Sheri came in from cutting the grass with a sick mourning dove in her hands. We took it back outside and put it in the shade on the ground.* It just sat there. I gave it a little poke and it flew 20 feet and made a tumble landing. I poked it again and it did the same thing.

Sheri wanted me to kill it rather than let it get mauled alive by whatever got the rabbit last week. I picked it up and a brown murky fluid was coming out of its mouth. Yeah, this bird wasn't going to make it through the night.

I thought back to my chicken killing days on Tom's farm. I gripped its little head between the side of my thumb and the side of my index finger and gave it a good firm pull. Apparently mourning dove necks are much more tender than chicken necks because before I knew it I had the body in my left hand and a little unattached head in my right hand.

Sheri was a little shocked at how fast and quick the whole thing was over. I tossed it back on the ground with the hope that the smell of fresh blood will scare the rabbits away. I thought about putting its little head on a pike as a warning to anything that might have designs on my tomatoes, the way we used to do it with vendors at B1 as an example to the other vendors.

* We now have a new rule of "no wild animals in the house".