Pheasant Hunting

[Bob Peters]

I was thinking of this sport, hobby, activity, pastime, recreation. But it's really not any of those things, not to me anyways. I heard talk of roosters and hunting since I was a little kid. My dad sold all his guns before I was born. I grew up in the suburbs and never hunted. I was ate up with fishing from the word go. By total happenstance I moved across the street from a trap club, asked a buddy to borrow his gun, and shot clays all summer. One thing led to another and I invited myself along on a ND duck hunt that fall, but was told I had to get my own gun! I promptly went to the local gunstore and bought my first shotgun. Waterfowling is such a blast, it was a great trip. A couple years later I bought a MN pheasant license and went hunting at a public spot with no dog. It was fun and I even flushed a few birds. I asked my buddy to go with me a few days later. He had a brittany dog, and I'll never forget how she worked, she wanted those birds more than I ever could. When she passed away last year my buddy made her a beautiful casket and buried her up at the family property along with grouse and pheasant feathers. What more can you do for a dog that lives their entire life only to flush and retrieve game birds and please their hunting partners? I fell to luck, happenstance, and providence to become Skye's hunting partner. She taught me to hunt, how to find pheasants, and where the roosters live. She put up with a lot of bad decisions and shitty shooting and never once flagged in enthusiasm. This is an awesome site, tons of great info and members. I really appreciate all the photos and stories everyone shares of their dogs and hunting buddies. Some things in life get old and stale, I lose my curiosity and enthusiasm. One thing I never get tired of is good stories and discussion on pheasant hunting. If my time was eternal I wish I could hunt with each and every one of you, learn all about your dogs, and see them all out in the field doing what they love most, hunting wild roosters. As life goes on I can say with certainty that seeing a dog work in the field never gets old. Skye just turned 8 at the end of the season. I promised I wouldn't call her a granny dog until next season. I don't know what I'm gonna do when she checks out, other than be a complete mess. Going back to my first sentence, I mean to say that pheasant hunting is part of who I am and at this point can't ever be separated from that. I hope to be chasing these wiley old ringnecks around till I breath my last. I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing. Please give your dog a pet for me, and a scratch behind the ear.

 

[BrownDogsCan2]

I’ve got a big soft spot for old white faced goldens. Not that she’s that old , There’s a lot of livin’ left in old skye.

 

[Matt D]

Nice write up. Never easy as your dog ages and for me the reality check is when you know for sure there are less hunting seasons ahead of them then are behind them. One of my springers will be 10 when next season roles around. Knowing we are approaching the back end of his hunting career is tough to think about. Remember back to that first trip to SD with him and it seems like yesterday. Such is the reality of owning dogs, they go way to quick for sure but boy it sure is fun getting the opportunity to spend the time with them!! Cheers to all the bird dogs out there young, middle aged and old!

 

[4shot]

Just Chillin! Counting down the days

 

[Glock]

I think the relationship between owner and dog is truly special. They are all in for whatever crazy hunting plan you make while totally forgiving you when you miss an easy shot.
Want to know what I think is the best part? Walking into the door at the end of the day and having them light up the room from the excitement of seeing you.

 

[mlmich@pldi.net]

Bob, you brought a smile to my face, and a tear to my eyes. Tears of joy, like you, I have that same passion, ever since I can remember as a boy growing up in SD, now making Oklahoma home. I spend 10 days a year hunting grouse on the Rez and another 10 days hunting Roosters near Bob's Resort, where my wife and I own a trailer. The rest of the time chasing pheasant and quail in Oklahoma. Today, this a.m. I shot two quail, both Bob's (ha) over my GSP. Doesn't get any better than that. Season ends Thursday 2/15/24.

