When Mourning Doves Get Frisky…

you know spring is close at hand.

I wish I had a picture. Maybe you’re glad I don’t.

So anyway.

Here’s the story.

The usual statuesque mourning doves were all hoppy. Which caught my attention.

I thought to myself, how funny, the normally placid and peaceful, staid and reserved Mourning Doves are a bit flitty and hoppy and bobby.

The one with the other. And then the other with the one.

The male (I suppose) hopped about in a pattern.

And the female (I think) turned her tail to him and bobbed away.

Hmmm. I continued to observe.

Oh my.  Look at those doves.  (Again, I thought to myself, for there was no one to reveal my thoughts to, and more to the point, no one really interested it there was one present to reveal my thoughts) So I thought rather than uttered, those mourning doves are frisky. By golly, I think they’re about to…

Well. Truth be told. It took more time than I had for anything much to progress. Time as a factor, I abandoned my watch.

This is all to say.

The mourning doves were frisky.

Spring must be on the way.

When Opportunity Knocks

You know. Some days. You just have to go with it.

I was going to get all serious and post about the tragic theme of The Iceman Cometh (which I saw last night at the Goodman. And is amazing!)  And contemplate how far we have not come as a species in the past 73 years since the play was penned by Eugene O’Neill.

How we still lust after a better life, thinking the one we have is never enough. Not wanting to face reality. We escape in any way we know how. Drugs. Drink. Consuming. Gaming. Sporting. Anything to get away from what our life is.

Even though. It’s all we’ve got. And really. There is no getting away.

And so!

Rather. I’ve decided to post about all the opportunities that I was given to laugh at myself today.

First off.  I stood at the top of the stone steps of the lovely barricaded front doors of Henry’s middle school patiently waiting to be let in. I pushed the buzzer. And pushed the buzzer. No response. I was getting kind of huffy. After 10 minutes of feeling like a total rejected dunce. I gave up. Walked around to the alternate entrance and rang the bell.

And was immediately let in.

And was immediately aware. That while at the front door. I was pushing the wrong button for 10 minutes. Duh! and ha ha ha ha!!

Later in the day.  I’m sitting in the Adirondack chair. Reading for a bit. When. I feel something lightly touch my leg. Bird poop. I look up. A Mourning Dove is perched o the wire above me. And has pooped on me. Silly dove. Kind of funny. I clean it off.  Some time goes by. Still reading. What am I?  A target? Yes. The Dove returns and poops on me again.

Am I the only person who thinks getting pooped on by the same dove twice in 30 minutes is kind of funny?

And finally.

My Two Right Boots.

Every spring. My little pond needs to be stood in and cleaned out. Every spring I laugh at myself. Because somehow. I came home from the Sporting Goods Store with Two Right-Footed Waders.

And I kept them.

Because every spring. When I put them on. And look down. And see my feet pointing in the same direction. They give me the opportunity to laugh and laugh and laugh.