A 330-word Biography of the Eurasian Collared Dove
Equipped with graphics, myths, and sweeping generalizations.
The bird
Eurasian collared doves — named for the black “collar” around their necks — are cream-colored soft-gray curious copulative little birds native to Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. They are members of the pigeon and dove family — Columbidae — along with native mourning doves, their “less chunky relatives,” as one birder puts it.
In the 1970s, a cageful of collared doves escaped from a pet-trader in the Bahamas. They have since moved into nearly town in America, including my alleyway. Some say that they have “colonized” the country, but of course birds do not colonize (no land-grabs, no government-sponsored assimilation programs, no genocide, no intergenerational trauma, etc.). They flock. And eat and poop and watch and have bird sex and say things to each other.
Some consider them a “harmless” invasive species, though the Texas Institute of Invasive Species is (perhaps predictably) still suspicious of these cooing migrants.
The myth
The authors at Allaboutbirds.org claim that the collared dove’s species name — Streptopelia decaocto — comes from the Greek myth of Decaocto, “a servant girl transformed into a dove by the gods to escape her unhappy treatment; the dove’s mournful cry recalls her former life.”
Collared doves, as well as native mourning doves, “coo.” Both the collared doves’ throaty call, and that of their spectral cousins, are sometimes mistaken for an owl’s.
The Laugh
But collared doves do not just mourn. They also whine. It is a nasal, uncomfortable sound produced when landing, or taking off from a perch. “Mheh! Mheh! Mheh!” It sounds like that. Like a 4-year-old with strep throat begging you for juice.
Sometimes, it sounds like laughter. Heeh! Heeh! Heeh!
If collared doves do not actually mourn their human past, they seem to be laughing at our human present.
Author’s note: It must be said: I love them. These chunky little mice, these un-employed angels, these non-native fluttering gray sacks of weightless bone watching us, without blinking, from the eaves.