My neighbor, who thankfully lives a couple of doors away from me and is also the one who asked me recently if I enjoyed fishing, had another question for me the other day.
His inquiry solidifies my growing inclination to that I should really hide when I see him coming.
Why? For one reason, he fancies himself as an avid outdoorsman — hunting and fishing being his specialties. And on this visit, he took exceptional glee in stumping me with a trivia question of the hunting variety.
I’m not a big fan of hunting. Sure, I enjoy a good venison steak or sausage, and have been known to put away some serious rabbit, wild boar and even rattlesnake. But the activity of hunting resembles very little of the definition of “sport” in my mind.
So the fact that this neighbor’s main objective for this visit was to stump me with a simple question will have me peeking out my window and scanning the area for this orange hat-wearing individual before emerging outside from now on.
Oh, the question?
He asked me if I knew what the plural was for a group of dove-style birds.
Actually, I probably should have known, since I came here almost 18 years ago from Texas, where dove hunting is second only to deer hunting in popularity. Apparently, “doves” is the wrong answer — at least according to Mr. Orange Hat.
Since this question was posed, I have done some checking and found that, when it comes to the plurals of animal groups, we Americans can’t seem to pluralize very well. I would bet that Scotland High’s Meg Johnson understands from where I am drifting here.
Anyway, as an example, why we don’t pluralize the names of fish is a mystery. Instead, anglers will say they “caught some trout, two bass, four salmon and 10 carp.” A blatant fish story, for sure, but that’s not the point here.
Little do people realize that “trouts” and “salmons” are also correct as plurals. It’s also a safe bet that most people couldn’t care less, as well.
But how did this perplexing pluralization puzzle pop up? I think it’s the outdoorsmen themselves who are at fault (take that, Mr. Orange Hat). For some reason, they tend to ignore the plural forms when referring to animals in the wild. They come home and tell the wife they “killed two bear and three boar.”
To complicate the matter, there is this dilemma: If gooses are called geese, why aren’t mongooses called mongeese; and if mouses are called mice, why aren’t spouses called spice?
Fortunately, an almost complete list of animal plurals was left to the world by that remarkably curious 19th-century scholar, the Rev. Ebenezer Cobham Brewer. In his Dictio0nary of Phrase and Fable, Brewer tells us that an assemblage of foxes is a skulk; many peacocks make a muster; and several larks are an exaltation.
He also claims that a group of choughs is a chattering; of crows, a murder; of elk, a gang; kangaroos, a troop; nightingales, a watch; goldfinches, a charm; leopards, a leap; gnats, a cloud; and kittens, a kindle.
Of course, it all gets even more complicated if the group you are speaking about suddenly takes flight. For instance, geese are merely a gaggle on the ground, but when they fly they are a skein. Bet Mr. Orange Hat didn’t know that!
Something else he may not realize: If the weather is just right and you live out in the country, on any given afternoon you may be able to sit on your back porch among a hover of hawks, a repertory of mockingbirds or an underground of gophers.
I admit that I still have no verified idea of what you call a bunch of doves, but for some reason a “soap” comes to mind. I’ve been told that, while alive they are a flock when congregating and when they are dead … well, they are a meal.
But in actuality — according to a lifelong Texan and friend of mine — dead doves are referred to as “a mess.”
Seriously.
W. Curt Vincent can be reached at 910-506-3023 or cvincent@laurinburgexch.wpenginepowered.com.