Dogs and Days Gone By

Pointing Dog Journal I Spring 2015

Story by Jack Hutson

“Nice shot, son!” my congratulating call for a shot, well-placed. Laughing in obvious disbelief, “You’re serious?!” was Makary’s comedic reply. Busted from its hide, the clever bird chose to swing around tall cover, instantly screening itself from Mak! In what he wistfully described later as a “typical grouse shooting technique”, the load of 6‘s caught the rooster in mid-flight! Becoming a spiraling kaleidoscope of colored feathers!

Generally notorious runners, early-season pheasants may still play the game right – in the right conditions, anyway. Though the meteorologists promised better, Opening Day began chilled wet with granite-grey skies. Raining early, foliage and the morning air remained heavy with condensation, soaking us cold! Eventually, the sun melted away clouds to welcome the warmth of an Indian-summer afternoon.

The crippling of time cast its shadow over our twelve year old matriarch setter, Skye. At just over a year of age, my hope fell to a tri-color setter pup named Tess. Having tasted spring field trial uplands and forest grouse of early autumn, she was developing into her intended role. Resembling a brown Brillo pad, Huck was an equally young griffon under my elder-son Makary’s tutelage. Our attempt to cast-out puppy enthusiasm through a drainage of tall hemlock stalks and thick clinging vegetation had brought us to this. First a hen, then the rooster and Mak’s miraculous shot!

The rush of excitement was still fresh in our conversation as we continued perhaps twenty yards for Tess to connect on another cone of scent!  Holding at first, the nervous rooster gave into the pressure! Stout wings grasping for air beneath, its arcing flight yawed to my side of the cover! Resembling a high-house station 8, my first attempt was well in front of the very close target! Following the rooster off the bead of my Browning twelve bore, I waited to gain enough distance for the slightly tighter choked upper barrel to do its job. Caught by the high-brass round the bird tumbled; bouncing onto harrowed farm ground to lie still!

We each had taken what Makary referred to as “Bonus Birds” and were set for a monumental day of opening day pheasants! After a half-mile hike we reached the large tract of excellent upland habitat; acres of CRP in wild rye and cattail marsh. A place where three children and, now, five dogs had come to hone upland hunting skills.

As we entered the cover, Tess, in youthful exuberance, bumped a hen while chasing tweedy birds! She had no idea. Then, crouching, pointing, stealthily moving ahead, both dogs tag-teamed on obviously moving birds. Across a gully distant birds flushed in panic, setting off a jail-break of wildly flushing pheasants! The ethics of questionably long shots over heavy cover and young dogs prevented any attempt. 

A bit further, Tess’s bell had been noticeably absent. Finding her staunchly on point, I eased up alongside her to flush another tight-holding hen. Giving brief chase, Tess disappeared just as a mature buck jumped up from its bed! Tess, ears laid back in terror, came bounding in great leaps through the ochre jungle! I chuckled, picturing the pup bouncing onto the back of a deer before either of them knew what hit them!

During the day we had several hens hold tight for our young canine companions. Roosters, however, succeeded in their efforts to avoid us. On our return trip both dogs pinned a rooster nicely for Makary to send off with a Franchi double-barreled salute! Splitting up to make the most of the expansive hillside, Mak took Huck up-slope, Tess and I dropped to the lower fenceline. There, she soon ferreted scent and froze to consider her next move!

The cock-bird could no longer stand the strain and, with a 25 yard head-start, the wily rooster made for the far-end of the property! I chuckled, this time at myself, for apparently being so tired that the gun’s recoil actually made me take a step back! Coaxing Tess with whistle and words of praise, she returned my last bird for the day before my pipe was lit!

A brace of pheasants amply filled our vests. Of greater consequence was the fullness of the time spent. The patience of pointing companions allow their hunters the opportunity to visit in stride; the right ones let us do that. We reminisce about dogs and hunts and kindred events of a shared past. Someday, on another hunt, we will recount this time and place.

A new edition to the dogs and days gone by.