I use to hunt doves every September when dove season came in. Also, my two son’s and friends would go, we would have a great time wing shooting doves, and I looked forward to this time every year. I grew up in a hunting family, and I tried to get my father who was an excellent turkey and deer hunter to go Dove hunting with us. Each time I asked him, he would decline. He would simply say, “They (doves) are birds of the Bible and you shouldn’t hunt them.”
Then in September 1989, my dad passed away. He died of a massive heart attack at his home. Everyone was shocked by his sudden death. On the day of his funeral, after services, dad was buried in a new cemetery that had recently been open by family members when their son had been beaten to death and was buried there.
After graveside service was finished, our family went back to my parent’s house. A cousin of mine and her daughter arrived in the afternoon, they had missed the funeral, and my cousin wanted to see where my dad was buried. So I, my cousin, her daughter, my sister and her husband, drove to the top of the mountain where the cemetery was located.
The grave had been filled, and the flowers had been arranged on the grave. What next is unbelievable, but true! Tears came to my eyes and forever ended my dove hunting because where there had never been more than two doves seen in the area of the cemetery, the flowers on my fathers grave were covered with the breast feathers of many, many doves. To this day, I’ve never hunted doves again, and I can still hear my father say “They are birds of the Bible and you shouldn’t hunt them.”