 

[Wind River]

A pic of my “Wind River’s Wild Skye” marking greenheads off a nesting island on a long slough in Sask. She was intense when feathers were involved as this was her game face. Many a Kansas rooster saw her in their rear view mirror. We made a great team

 

[Tuckr2]

For those who’ve hunted for many years, i always remember each furry hunting companion. Fortunate enough to spend time in the field with too many. Each had their own personality. Each was special in some way. While the thought of losing one hurts terribly, I know they’d want me to bring another into our home and show them how much fun and love we have to give. I cry as they age, knowing the inevitable will happen all too soon.
love em while you can. Time spent with them is always too short. Morn them when they’re gone, then please bring another into your heart. They need us as much as we need them.

 

[goldenboy]

This girl is getting up in age. She will be nine this summer but still loves the cackle of a rooster in the field. I am fortunate enought to keep their legacy going with my breeding. I hate to see them get old and it is the worst when you have to say goodbye. Thanks for the great memories to all those hunting companions of ours.

 

[Gobbler]

Thanks guys for expiring me!

They say you only get one great dog in your lifetime and in my case that is true. Having owned over a dozen hunting dogs in my life there is none that could hold a dog biscuit to my ole yellow Lab, “Cove.” He is our once-in-a-lifetime dog. Named after my cardiologist Doctor Christopher Cove who, along with some amazing EMTs saved my life one hot July 4th 12 years ago when he placed a stint in my left anterior descending artery after I’d gone into full cardiac arrest while washing my truck on a rare 4th at home and only five minutes for the EMTs. One week earlier I had been fishing hours from closes hospital . Had it hit me then, I would have ended up deader than a an flattened skunk on the side of the highway. There is no doubt in my mind my fishing buddies would have waited until the bass stopped biting before taking me to shore and then emptying my tackle box of all my good lures before calling 911.

Just a few weeks after my “widow maker” my sister drove to Wildrose Kennels in Mississippi to pick up Cove. For some reason, my wife would not let me leave home to make the fourteen-hour drive. Cove showed up at our doorstep at eight weeks of age, full of curiosity and zero fear. He was cuter than a baby panda, as only a yellow lab pup can be.

From that minute on Cove and I have been closer than two coats of paint. He is by far the smartest dog I have ever owned, needing little training to do what he did naturally. I could count on two hands how many times I have had to raise my voice at my ole buddy and after I did, I always felt worse for it. I could go on for hours talking about the hundreds of great waterfowl and pheasant retrieves he has made over the years, some of his best in Lake Ontario in four-foot waves in late November.

On our many long drives to Saskatchewan on hunting trips my buddies riding with me would often ask “is Cove still alive back there?” as he lay in the backseat, not making a peep for hours. That was until the guns came out, then he knew it was game time

Cove is now twelve years old and shuffles around like the old gentleman he is. His front elbows are in such bad shape that even a visit to Cornell University couldn’t help. Still, you never hear a groan out of him. His stoic nature is constantly commented on by the various veterinarians who have analyzed him over the years.

Although getting around is now a struggle, his eyes are clear and his appetite is still as ferocious as a grizzly. When the grandkids are here and eating anything, he shadows their every step knowing something tasty will drop at any minute. Because of his rusty joints he plops down in the worst spots possible such as the middle of the kitchen or dining room, creating this large yellow fur-shedding road block. We all just step around him or, in the case of the grandkids, literally crawl right over him knowing it would take him five minutes to get to his feet and move. He just wags his tail, glad that his family is so close.

As much as I hate to think about it, I know his days are numbered. I wanted to write this now while Cove is still with us for a couple of reasons. The first one being that I know once he goes, I will be emotionally unable to even spell his name for a long time and the second is to let him know while he’s here how much we love him and to thank him for bringing his unconditional love into our lives; and I believe possibly saving mine.

I hope when Cove reads this online over his morning scoop of Blue Buffalo, he will know how much we love our one and
only greatest dog of our lives.

Have I mention how smart he is ?

 

[mlmich@pldi.net]

Wow! That's a tear jerker, had me crying like a baby. Thanks for sharing. Any hunting dog owner can relate.

