July 7, 2006

doveFor the past 3 months, as soon as there’s any kind of meaningful light, we’ve heard what sounds like the same mourning dove in the same tree welcoming the neighborhood to another day.

Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh ooh.
Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh ooh.
Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh ooh.

I’m not sure whether he’s a she, or vice-versa, if you know what I mean. Hey, I’m no dove expert, they all look the same to me. But every day, you hear the same call, from seemingly the same place.

Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh woo, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh woo.
Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh woo, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh woo.
Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh woo, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh woo.

Sometimes, this is abbreviated into just a…

Hoo-ooh, hoo-woo. Hoo-ooh, hoo-woo.

And, of course, sometimes you get the typical…

Hoo-hoo, hoo hoo, whoo ooh ooh woo.
Hoo-hoo, hoo hoo, whoo ooh ooh woo.

My guess is he/she’s probably conversing with other doves, claiming territory, trying to attract mates – you know, all those things important to a mourning dove. One thing I’m defintely sure of, however – I’ve never seen so many mourning doves in my life as I see around here in Arizona. But I still come back to that same dove, in that same tree, every morning:

Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh woo, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh woo.
Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh woo, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh woo.
Hoo-hoo, hooo-hoo. Woo woo hoo ooh woo, hoo ooh ooh, hoo ooh woo.

So, as a tribute to this one particularly vigilant bird, I dedicate the following lyric, sung to the tune of Lou Rawls’ “Lady Love”. Everybody sing along!

Mourning dove, your wings are brown and kind of gray to me
My mourning dove, you start the day off cooing in the tree
At least that’s how it sounds at least my wife and me
You’re a bird, you mourning dove.

Mourning dove, your wings make whistling sounds when you take flight
My mourning dove, and it continues till until you alight
On a fence or post or on a tall street light
You’re that bird, that mourning dove.

You know, it’s a pain when you build a nest
and shut our backyard down, tho’ it’s pretty hard to see
Your baby starts with one beak and two eyes
And grows bigger wings until the day it flies
To a nearby roof – what a surprise!

Mourning dove, you coo throughout the day as if without a care
My mourning dove, when you’re not flying in the open air
Your eyes stay open in a constant stare
You’re that bird, that mourning dove.

Thank you, Mr. (or Mrs.) mourning dove – you make lingering in bed each day a quiet joy before it’s time to get up and face a monster world.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 10:27 | Comments (0)
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