legend has it that Theodore Roseveldt shot the last free range buffalo in North Dakota, went on to become argueably the greatest conservationist of all time. We hunters are odd lot! No other endeavour I can think of is such where the adversaries are so closely linked in a struggle between life, death, and preservation. As the old adage say's we manage and care for the species, and I mean hunter and hunted alike, the individuals on either side are passengers on the voyage, but unimportant in the grand scheme. Troy, I had an old rooster years ago in NE Kansas, we would see him out in the open along the only cover in a quarter section of cut corn, a weedy small drainage ditch, you'd swear wouldn't hide a sparrow. We hunted it for two years, took some young birds out of it, never a sign of the old boy, never a flush, anything, like he disappeared, one day my young setter starts barking, and we find her digging furiously in an old badger hole, my friends start laughing, right up to the point she pulls her head out with a mouthful of rooster feathers! You guessed it the crafty old devil watched us start to work and went to ground everytime. That was his undoing, we put the longspur to bag, but I never drove by that parcel without looking for him there after, and feeling a little sorry not to see him strutting around. The cat and mouse game was the best part. I never felt bad or diminished as he made fools of us.