dovesingles.net

A mourning dove flew into one of our picture windows and died. The dove had been pecking at fallen seeds when a falcon swooped down, scattering the assortment of small animals around the bird feeder. The dove must have panicked. It flew in the wrong direction--right into the window.

I wasn't home when it happened. When I heard about it later, I regretted that the bird died, but didn't think much about it until my mom said, "They mate for life, you know."

Just then I was looking outside. Beneath the bird feeder was a solitary dove. It occurred to me that one usually sees doves in pairs, not alone. A single dove is the very picture of loneliness.

I began to feel sad. I like doves. They have a sweet, gentle look. They walk with a cute little bobbing motion that's half stately, half comic. I could easily imagine the soft, haunting sound that earned them their name emanating from a deeply melancholic bird.

As I was about to plunge over the brink of despair, my mom broke the spell.

"He'll have to find another mate", she mused. "I wonder how they do it. They can't advertise."