Donuts to Doves

Sound intriguing?  It's not.  Just two things my mind locked on while drinking my morning coffee.  OOOhhhhh, my coffee!  So good!  Fresh Starbucks coffee beans provided by our Lori, a niece that takes care of our caffeine needs.    See photo of Lori......yes, she's a cutie-patootie and she will probably hate that I put her picture on here.  So between her providing the coffee beans and my roommate/favorite guy, preparing and brewing said coffee, my mornings are generally a delight!  I get up to a fresh cup of Starbucks, curl up in my favorite chair and wait for the brain cells to wake up and sprew out a couple of tentative waves.

Where was I?  Oh yes, my mind.  Anyhoooo......

normally, I just sip my coffee and listen to the chirping sounds in my head.  But, this morning I had two rather scrambled images.  Donuts!  Maybe I could make some.  Doves.......where did they go?  Wouldn't you just know, there is a story to follow both these images. (Sorry, but I did hint that my morning thinking processes may be a little .....uhhhhh.....off.)

I haven't actually made donuts since the kitchen fire of 1968.  Yes, I started that fire and wouldn't you know, donuts were the direct cause.   In a nutshell (remember.....this is MY nutshell),  I was having a quiet afternoon because Bob had taken out oldest daughter, Colette with him somewhere and Rhonda, a baby at that time was sleeping in her crib.  For whatever reason I decided homemade donuts would be just the ticket.  While the first batch was cooking away in the pan of hot grease, the phone rang.   I dashed from the kitchen to answer the phone before it woke the baby and just the act of being distracted for a moment was enough to make me forget I was cooking.  I chatted away with whoever was on the end of the line and after awhile noticed smoke creeping out of the kitchen.  I don't know if smoke actually creeps of if it's more of a slithering motion.....but, suddenly it was in the room where I was, and obviously that was NOT the kitchen.  I threw the phone receiver (belated apologies to whoever I was chattering with), ran in the kitchen and was faced with a flaming pot of grease.  The grease had apparently  splattered on the wall behind the stove and was started a fire there as well.  I can't began to express what it feels like when your whole body goes numb and terror soaks into core. OK, I guess I can express it since I just did.  Fortunately there was one part of my brain still thinking logically (I guess we can agree that it was a very small part considering the whole stopping to chat on the phone thing),  and remembered to grab something to smother the fire.   Luckily I had a large box of baking soda (baking soda was all I'd been taught in that type of emergency.  Heaven only knows what I'd been smothering it with if I had discovered baking soda, all gone.  I was young so I hadn't had a lot of crisis methods put into my learning chamber yet.) 

Bob returned with Colette just at the right time to view my meltdown.  I was standing in the middle of a kitchen covered in baking soda and smoke, while shaking and crying.  I could only blubber and stammer while he plied me with questions.  Thank goodness he was gentle about it because just one shout probably would've made me pass out.  He lead me into the living room, directed me to sit down and he proceeded to clean the mess in the kitchen.  Have I ever mentioned I'm crazy about this man?

Anyway, to make a long story, short........seriously, did you REALLY think it would be short?.......I have not made homemade donuts since that day, over 40 years ago.  So why am 

I thinking about it now?  Don't know.  Just sounded good.  If I do it, I just won't answer the phone if it rings, and I will make Bob sit in  the kitchen.

Ahhhhh, of course you're curious about the doves 

which I just happened to have a picture of.  But, you knew that, didn't you?  The story behind the doves is this, and yes....I really did have a reason for thinking of them.

One morning last summer we were prowling around the yard tending to the flower gardens when we noticed this poor, white dove hobbling into our yard.  She was injured and looked very pathetic.  She just collapsed under one of our trees.  I'm a soft touch for anything that's hurt, so I put a bowl of water near her along with some birdseed.  Of course, that's an invitation to most any critter to hang around.  She seemed to get worse every day despite our best efforts to help her.  Oh, let me mention we had called every association we could think of to see if someone would pick her up and give her some needed doctoring.  Nobody would!  So, it was left up to us.  

After a couple days, black birds started gathering in the tree above where she was  huddled,  rather like vultures.  They were aggressive and scaring her to death, so Bob went out with the  air rifle he uses to disband marauding wild turkey's and herds of deer, and shot into the tree, which made them leave and stay away.  

After a week or so, under our tender loving care, she mended enough that she would fly up on our roof and stay near the edge where she could see us come and go.  In the meantime,  I named her "Misty" since she had appeared on a very foggy, dewy morning.  It was my responsibility to do so since Mr. Bob didn't feel he was type of guy to name a bird.  That would change.

One morning we were once again doing our morning outdoor chores when Bob happened to look up into one of the trees when he heard a cooing sound and there was Misty with another dove!  This dove was white with dark marks on his chest, like tire tracks.  Bob.....who does name birds it seems.....shouted, "let's call him 'Master!"  Oh please!  Only a guy who doesn't name birds, would on his first effort, come up with "Master".  That didn't fly with me so I named it "Roadkill."  Get it? Dark marks....tire tracks....roadkill?   Oh, just look at the picture and you'll see what I mean. 

This pair stayed together all the time except for one brief dalliance Misty had with a mourning dove.  I told her she was a slut and ordered her  to stay with Roadkill,  so she did.  They became our pets and would coo below our kitchen window when they wanted food.  They wouldn't eat from the bird feeders like the other birds, nor would they eat food laid out by me.  It had to be placed in one spot on a step by Bob.  They were just cute in their strange little habits.  When we'd head for the driveway to get in the car they'd be perched on the roof eave cooing to us as we left.  

The last we saw of Misty and Roadkill was the morning  last fall when we loaded the car for a one month visit with our daughter Colette and family.  When we returned we hoped to see them but didn't think it was likely because the weather had turned cold.  We haven't seen them since that last day in October.  We had their company for about 5 months, and we'd often have our morning coffee on the deck and watch them interact with one another and with us.  We're hoping they'll return this Spring.  Who knows, maybe they'll return with a family. 

So, there you go,  donuts and doves.  Be glad I don't blog about ALL my morning thoughts.