Kismet
UPH Guru
Well, that's what it seemed like, anyway.
Took Mick out yesterday to the public grounds. We made the trek back to the sides of the end of the property on a pretty, but bitingly-windy day. Down the slope of the grounds, somewhat out of the wind, Mick got interested and began trailing, then air-scenting, the trailing again. A bird went up, diagonally flying away from me. THIS time, I took my time, led less than I had earlier in the hunt, and fired. The bird faltered, then angled sharply to the ground. Mick was on the track at the shot, and raced down to where the bird hit.
With a lot of vocal encouragement, I carefully noted the area the bird went down, as Mick began cross-hatching the spot, stopping and perking his ears, then diving into brush, then charging short distances, changing direction, then charging again.
I figured the bird was down but running, and kept on cheering Mick in his determined attempts to get the cripple.
Up the slope, longer than a gun-shot away, the dog was racing in pursuit, zig-zagging at times, then short dashes in straight lines. About at the point where the brush changed texture, just as the high ground started leveling off, the rooster took off, cackling and flying like a champ.
Huh. Must have stunned the thing and it regained its abilities during the pursuit by the springer spaniel. Really thought it was a good hit, but I've been wrong before.
Called Mick back, but kept on arguing with myself about the apparently healthy condition of the bird that just took off, and the fall I witnessed at the gun-shot. I've been at this bird-hunting stuff for a long time, and know that the darndest things can happen, but sure seemed like "down bird" to me.
When Mick came up to me, I had him "fetch hunt," at the spot where I was standing and had thought the bird went down. He put his nose to work, and I expected him to start to recreate the pursuit track he'd just been on.
Bingo! He got serious and pushed though the grasses and short bushes, then lurched forward, and grabbed the downed bird I'd shot at! A very annoyed, and moderately-winged bird, came to my hand. I dispatched it, plopped down on my old butt, and praised the dog.
As near as I can recreate it, the flushed bird got hit by the mighty hunter, and must have crashed down darned-near on top of another bird. When Mick came charging down, the un-hunted bird took off to get away from the dog, doing its best broken field running in the brush. By the time it finally got to the change of flora and field conditions, it had had enough and took flight.
Mean-while, back at the ranch, the hunted and hit bird had taken tight cover and let the chase take Mick further and further away. If I hadn't had a pretty good sense that I'd dropped the first bird, I wouldn't have had Mick search for it, and just figured it was (another) close-but-no-cigar hunting experience.
Odd coincidence of the two birds, good dog, and stubborn old hunter--with a nice dose of dumb luck.
I like luck.
Took Mick out yesterday to the public grounds. We made the trek back to the sides of the end of the property on a pretty, but bitingly-windy day. Down the slope of the grounds, somewhat out of the wind, Mick got interested and began trailing, then air-scenting, the trailing again. A bird went up, diagonally flying away from me. THIS time, I took my time, led less than I had earlier in the hunt, and fired. The bird faltered, then angled sharply to the ground. Mick was on the track at the shot, and raced down to where the bird hit.
With a lot of vocal encouragement, I carefully noted the area the bird went down, as Mick began cross-hatching the spot, stopping and perking his ears, then diving into brush, then charging short distances, changing direction, then charging again.
I figured the bird was down but running, and kept on cheering Mick in his determined attempts to get the cripple.
Up the slope, longer than a gun-shot away, the dog was racing in pursuit, zig-zagging at times, then short dashes in straight lines. About at the point where the brush changed texture, just as the high ground started leveling off, the rooster took off, cackling and flying like a champ.
Huh. Must have stunned the thing and it regained its abilities during the pursuit by the springer spaniel. Really thought it was a good hit, but I've been wrong before.
Called Mick back, but kept on arguing with myself about the apparently healthy condition of the bird that just took off, and the fall I witnessed at the gun-shot. I've been at this bird-hunting stuff for a long time, and know that the darndest things can happen, but sure seemed like "down bird" to me.
When Mick came up to me, I had him "fetch hunt," at the spot where I was standing and had thought the bird went down. He put his nose to work, and I expected him to start to recreate the pursuit track he'd just been on.
Bingo! He got serious and pushed though the grasses and short bushes, then lurched forward, and grabbed the downed bird I'd shot at! A very annoyed, and moderately-winged bird, came to my hand. I dispatched it, plopped down on my old butt, and praised the dog.
As near as I can recreate it, the flushed bird got hit by the mighty hunter, and must have crashed down darned-near on top of another bird. When Mick came charging down, the un-hunted bird took off to get away from the dog, doing its best broken field running in the brush. By the time it finally got to the change of flora and field conditions, it had had enough and took flight.
Mean-while, back at the ranch, the hunted and hit bird had taken tight cover and let the chase take Mick further and further away. If I hadn't had a pretty good sense that I'd dropped the first bird, I wouldn't have had Mick search for it, and just figured it was (another) close-but-no-cigar hunting experience.
Odd coincidence of the two birds, good dog, and stubborn old hunter--with a nice dose of dumb luck.
I like luck.
