At Least We Won't Starve

Dove is edible? Those pretty birds that symbolize love and peace are hunted? Yes. There is a season for them. And it has begun. Part of Adam's job is to court people in the business—for their business. So he gets paid while experiencing fun and new things with the client. He's been dove hunting twice now…during work days. Awesome!

According to the other "dudes" Adam is a good shot. He hit the most on the last run, and brought back the maximum birds allowed. He said he's surprised he actually hits anything. (Not that he's bad, it's just that the birds are so small.)

After shooting the bird, the hunter finds the bird and quickly pops off the head. It's a quick and humane death for the animal. Adam said it's extremely easier (physically) than he thought it would be.
One bird he fetched for a fellow was still quite alive, awake and blinking and looking around. That one was hard to kill, "It was looking at me," he said. He took it back to the guy saying, "You're going to have to do this one."

To clean the birds you just stick your thumb up under the breast plate and rip the breast out. Then rinse off any feathers. Look it up on Youtube. It's the only edible part (well, the only part we eat anyway) and comes away easily. It's a dark red meat and very small. The meat has a texture a little similar to liver, especially if its been marinated. I don't mind it and am curious to try new ways to cook it. It was fun trying something new.

So, now I know… doves are an option—as long as we have a gun and there are doves we won't starve.

Addendum
After posting this my Dad responded with this story:

When I was a kid, I went dove hunting many times with my dad and his dad ("Baba" to me). I remember waking up in the dark and being out in the fields before dawn. I still can smell the pungent safflower crops we crouched in, keeping quiet and low to the ground. Baba's black retriever would run out and scare up the birds and bring the fallen ones back. My job was to put them in a canvas bag. Those mornings were chilly and the soft little bodies warmed my cold hands. At Baba's house I helped pluck the feathers. Blood made it a sticky mess. At home, Mom would bake and serve the doves whole. We learned to suck all the meat morsels off every tiny bone and to chew carefully because of the BBs. When we had a meal of dove, duck, pheasant, or venison that my dad had hunted, it always seemed to us a special family feast.