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From The Publisher's Desk
I heard them every morning making those lovely unmistakable cooing sounds. A neighbor once said she thought those were the hoots of owls, but I set her straight. No morning owls here on Freeman Street, just melodic Eurasian collared doves singing sweetly to each other from the moment the sun comes up.
Happier times on Freeman Street when a couple dozen doves would show up for breakfast every day. The Daily Triplicate/Michele Thomas
These days I sit by the window drinking my coffee and watching for them. Sometimes they sit on overhead telephone wires looking down at me in the living room and occasionally they fly over the front yard. But they don’t stop here much anymore.
I’d like to go outside and explain the reason why I’m not serving them breakfast anymore, but I know how ridiculous that sounds. Besides, they always fly off when I open the door. I’m feeling awful about cutting them off cold turkey like this but I’m sticking to my guns.
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