Bob Peters
Well-known member
I was just looking at old pictures and thinking of hunting trips past. Overall I've been pretty lucky. Skye's had her ear sliced by something and bleeding like crazy, ran into barbed fences, stepped on and went through cocklebur thickets, tumbled down deep ditches, ran her underside raw, fallen through ice in deep sloughs and had her eye swelled shut by running cattails all day. Through all this she's always wanted to keep hunting. I've felt bad when I had to shut her down out of precaution. I know others on this board have had much more happen to dogs afield. Even now after having been initiated into the loyal brotherhood of rooster rousers, having walked a few hundred miles and shot a few flats of shells at wild wily roosters, I'm still slack-jawed at the things a good dog'll do to get a bird.
I know with the marginal ground I hunt, my poor shooting abilities, and overall struggles to achieve even a basic level of proficiency at pheasant hunting, I want to bag that rooster more than anything. But then I see Skye and she's more than a few notches above me. When I'm lucky enough to drop a bird and she parades him around I'm happy to praise her, step back and take it all in. I realize a fully trained dog would retrieve to hand immediately, drop the bird in my paw, and go back to hunting. For me, I'll never be able to pick out one single thing that makes pheasant hunting the best thing I've ever done. I love the land, I love the precious few buddies who share it with me, a gun familiar as the back of my hand. A shot well placed and a rooster dropping to the earth for the last time.
A lonely road in the predawn light to a hopeful hunting ground or a long days end, sweat smeared brow, and sunset over untrammeled grasslands and marshes that only a hunter could appreciate. I've heard many reasons hunters love to hunt. The camaraderie, the after-hunt celebration, the delicious recipes, the landscape, the excitement of the hunt. I agree with this, such great things. And the dogs of course.
It all comes into play with me. Just taking the dog for a walk without the chance to harvest a rooster wouldn't be the same. And walking without a dog and harvesting a bird wouldn't be the same either. In my thoughts traversing the beauty of creation can't be surpassed by anything, but the dog is the glue that holds everything together.
Skye's gotten a little older, sometimes she gets a sore shoulder. I'll continue to take her hunting every chance I get. Not for my own sake alone, but for her's too. She loves it more than me. It's hard to explain to someone who doesn't hunt, even those who own and love dogs, the connection between a hunter and a dog he treasures more than anything. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but the bond between hunter and faithful dog can't be described by any words.
I suppose I've just posted here to get my feelings out as it's the offseason. Anyhow, if you've got a brittany, a springer, a lab, golden, griff, german, french, or other dog I've failed to mentioned, please give a belly rub or ear scratch, and be thankful for the time you get to spend with them.
I know with the marginal ground I hunt, my poor shooting abilities, and overall struggles to achieve even a basic level of proficiency at pheasant hunting, I want to bag that rooster more than anything. But then I see Skye and she's more than a few notches above me. When I'm lucky enough to drop a bird and she parades him around I'm happy to praise her, step back and take it all in. I realize a fully trained dog would retrieve to hand immediately, drop the bird in my paw, and go back to hunting. For me, I'll never be able to pick out one single thing that makes pheasant hunting the best thing I've ever done. I love the land, I love the precious few buddies who share it with me, a gun familiar as the back of my hand. A shot well placed and a rooster dropping to the earth for the last time.
A lonely road in the predawn light to a hopeful hunting ground or a long days end, sweat smeared brow, and sunset over untrammeled grasslands and marshes that only a hunter could appreciate. I've heard many reasons hunters love to hunt. The camaraderie, the after-hunt celebration, the delicious recipes, the landscape, the excitement of the hunt. I agree with this, such great things. And the dogs of course.
It all comes into play with me. Just taking the dog for a walk without the chance to harvest a rooster wouldn't be the same. And walking without a dog and harvesting a bird wouldn't be the same either. In my thoughts traversing the beauty of creation can't be surpassed by anything, but the dog is the glue that holds everything together.
Skye's gotten a little older, sometimes she gets a sore shoulder. I'll continue to take her hunting every chance I get. Not for my own sake alone, but for her's too. She loves it more than me. It's hard to explain to someone who doesn't hunt, even those who own and love dogs, the connection between a hunter and a dog he treasures more than anything. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but the bond between hunter and faithful dog can't be described by any words.
I suppose I've just posted here to get my feelings out as it's the offseason. Anyhow, if you've got a brittany, a springer, a lab, golden, griff, german, french, or other dog I've failed to mentioned, please give a belly rub or ear scratch, and be thankful for the time you get to spend with them.
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