 

[4thand40]

I was thinking of this sport, hobby, activity, pastime, recreation. But it's really not any of those things, not to me anyways. I heard talk of roosters and hunting since I was a little kid. My dad sold all his guns before I was born. I grew up in the suburbs and never hunted. I was ate up with fishing from the word go. By total happenstance I moved across the street from a trap club, asked a buddy to borrow his gun, and shot clays all summer. One thing led to another and I invited myself along on a ND duck hunt that fall, but was told I had to get my own gun! I promptly went to the local gunstore and bought my first shotgun. Waterfowling is such a blast, it was a great trip. A couple years later I bought a MN pheasant license and went hunting at a public spot with no dog. It was fun and I even flushed a few birds. I asked my buddy to go with me a few days later. He had a brittany dog, and I'll never forget how she worked, she wanted those birds more than I ever could. When she passed away last year my buddy made her a beautiful casket and buried her up at the family property along with grouse and pheasant feathers. What more can you do for a dog that lives their entire life only to flush and retrieve game birds and please their hunting partners? I fell to luck, happenstance, and providence to become Skye's hunting partner. She taught me to hunt, how to find pheasants, and where the roosters live. She put up with a lot of bad decisions and shitty shooting and never once flagged in enthusiasm. This is an awesome site, tons of great info and members. I really appreciate all the photos and stories everyone shares of their dogs and hunting buddies. Some things in life get old and stale, I lose my curiosity and enthusiasm. One thing I never get tired of is good stories and discussion on pheasant hunting. If my time was eternal I wish I could hunt with each and every one of you, learn all about your dogs, and see them all out in the field doing what they love most, hunting wild roosters. As life goes on I can say with certainty that seeing a dog work in the field never gets old. Skye just turned 8 at the end of the season. I promised I wouldn't call her a granny dog until next season. I don't know what I'm gonna do when she checks out, other than be a complete mess. Going back to my first sentence, I mean to say that pheasant hunting is part of who I am and at this point can't ever be separated from that. I hope to be chasing these wiley old ringnecks around till I breath my last. I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing. Please give your dog a pet for me, and a scratch behind the ear.View attachment 7538

great picture!!

 

[Goosemaster]

Thumbs down on fishing and not hunting for years.Otherwise,good post.

 

[Bob Peters]

Thumbs down on fishing and not hunting for years.Otherwise,good post.

Goose you're an old dog that needs to learn some new tricks. Repeat after me, fishing is fun, fishing is fun.

 

[Munster927]

Thumbs down on fishing and not hunting for years.Otherwise,good post.

Thumbs down on not fishing when you can't hunt all summer

 

[A5 Sweet 16]

Goose you're an old dog that needs to learn some new tricks. Repeat after me, fishing is fun, fishing is fun.

I've threatened 1,000 times to fish (when they've been hitting) instead of hunt pheasants. It's happened exactly 1 time.

 

[gimruis]

It's happened exactly 1 time.

If we're talking ice fishing, its happened exactly zero times with this guy.

 

[Bob Peters]

I've threatened 1,000 times to fish (when they've been hitting) instead of hunt pheasants. It's happened exactly 1 time.

So I used to fish every possible chance I could. I still go a lot. Right now my schedule goes like this.

Start the year either fishing stream trout or walleye fishing if the miss river is open. Shoot a turkey in may. Bass fish until pheasant opens(I do about 7 tournaments annually). Once pheasant opens it trumps everything else. The nice thing is between late season roosters and early season trout I don't have to ice fish anymore.

 

[Goosemaster]

If we're talking ice fishing, its happened exactly zero times with this guy.

I've done it a few times.BORRING!!

 

[LittleBigHorn22]

Hooking a bass or a trout on a fly rod is a ton of fun. Doesn't fully compare to a flushing bird, but it's up there in excitement. Plus you can drink a beer and call it fishing. If my dogs tolerated sitting around more I would fish a lot more. I tend to just take them out for canoe rides to let them swim more than putting a rod in the water.