Outlines for Scout Workers. XII: Mourning Dove

Outlines for Scout Workers BY D. W. PARRATT, B. S XII MOURNING DOVE Who killed Cock Robin? "I," said the Sparrow, "With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin!" Who'll be chief mourner? "I," said the Dove, "For I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner!" From "Cock Robin's Death." 1. Why is the mourning dove so named? 2. It belongs to what bird family? 3. Tell of its size, color, and markings. Distinguish betwe**" t male and female in these respects. 4. Tell of the mourning dove's flight. 5. Describe its song. 6. When, where, and of what is the nest made? 7. Tell the number, size, and color of the eggs. 8. This is called the bird of the poets. Why? 9. Upon what does it subsist?

— OUTLINES FOR SCOUT WORKERS 969 10. Should it he protected? Give at least two reasons for your answer. HANDY MATERIAL The Voice of the Dove Come, listen, O Love, to the voice of the dove, Come, hearken and hear him say, "There are many tomorrows, my Love, my Love, There is only one today." And all day long you can hear him say, This day in purple is rolled, And the baby stars of the milky way They are cradled in cradles of gold. Now what is the secret, serene, gray dove, Of singing so sweetly alway? "There are many tomorrows, my Love, my Love, There is only one today." Joaquin Miller. This dove is called a mourning dove on account of the mournful sound it makes while singing. It belongs to the pigeon family and is distinguished from all other native doves and pigeons, except the white winged dove, by the dark spot on each side of the neck. The male measures some twelve inches in length and is of a grayish brown color with a beautiful irridescent patch a little below each of the spots just mentioned. His back and wings are somewhat darker than his under parts, and spots of black are found on his wings. The female is smaller than the male and her colorings and markings less contrasty and more subdued. The mourning dove, like tame pigeons, has the graceful forward and backward movement of the head, as it walks. In case of apparent danger the bird squats close to the ground and his color blends so thoroughly with his surroundings that it is nigh on impossible to see him. However, if you come too close, he springs up in an unexpected, nervous manner, and makes for safer quarters. His flight, at times jerky and irregular, is usually swift and sure. The rapid vibrations of his wings produce a sort of a dull humming sound as the dove cleaves the air. The graceful tail of fourteen white-edged feathers serves as a rudder when the bird is in flight, and spreads out into a fan to retard motion when he alights. "The mourning dove," writes C. C. Marble, "may be called the poet of melancholy, for its song is, to us, without one element of cheerfulness. Hopeless despair is in every note, and, as the bird undoubtedly does have cheerful moods, as indicated by its actions, its song must be appreciated only by its mate." Wilson, the noted bird student, speaking of this touching song, says "The : hopeless woe of settled sorrow, swelling the heart of female innocence itself, could not assume tones more sad, more tender and

970 IMPROVEMENT ERA affecting. Its notes arc four; the first being somewhat the highest, and preparatory, seeming to be uttered with an inspiration of the breath, as if the afflicted creature were just recovering its voice from the convulsive sobs of distress; this is followed by three deep mournful moanings, that no person of sensibility can listen to without sympathy. A pause of a few moments ensues, and then the solemn voice of sorrow is renewed as before." This plaintive "Ah, co-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo" is sung principally during mid-day and toward evening, especially during mating and breeding seasons. The mourning dove's nest, a carelessly built affair of a few sticks, is usually made upon some horizontal limb of a mediumsized tree, some leaning willows, a stump of tree, or on a rail fence. Often, however, it is built upon the ground under a bunch of wheat-grass, sage-brush, grease-wood, or the like. If not disturbed the birds will nest in a chosen locality for a number of years in succession. The eggs, two in number, are pure white and of about the same size as those of a common pigeon. Both male and female share the work of incubation, and both diligently care for the young. The baby doves are fed for the most part on regurgitated food, commonly called "pigeon's milk," furnished by the parent birds. This goes to make about two-thirds of the young one's diet, the other third consisting of seeds from sorrel, rag-weed, pigeon-grass and the like. As a benefactor to gardener and farmer, the mourning dove is It subsists almost wholly upentitled to serious consideration. on troublesome weed seeds and these it devours in surprisingly great quantities. In the stomach of one bird, for instance, have been found some 7,500 yellow sorrel seeds, and in another 6,400 barn-grass seeds. Reports from the biological laboratories at Washington indicate that seeds thus found have run to the almost incredible number of 9.200. Observations show that while the dove is fond of oats, rye, and wheat, he seldom takes any but waste grain. The mourning doves are very considerate of and affectionate toward each other after they become mated. A pair will usually remain mated for life and they never seem happy unless they are together. While the female is sitting, her companion supplies her with food in abundance. While not engaged in food getting, he is nearly always found close to her, often on the nest so close as to almost push her off. He crosses bills with her when he leaves and when he returns. Such habits of mutual affection have won the admiration of many appreciative poets. By them the dove is made to signify innocent love and true devotion. Note,

