birds. They are smart.

Too many ornithologists come down on the side of birds just being creatures of instinct with no real intelligence. My wife and I have two parrots and let me tell you, they are both intelligent. In fact, more often than not, they outsmart me. Their goal in a day is to manipulate me; my goal is to be left alone so I can do my work. They often – quite often – win.

I guess you can say that for the Beautiful AP and for me, birds have passed our version of the Turing Test. This test was created by Alan Turing to determine if a being were actually intelligent or just a machine of some kind.

According to Turing, if a machine responds as if it were intelligent, then indeed it is intelligent. Anyway that’s what Turing’s test tries to show. I’ve just extended it to animals and birds. I agree that there are instincts (or unconscious programs) but intelligence is there, in some cases (as in parrots) that intelligence is pretty high. I assume other animals pass the Turing Test too. I am not saying animal/bird intelligence is equivalent to human intelligence; just that those minds are working.

“So why can’t I ever get Hooded Mergansers?” AP whined.

She was right. Every time we saw Hooded Mergansers they were always on the other side of the lake. We’d then walk around the lake – even a far walk – and as soon as we got to where the Hooded Mergansers had been, those rotten birds were now on the side of the lake from where we just came.

This didn’t happen just once or twice but multiple times in multiple places both on Long Island and in Cape May. Come on, they had to know they were busting the Beautiful AP’s chops. Maybe these birds had some kind of psychic connection to each other as in, “That dumb photographer is heading to Cape May from Long Island. Let’s screw around with her as our LI brethren have done. Awk! Awk!” (“Awk! Awk!” is the derisive laugh of birds.)

Next, we have a couple of Cardinals who come to our three feeders quite often. Cardinals are magnificently colored creatures; red as red can be – the males that is. The females are far plainer, but still quite pretty.

But the Beautiful AP cannot get a picture of this magnificent male bird. He will be on the feeder, beaking his food, when AP positions the camera to capture him in all his glory and then – the stinking bird will scoot over to the other side of the feeder where he can’t be seen.

“Damn! Damn it!” says AP.

The bird now peaks its head around the feeder at her. You can see it looking at her. But as soon as she lifts the camera, Mr. Cardinal scoots around back again. This does not happen with the host of Sparrows, the many Blackbirds, Blue Jays, Woodpeckers, Grackles, Mourning Doves, Tufted Tit Mice, and Black Capped Chickadees. These birds just eat and swiftly fly away when a cat crouches to kill them. No, just those miserable male Cardinals play this nerve-wracking game.

When the Cardinal was in a bush or tree, every time she lifted the camera, the damn bird would scoot behind a leaf, a branch, a feeder – anything to hide himself.

No one should ever think a bird’s brain is just a birdbrain.

AP is undeterred. She plans to have an exhibit of her bird photos in less than a year and vows to have great shots of Cardinals, Hooded Mergansers and other smarty-pants birds in the display. If I know my wife, she will prevail.

“’You must do the things you think you cannot do,’” AP said thunderously, quoting Eleanor Roosevelt.

I could be a smarty-pants myself. “’I can resist anything but temptation,’” quoting Oscar Wilde.  Then I poured myself a drink.

[Read Frank Scoblete’s books I Am a Card Counter: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Blackjack, I Am a Dice Controller: Inside the World of Advantage-Play Craps and Confessions of a Wayward Catholic! All available from Amazon.com, on Kindle and electronic media, at Barnes and Noble, and at bookstores.]