Seven Deadly Decoy Set-Ups for Doves

A barren patch of dry dirt caused dust clouds to appear with each step. Several gray plastic decoys had been strategically placed. Some appeared to be feeding on remnants of sunflowers seeds that had spilled onto the ground from all the picked brown disks drooped to one side. They stood like forgotten lifeless sentries in a field that was once adorned with oversized yellow flowers the size of dinner plates. A metal pole inserted into the ground would be the anchor for the lifelike dove that would be perched atop. Spinning. Drawing attention to other gray birds. Enticing them to fly close so its handler may fire hot lead or steel. 

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A Backyard Dove Hunt From the 1980s

Amongst the suitcases in the Chevy Astro Van, was my father’s new Remington 1100, along with the Montgomery Ward’s 20-gauge pump shotgun. It had been 18 hours since we had packed the shotguns and left Kansas City. The trip had been filled with quick bathroom dashes, meal breaks on the go, and was very long. Accompanying the four of us, was my mother’s father, Abuelito Jorge, who was visiting from Guatemala. We were determined to arrive on time to partake in a family dove hunt.

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“THE RED.” From Father to Son…Wood and Metal Passed Down.

The first time I saw my father’s brand-new shotgun, he was using a small white towel to wipe down the twin barrels. The long blue metal stacked tubes glinted with the bouncing light off the room. The shotgun was less than a day old. He had saved his money for months. When the time had come, he went down to the local gun shop where he had first laid eyes on the Ruger Red Label.

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Dove Hunting with a Department Store Shotgun

Standing in between the edge rows in a field of standing corn, I loosely grasped the wooden forend of the mid-1970s-era shotgun. The shotgun felt strange in my hands. Unorthodox. Yet, the connection had been in the making for over 40 years. The same amount of time had passed for the slightly tight-fitting “brown duck” (think Carhartt) colored game vest I had donned that morning. Yellow shells sat loosely in the outstretched dark brown shell holders on the vest. Was I grasping at memories?

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