Bob Peters
Well-known member
A buddy text last night, can you sneak in a hunt before work? "Say no more," was the reply.
I woke up early for coffee and English muffin with
butter and honey, threw trusty rusty in a case and off I went. Driving through suburban traffic I thought, "why the hell do I live here again?" Forty minutes later I was parked at a favorite public metro area honey hole. I met my buddy and his high school son, and their little dog Tracy, the brittany spaniel. Flushed a big bird right away but couldn't I.D. so didn't shoot, maybe a mature hen. One rooster popped out of a marsh, but we didn't get any shots. Wind at our backs, I thought little Tracy pointed, then saw her front half u-turn and go still. Her muzzle was so close to the back of her thigh I thought she was chewing burrs out of her feathering. But peering through waving grass I said " I think she hit a point.?" Yup, she was locked up all right. I stayed put and told the young hunter to move in. It took a bit, but up flushed a rooster of considerable proportions. The two of us sent a shell and down he tumbled. I had a feeling he wouldn't be down long and he wasn't. A pile of feathers is all we saw. Tracy ran and circled and snuffled around. Time ticked on and I got that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
But don't count that little dog out. She whirled and circled and found a scent and dug that rooster out from some unseen place in the cattails and cane breaks. Thanks Tracy girl. You are a young pup, but so fun to hunt with!
I woke up early for coffee and English muffin with
butter and honey, threw trusty rusty in a case and off I went. Driving through suburban traffic I thought, "why the hell do I live here again?" Forty minutes later I was parked at a favorite public metro area honey hole. I met my buddy and his high school son, and their little dog Tracy, the brittany spaniel. Flushed a big bird right away but couldn't I.D. so didn't shoot, maybe a mature hen. One rooster popped out of a marsh, but we didn't get any shots. Wind at our backs, I thought little Tracy pointed, then saw her front half u-turn and go still. Her muzzle was so close to the back of her thigh I thought she was chewing burrs out of her feathering. But peering through waving grass I said " I think she hit a point.?" Yup, she was locked up all right. I stayed put and told the young hunter to move in. It took a bit, but up flushed a rooster of considerable proportions. The two of us sent a shell and down he tumbled. I had a feeling he wouldn't be down long and he wasn't. A pile of feathers is all we saw. Tracy ran and circled and snuffled around. Time ticked on and I got that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. But don't count that little dog out. She whirled and circled and found a scent and dug that rooster out from some unseen place in the cattails and cane breaks. Thanks Tracy girl. You are a young pup, but so fun to hunt with!
