Feed the Birds: Revolting

    The two bird feeders still have some food in them, and the suet block does not yet need replenishing.  Mourning  doves do not land on the bird feeders; they move more like chickens than birds, with their slow deliberate steps.  They mustn't be able to hop onto the feeder.  So the practice here is to spread some seeds on the ground below the feeding stations so they can eat from the ground. 
     After the  snowfall the other day, the usual flock of about 20 mourning doves came but since the ground was covered with the first real snowfall of the season,  there was no way for them to eat any of the leftover seeds.  I went downstairs to the supply of birdseed and opened the door, intending to toss a few scoops of seed onto the shoveled-off pathway.  A flurry of wings and the distinctive sounds only a few dozen mourning  doves can make greeted me as I opened the door.  They were evidently waiting right at the door, or else plotting how to get inside.  I tossed a few scoops outside; the doves soon re-appeared, ate, and left.  I noticed that one of the doves stayed behind, seeming a little more huddled over, probably cold, maybe an older bird. Who knows what their lifespan is anyway.
     This morning, early, I looked out the kitchen window and saw the flock of mourning doves beneath the feeders as the other birds fed.  They were scrambling, if such is the word, to get any of the food dropped off the feeders.  So I repeated the feeding process.  As they fed, I observed from my window what does not seem like the behavior expected from any type of dove.  I saw one bird peck another in the head, as apparently it came too close to where that alpha bird was feeding.  I thought the victim might have been the huddled-over bird from the day before, but then I noted that the aggressor bird did the same for any nearby bird; he delivered swift, intense strikes to the head; I saw him with a beakful of feathers plucked from at least three different birds.  It looked as though he might have been aiming for their eyes.  I remember reading that people of certain cultures would blind canaries so that they would sing more often, not being able to discern the  difference between night and day.  People can be so cruel, but then animals  can be equally vicious, as anyone reading "Life of Pi" can attest. 
     I watched the hierarchy of bird behavior for a while, until the flock left.  Again, one of the mourning doves stayed behind.  I imagined it was the same huddled-over bird from the day before.  It seemed docile, picking at the remaining seeds.  I watched, glad it was finding food, and left with that image in my mind.  I returned a short while later to see if the bird was still there:   it was, or half of it was. In a circle of feathers, sitting atop and devouring the innards of the unfortunate bird was a large hawk of some type. It had a long dark tail.  I think it might be a kestrel.
    Post mortem:    Several hours later, kind of sickened, I look out the window again.  About half the flock of doves has returned.  This time, they stay under the feeders, scavenging for the fallen seeds.  One mourning dove has even alighted on the perch of the larger feeder, a feat I didn't think possible. None of them has approached the circle of death outlined by feathers.