Of all the crazy things that sportsmen do, dove hunting has to be one of the most idiotic. Dove hunters get up too early, and hunt when its too hot. They buy guns that are too expensive, and blast too many shells at birds that are too fast. They sit in fence rows, brush piles, corn fields, lawn chairs, deer stands, and stickery trickery berry patches. This is all in an attempt to bag a bird with a breast the size of a walnut. To make matters worse, this year Missouri's dove season started on the last day of a 3 day weekend. You would be a fool to give up sleep to pursue such trivial creatures on a holiday.
My friend and I skooched (that is correct English in Missouri) our way up the dirt path that farm equipment had left through the bean field towards some old grain bins. Our footprints grew larger as the brownish clay soil gathered on our boots. We had started at daybreak next to the grain bins along the edge of the field. Another farmer had cut silage in the next field over. We knew the doves would be meeting there for breakfast. What we didn't realize was mosquitoes eat breakfast long before doves do.
Looking straight up into the gray morning sky, I could see the mosquitoes had entered a holding pattern over my head. The smaller ones would dive-bomb me in the shoulder every now and then to distract me as the big ones were cleared for descent to aim for my face and neck. I tried to focus on the doves flying a route along a power line an eighth of a mile from us. "Holy crap!" says my hunting partner, "You have a huge mosquito on your hat". As a kid, I don't know how many times I saw Alan Hale - "The Skipper" hit Bob Denver - "Gilligan" with his skipper's hat, but I agreed to play Gilligan's role if it would stop the attack. Since the mosquitoes and my buddy were having all the fun, a relocation down the slick path to the power lines seemed like a good distraction.
Once we got situated closer to the power lines the doves decided to change course, and fly an eighth mile to either side of our new location. We discussed camo, and why the doves kept avoiding our area. I sometimes laugh at our inability to think as wild animals. If I can pick out a hunter in camo at a quarter mile, I am sure that it is much more simple for a dove flying overhead. Our new location was a bust. At least the mosquitoes didn't follow us. They were probably just too heavy at that point to fly.
Skootch - to sneak as quietly as possible from on spot to another. We skootched through the clay back toward the grain bins. As we approached our previous location, we noticed doves gathering in a dead tree just beyond the bins. A plan was quickly formed where my hunting buddy would sneak along one side of the bins, then I would walk out the other side, spooking the wary quarry towards him. I gave him about a minute before I walked out nonchalantly singing, "The movie star, the professor and Marie Ann"... Blam Blam Blam! The doves had acted as I predicted. As they passed my hunting buddy, he slung $5 down the barrel and successfully knocked one down. As he returned victorious, he tossed the bird into the bed of my truck. "You can have him", he said.
I headed for home. It felt like my truck had lost power, or that I had a greater load than when I had arrived to hunt, A mysterious object had caused a rapid decompression in a rear tire on my toy hauler. That, combined with the weight of the dove in the bed of my truck, caused my fuel gauge to drop a little as I lumbered the 3 miles home. I would need to fix that tire tomorrow... and refill the LP tanks... and put more diesel in the truck. As the calculations went through my head, I determined that dove hunting must be the most expensive way to satisfy ones desire to put meat on the table.
I remember a humorous piece by Jeff Foxworthy where he explained that his wife should be more appreciative of venison. With all of the expenses figured in, he calculated that deer meat was the most expensive meat on the planet. I beg to differ. The same 4-wheeler, trailer, pickup, an other accoutrements that were used on Jeff's deer hunt were employed on our dove outing. The difference is in the return on investment. Since I was shooting a 20 gauge, I was only throwing an ounce of shot down the barrel at a time. This was done with the hopes of earning a one ounce dove breast per shot. That is close to a one-to-one ratio. With that calculation in mind, Jeff would have had to fire a round from a battleship to knock down a 250 pound buck to be in the same ballpark. Larger game / more meat can be obtained with a comparatively teeny bullet.
So, there you have it. This article is not intended to make light of those who take their dove hunting seriously. Consider it instead as a plea for my wife to exult in my value-mindedness when I discuss another elk hunting trip to Colorado, or bear hunting expedition to Minnesota. After all, i am just trying to save us some money... comparatively.