The hot Texas wind blew hard and steady from my right, and I saw the doves swooping and diving hundreds of yards away at the edges of the field. I sat in the shade of a bushy mesquite at the far end of the cut-over crop field, my 20-gauge Remington 870 ready. Waiting, waiting.
And then a handful of mourning doves sliced in from my right on a gust of wind. My shots, I knew as I took them, were going to miss, the doves riding a 25-mile-per-hour gust of wind and zooming by at Mach Dove 3. But I took the shots, anyway, and three empty Remington Game Loads shells hit the hard Texas ground to my right.