Wings on the River: The mourning comedian

Driving through a remote, steep oak forest, I saw a brown dove land a few yards ahead. Blinded by the sun, I thought it had flown away. But when I drove past, it was still there, bobbing about on the road verge. I parked, and it didn’t react — just kept padding over the dirt clods on shocking-pink feet. Sun-spots highlighted the patch of pink and emerald iridescence on its long neck. The pointy, slender tail and black dots on the wingtips confirmed its identity as a Mourning Dove — an elegant oak forest resident the color of delicately toasted bread.

This forest isn’t grazed and still had a rich understory of native grass, shrubs and wildflowers, which supports lots of native insects and thus, lots of native birds.

The mourning dove carefully tested a dried grass stem, but found it still attached to the roots. It tried another, but found it too long to grasp. It tugged several more, yanking and balancing, before finally locating a medium-long bunchgrass seed-stalk from last year which apparently satisfied it, and sneaked away to a certain tree. As it took off, the pinions of its wings whistled in a sharp un-secretive way, like a piccolo whispering.

To sing, the dove balloons its soft pink neck (the iridescent spot sparkles) and releases a sad, three-note lament. The pair builds a nest so flimsy, you can see right through the 8-inch circle of pine needs, grass and a few twigs — which the male passes to the female while standing on her back, for some reason. Birdwatchers often put supportive cones of chicken wire in trees to support dove nests, hoping nests built in them will be less likely to just disintegrate.

Often, the birds just assemble the whole business on the ground. Or they’ll nab somebody else’s second-hand empty nest. Much safer!

Then they eat seeds (up to 17,200 bluegrass seeds at once — and, if unlucky, up to 43 bits of seed-like lead shot) and secrete a milky substance from their crop, on which they’ll feed six or so broods of two nestlings each.

Premier game bird in North America? Yes. Hunters bag 20 million annually. But with multiple nests, the ability to survive on seeds and brackish water in the desert and live for 30 years, Mourning Doves still maintain a population of perhaps 350 million. In fact, between 1966 and 2019, their population “only” declined by a fifth! This makes them uncommonly lucky.

Which makes me happy, or at least less sad, because life among the oaks could get lots more boring without those little ridiculosities mourning around.