Each year the SCWC*SD has a writing contest in which all conferees are invited to participate. The rules are simple: Write a piece in any form you wish of no more than 250 words based on the topic announced Friday night. The topic for the 21st annual San Diego conference was "Mourning/Morning." Gayle Carline of Placentia, CA is one of this year's runners up.
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"Why do they call 'em mournin' doves?"
Dean pointed his shotgun toward two grey figures in the mist. "Cause I'm gonna have me one for breakfast this
mornin'," he drawled.
Squinting through the sight, he pulled the trigger.
"Ya missed 'em, Dean."
"I know that, genius. Gimme 'nother beer."
Loading more shells in his gun, Dean chugged his sixth Pabst and handed the can to Bobby, who squashed it against
his forehead and threw it across the pasture.
The birds were now on a fencepost. Dean aimed and fired again, scattering them.
"Aw, lemme try, Dean," Bobby said. "I've only had four beers."
"You couldn't shoot straight with four eyes."
After arguing through two more beers, Dean handed the shotgun to his friend. Peering down the sight, Bobby
propped the barrel on Dean's shoulder.
"Where'd they go?" he asked, stepping left.
Suddenly, his foot found a gopher hold, throwing him backwards. The shotgun discharged, deafening Dean as the
barrel swung around to hit him in the side of the head. Both men lay unconscious in the wet grass.
The two doves watched from the fence.
"Why do they call 'em higher intelligence?" one bird cooed to the other.
"Cause they're usually higher'n a kite," the other replied.
| Copyright 2007, Gayle Carline. Used with permission. |
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