The Steves
I stepped out onto the verandah with my camera gear just after sunrise, drawn by the hush of the morning. The south-facing lawn was still in soft shadow, the grass damp with dew. I spotted some movement—quick flicks of brown low to the ground. Black-faced Grassquits, I thought. Another lifer. I managed a few shots before they scattered.
I crossed over to the north side of the house. The light there was gentler—cool, bluish, still holding the last breath of night. That’s where I found them: half a dozen Eared Doves, plodding across the lawn with that slow, nodding walk they have. Heads down, beaks brushing the grass. Foraging—seeds, probably. Maybe grasses or fallen trumpet flowers carried by the wind. One stood slightly apart, upright and watchful, while the others moved as if tugged along by the earth itself. One in particular seemed bossy, chasing the others across the lawn and sometimes briefly into the air.
Eared Dove (Zenaida auriculata) · Monday 5 May 2025
FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 2500 · 1/500 sec
XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR · 600 mm · f/8.0
Since I couldn’t tell them apart, I gave them all the same name: Steve. It started half as a joke to myself, but it stuck. For the rest of the trip, every dove I saw became Steve. Even my mum adopted the name—pointing out a bird on the verandah one afternoon with a casual, “Steve is back.”
At a glance, they reminded me of the Mourning Doves I know from New Jersey—similar in size, same sleek body lines. But when I zoomed in through the lens, they felt different. Heavier. More grounded. Mourning Doves always look a little ethereal to me, like they’re just about to lift off. These Eared Doves had more weight to them—richer tones, pinkish legs, and that small, dark crescent behind the eye that gives them their name. They looked like doves built for the tropics.
They’re common across much of South America and the Caribbean, but I don’t remember them from childhood. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention. Or maybe they weren’t here. Either way, they were new to me—another lifer—and the thrill of that settled in gently, without the rush.
Eared Dove (Zenaida auriculata) · Monday 5 May 2025
FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 5000 · 1/500 sec
XF150-600mmF5.6-8 R LM OIS WR · 600 mm · f/8.0
They’re vocal birds, usually—soft, mournful coos repeated again and again. But this morning, they were quiet. Just the occasional wingbeat as one shifted position or was startled by something I couldn’t see. I photographed them slowly, carefully. They didn’t seem bothered. It felt like I’d wandered into _their_ hour, not the other way around.
Eventually, I went back inside to make coffee. But I’d already had what I came for.
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Birds Wildlife BirdingCaribbean BirdsDorsetshire HillEared DoveLesser AntillesLifer BirdSt VincentTropical BirdsZenaida auriculata
