Mind-reading Dove

I wrote a blog entry recently on cross-species communication. I've been privileged to have a few magical experiences of this kind of interaction. Recently I encountered a mourning dove, who I imagined might be reading my mind—although he ended up by misconstruing my thoughts... or so I whimsically decided.

We have half a dozen or more resident mourning doves in our little clearing. They are a beautiful bird and are fun to watch. They have a characteristic whistling sound that their wings give off when they fly, something unique to them. A dove will charmingly waddle around the feeder tray, downing multiple sunflower seeds—stashing them in its neck pouch for later digestion.

Doves sometimes flock together and at other times feud with each other—especially at the feeder. One of these doves has recently taken to becoming king of the feeder. He chases off any dove that dares to challenge him. He will fly down and perch near or on the feeder—seemingly not interested in eating, while he patiently waits for another dove come to dine. He aggressively chases each one away, then returns to claim his kingly roost. King Dove on his throne!

Mourning doves are very skittish birds. I cannot get closer than 40-50 feet away, before they burst into the air and fly away on their “whistling wings.” In contrast, a tiny chickadee will land almost with arm's reach on the feeder and calmly choose a seed—hardly paying me any attention.

On a couple of occasions recently, however, I have been reposing meditatively in the outdoor tub, as I observed this pugnacious dove shoo away his fellows and then settle down to keep his kingly watch. Surprisingly, he tolerates my presence, rather than get spooked and leave. I like to think that my calm state of being emboldens him, as I send him mental messages such as, “Don't be scared. I'm harmless. Relax, King Dove.”

We both then settle in, each intently eying the other. If I move, I do so extremely slowly. He bravely stands his ground, as if he's sending me a mental message, “Move slowly, now. I don't really trust you and your kind, but you seem to be non-threatening.” Is he learning to trust me? Is he deciding to break new ground in the dove-human communication field?

We watched one another for several minutes and then suddenly he flew off—just when I thought we were bonding. What scared him? Was his abrupt departure a coincidence, or did I do something to spook him? I'm sure I didn't move.

Then I realized that, at the moment he flew off, my mind had drifted to a conversation I'd had with a neighbor a couple of days earlier, when he told me about some local people who had taken up dove hunting. Was that it? Did the dove read my mind and get terrified by my thoughts of shooting him and his kind? If so, he probably wasn't sophisticated enough to realize that I would never shoot him. Maybe he simply misconstrued my involuntary thoughts.

It was too late to reassure him, if he indeed had read my thoughts and flew off in fright. Maybe my thoughts of some other human gunning down a dove had set back this cross-species experiment in trust. Will he return another time and give me another chance? This research into cross-species communication requires a deep well of patience. I'll be back in the tub soon, little King Dove.