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  • This morning, I continued to hear the lonesome song of a male Mourning Dove. I knew he was looking for a lady friend. I felt bad for the old guy. I found myself really rooting for him, hopeful that today was his day!

    “oo-wah-whooo-whoo”, he sang his soft perch song out to the potential mates of my backyard bird world, “oo-wah-whooo-whoo”.

    Birds, like myself sometimes, can’t remember a damn thing. They can only articulate their most pressing needs.

    “oo-wah-whooo-whoo,” he sang out, asking again "Who, Who?" just there, beyond the scattered brush beneath the beech and oaks.

    While the simpleton demanded: “Where are my keys!?”
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