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"No bird exemplifies Latin America as much as the White-winged dove. Its coarse, "who cooks for you" call, whether heard in Phoenix, Tucson, or Alamos Sonora, always conjures up an aura of the Neotropics and a promise of exotic happenings...."
-David E. Brown,
Arizona Game Birds

The afternoon wind blew hot on the shooter hiding in the sparse shade of a white-thorn mesquite. In late December at half past three, the sun in the Mexican State of Sinaloa was relentless, and the warm, gusty wind erased any comfort afforded by the tree. Relentless, too, was the flight of mourning doves flashing overhead like windblown leaves, many of them employing the unpleasant tack of slipping sideways for no apparent reason in their headlong rush to the fields. This characteristic was not lost on the gunner, who did his best to swing with each bird before pulling the trigger. For almost 90 minutes the onslaught continued, with birds flashing through openings in the mesquite, sailing over the tops, diving down like phantoms between branches, and then leveling off just above the ground. Often it was impossible to load fast enough.

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