I Think An Inca Crossed My Path

You have to read the title out loud. Dr. Seuss is a hero of mine--or as Lynne Truss might suggest, a hero of me.

My roommate actually deigned to pick up my binoculars as she rode with me the other day. She was even willing to look at White-winged and Mourning Doves to see the differences. But she drew the line when I stopped in the road in front of our apartment to show her what I assumed was a juvenile Mourning Dove.

The more I looked at the specimen strutting about in the street, the more uncertain I was about that. I grabbed the binoculars from her and looked for myself. The dove had heavy scaly markings all over. I hadn't yet seen any Inca Doves in Stephenville, but this looked exactly as I remembered from other trips. I was only beginning to coo over it when Samantha's non-birder patience ran out and she got out of the car to walk the rest of the way. The dove flew when she shut the door; my memory mischievously tells me I saw reddish wings as it flew.

My follow-up time with the Sibley made me eager to see it again, but my strolls up and down the street were fruitless. Vainly have I watched to see it more.