I just returned from my annual trip to South Dakota 11/4 through 11/13. This year I brought my almost 13 year old lab Sadie with us to South Dakota. She was not there to hunt but just to spend time in the hotel room and no be left home alone in the kennel. I knew that she did not have long left as I loaded her into the truck for this trip. Cancer sucks by the way it does not matter if you are a person or a dog. My last hunt for this year was a walk with the old girl down a section line. She walked for about 200 yards and could not go on. I set down my shotgun and carried her back to the truck. We then loaded up for our long journey home. She died just five days later on a gloomy Sunday afternoon.
Please forgive me as I sit here with tears spilling onto the keyboard. I wanted to share this with a group of people who probably love their dogs as much as the people in their lives like I do. I may be guilty of some hyperbole as I relate this story of my perfect pheasant hunt but in my memory it occurs just how I relate it here.
Sadie 12/28/2005 to 11/18/2018
I remember a day two years ago November 2016 in South Dakota. It was a perfect pheasant hunt. We were hunting on the Louise Lake game production area. I hunted in the morning behind Whitney she was working birds at nearly the speed of light. The intensity of her joy as she ran full speed, intoxicated by the scent of pheasants everywhere, was uncontainable. She busted rooster and hen after hen out of range as I nearly ran to keep up with her. The shock collar was not enough to convince her that she needed to hunt with me for us to be successful. Even though it was quite frustrating I still marveled at her ability to follow the scent at a full speed run. After covering many miles zig zagging across the fields. I made my way back to the truck, time for lunch. No shooting to show for all of the physical effort that I had put in, I placed Whitney back in her kennel.
Lunch finished and grateful for the much needed rest I got Sadie out of her kennel. Happy to be the one chosen for the evening hunt her tail was wagging vigorously. From the very first step her body language told me that she was on the birds. She was the compass all I needed to do was follow her as my guide. We were walking through thigh high grass that is normally not very productive for flushing pheasants. Today however was different. The sun was shining the temperature was perfect for a nice fall day in South Dakota, not to hot and not to cold. Both dog and hunter in the zone. As the setting sun filled the horizon blaze orange, red, pink, violet, purple, I was reminded of artistry no man can compare with. The rays reflecting off of Sadie's coat made her shine radiantly as her fit muscles flexed underneath. With precision she lead me to the birds. Bringing to fruition all of the long hours of training she was the epitome of team work. She knew the birds were there but she held back checking on me to make sure that I was in place. She worked at a deliberate pace. Moving the birds to places where they would need to fly, rather than continuing to run on in endless seas of grass.
A mighty explosion of feathers erupted from the grass in a rooster flush 20 yards out from me. Sadie mere feat from his long tail feathers. The ruby color of his chest, the white collar around his neck, glowing in the rays of sunlight. Muscle memory in full control the shotgun came up, the bird went down. Sadie retrieved, straight as an arrow to the mark and back. Delivered to hand in pristine condition. A few moments to admire this gorgeous bird then back to work as Sadie tells me there are more just follow me.
Working with a purpose, never out of range, a pro, she is confident that these birds that had eluded us all morning when I was hunting behind Whitney, will not escape us now. We turn to the right down the hill towards a gully. She maneuvers the birds into a spot where there is no choice but to fly. A hen flushes right off of her nose, then another and another. No shots as they fly to cover far from us and the dog that they cannot trick. Thinking we have seen all the birds in this spot, I turn to start up the hill. Sadie however, knowing better turns me back around to the last little trickle of cover. Sure enough holding out in a spot so thin no bird could possibly be concealed a wily old long spurred rooster screams into the sky with a cackle to boot. Again by instinct the shot gun rings out followed by a fabulous retrieve.
Today is Sadie’s A game. Every move she makes is the culmination of years working pheasants in the fields of South Dakota. Fast enough that the scent does not run cold, slow enough that a fat old guy like me can keep up, she patiently makes up for her handicap (me) and expertly handles the details of this hunt. We are heading back to the truck, the sun is racing to set only minutes from the end of a glorious day in this special place and she fools one more long spurred rooster into the sky. He craftily turns to fly straight at the sun. Normally I am unable to distinguish a rooster from a hen when this occurs, but the angle that Sadie flushed him at gave me that split second to spy the amazing colors of rooster. The last retrieve has the dog coming back to me surrounded by the halo of a setting sun. She is black a black lab back lit by that glowing sun. Silhouette of the rooster outlined in her mouth, she runs to heel beside me. The image is burned into my mind like a vintage photograph. I place the rooster in my bag, and I hug this wonderful dog. I heap on the praise and she proudly leads me out of the field.
