What is it about cool weather that triggers the need to hunt in the male species? It begins when dove season opens and lasts until late January with deer season of the coming year. Well, actually it began with one of my grandsons when the weather was still so hot outside, I needed to take off stuff I really needed to keep on. Eli wants to plant seed lots, put up deer feeders and set traps for all types of varmints anytime really.
The other night later in the hotness of the dusk, we saw four “would be” hunters walking around the back yard, circling our pond and pasture behind the barn, out in the openness of the pasture and all carrying 20-gauge shotguns resting on their shoulders. It would have been a nice Currier and Ives moment but they were looking up into the sky, not into trees for the doves. I’m no hunter, but I am sure that doves hide and conceal in the leaves and limbs of trees and tall grasses.
This occurrence reminded me of the one time my husband let me go dove hunting with him. If you remember, when you are young and you first fall in love, you have the concept and urge to do everything with your love. Roy was an avid hunter and loved dove hunting with a hunting dog. But he mostly loved hunting alone, unaccompanied by humans.
I had talked him into taking me dove hunting in the early dawn of a cool, misty morning, just as the sun was climbing into the sky. I had eagerly jumped out of bed and dressed for the hunt. I remember that I wore longer shorts and a sleeveless shirt — knowing as the sun rose, the heat would increase — and a pair of sandal shoes, because I’ve always wanted cool feet.
When Roy came out of the bedroom, he was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and boots. Seeing that he was still not too keen on my participating in this hunt, he looked at me with raised eyebrows and asked, “You are wearing that?” What could he mean? I looked really cute in my outfit. But knowing how competitive he was/is, I thought he might be afraid I would shoot more birds than he did.
We arrived at our hunting land and started to walk into the woods. The grasses were thick and tall, and my legs began to itch. As we walked on, we came upon a rather deep ditch filled with muddy water. He just stepped right over as if it were no trouble. Me, I tried, but with my short legs my foot hit the bottom and the mud pulled at my sandal and it stayed in the bottom of the muck. I started to call for him to wait, but he kept going as if I were not screaming out to him. I finally shrieked, “Please stop!” and foolishly I thought he was coming back to help me out of my difficulty just as a covey of birds flew straight up from the tall fescue right in front of me. He was coming back to “thank” me for scaring the birds away.
He sat me down on an old stump and asked me not to move from that spot. I still had my gun, so I figured I might still get lucky with a good shot. The grass began to move in front of me and I was a little nervous there by myself, so I shot and nearly shot Barney, his hunting dog. Thank goodness I was and am a bad shot. The thrust from the butt of the gun threw me backward to the ground, into the mud with my flipflop.
I can honestly tell you he never did let me go hunting with him again and I never invited myself. My contribution to his hunting days – I sometimes cook the downed doves he brings home. This way, we are both happy and still married to each other.
BAKED DOVE BREASTS
12 deboned breasts
1 cup cream of mushroom soup
1 diced onion, sauteed
½ cup of white wine
1 t. of oregano
1 t. rosemary
Mix all together and pour over the doves. Cover with foil and bake at 325 degrees for one hour. Uncover and add ½ cup of sour cream and stir. Bake uncovered for another 20 minutes.
