The Guiltless Doves

On my solo TNR, I discovered I'd wrongly accused doves of terrorizing me.  Last year at this time, when I started running at night, there were many times when a bird would fly up right next to me.  Once I even felt one's feathers.  I cursed them.  Unstrung became more so when they went up (mostly due to my reaction to them; I startle big).  The Squirrel said she thought they were stupid birds.  I spent a year thinking they were the either mean or stupid. 

Tuesday, heading up the hill across the street, one went up immediately on my left.  Screaming, then swearing.  Damn doves.  I was doing two loops, on the way back up the hill, I reminded myself to be on the lookout for the dove.  What's this?  In the middle of one tractor track, was the prettiest little bird.  I'd never seen a woodcock so close up.  It was beautiful.  I got very close before it went up.  This time I was very prepared.  A little wave of guilt ripples through me.  I didn't hate the woodcock at all, but I'd instantly damned the dove.

On the way back down the hill, I reminded myself to be prepared, to steel myself against the startle.  Nope, the little guy wasn't back yet.  Yeah, right!  He'd just moved far enough down the path to lull me into complacency.  When I startled, instead of being mad, I smiled at the bird.

I got in just under 4 miles.

Wednesday was the reconvening of the IRS!!!  I looked forward to the fun of sharing the weirdness of running the fields at night.  I told Unstrung all about the woodcock.  Of course, we named him Dick.  That led to all kinds of silliness.  If someone names their son Dick, they should call their daughter Vagina.  Yup. When I suggested maybe we should go with Peter to be more subtle, Xar was sure the bluntness was more appropriate. 

Dick did not disappoint.  Unstrung was flapped.  And then again.  The second time, at least, she got a good look at Dick.  A great start to this season's IRS.