: : OUTLINES FOR SCOUT WORKERS 971 for example, the bit of pathos in this little dialogue from the Russian Stranger — Why mourning there so sad, thou gentle dove? Dove — mourn, unceasing mourn, my vanished love. I Stranger — What, has thy love then or faithless proved? fled, Dove — Ah, no! the sportsman wounded him loved! I Stranger — Unhappy one! beware! that soortsman's nigh! Dove — Oh, him come — or else of grief let I die. The shooting of one often brings back its mate to investigate the cause of delay.It will alight near where it last saw its companion and "give every evidence of anxious solicitude, peering about, moving its beautiful head in characteristic fashion, and sometimes uttering its sad, sweet call." These charming birds are found quite generally throughout our mountain valleys and canyons, but always within comparatively easy flight from water. They drink often and delight in frequent baths during warm weather. Their presence even among dreary sage flats is a sure indication of some spring or streamnot far away. A short out-of-town journey in almost any direction is quite certain to find at least two or three of these doves. They seek the highways for dust baths and food grit, and are easily startled into humming flight. Though at first rather shy, with kind treatment, they gradually become somewhat trustful of mankind. In winter when food is scarce, they often venture to the barnyard and feed with the poultry. There are at present twenty-one of our states having rigid laws against the killing of mourning doves during any season of the year. Unfortunately, Utah permits an open season for these birds at a time when their nestlings are in greatest need of parental care. As a result the older birds are frequently killed, leaving the helpless little ones to chill and starve to death. Such inexcusable cruelty is certainly sufficient to urge that we revise our laws to afford better protection to these beautiful and useful creatures. Would that we had no need for such laws Such, let us ! hope, will be the case when "sportsmen" "with soul so dead" attune themselves to the tender spirit of love as breathed by the poet who wrote these simple lines High on the top of an old pine-tree Broods a mother-dove with her young ones three. Warm over them is her soft, downy breast, And they sing so sweetly in their nest. "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree.

972 IMPROVEMENT ERA Soundly they sleep through the moonshiny night, Each one covered and tucked in tight; Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light, And they sing to each other with all their might. "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. When in the nest they are all left alone, While their mother far for their dinner has flown, Quiet and gentle they all remain, Till their mother they see come home again. Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. When they are fed by their tender mother, One never pushes nor crowds another; Each opens wide his own little bill, And he patiently waits, and gets his fill. Then "Coo," say the little ones, "Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. Wisely the mother begins by and by To make her young ones learn to fly; Just for a little way over the brink, Then back to the nest as quick as a wink. And "Coo," say the little ones, Coo," says she, ' All in their nest on the old pine-tree. Fast grows the young ones, day and night, Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight; Till unto them at last draws nigh The time when thev all must say "Good-by." Then "Coo," say th» little ones, "Coo," says she, And away they fly from the old pine tree. 1 J Br M^. ^^H ' ^