BritChaser
Well-known member
Tell Us About Interesting Dog Work. Here's one:
There’s an east-west oriented half section of land in western Kansas that has every type of habitat an upland bird hunter could ask for. It has a deep, weedy and brushy draw, crop fields, grassy knolls, a shelter belt of towering junipers, a weedy farmstead full of kochia around the old crumbling limestone house, a mostly underground creek with trees and grass over it, and a never tilled low spot we call the island. The island is an oval in the middle of a crop field over grown with tall cottonwoods, saplings, grasses, kochia, and wild plum thickets. It’s a favorite hiding place for quail and pheasants.
Gus the Brittany and I were hunting this ground solo on a mild winter day under a richly blue and cloudless sky. When it comes to the island, the solo hunting strategy is to circle it along the edge and let the dog work in the cover, and come back through the middle where penetrable. The cover is so heavy the dog is often out of sight, but a bell kept Gus located and guided me when and where to move.
We were heading south working the east side of the island when we came to a plum thicket. I was adjusting my pace to Gus’s bell as he worked. About half way into the thicket the bell suddenly went silent. Point! I bent down to see if I could see Gus through the lower part of the plum thicket. No way. There was too much understory of grass and weeds throughout the thicket. I straightened up and just stood there waiting for a flush. A mental picture formed of a covey of bobwhites and Gus in a frozen standoff.
After about a minute without a flush I yelled, “Get ‘em up, Gus!” hoping to startle the quail I imagined huddled in the thicket. Nothing. “Come on, Gus! Get ‘em up!” Yeah, I know. I’m asking my pointing dog to do what is not natural to his makeup – break point and flush. But I’ve at least got to get him out of that thicket let alone try for a shot on a flushing bobwhite. I keep imploring Gus to flush. Nothing happens.
Now the standoff has gone on for more than two minutes with me repeating my urgings to Gus to stop being a pointer for just a couple of seconds. When I’m afield and nothing much is happening, I get to daydreaming and looking around at the scenery. This is the direction I was drifting when a racket erupted in the plum thicket. A big cock pheasant shot out the top of the thicket and took a southeast angle across my firing lane. Knock down! Gus came out of the thicket looking for the retrieve. Team work afield with Gus. I miss you good dog.
There’s an east-west oriented half section of land in western Kansas that has every type of habitat an upland bird hunter could ask for. It has a deep, weedy and brushy draw, crop fields, grassy knolls, a shelter belt of towering junipers, a weedy farmstead full of kochia around the old crumbling limestone house, a mostly underground creek with trees and grass over it, and a never tilled low spot we call the island. The island is an oval in the middle of a crop field over grown with tall cottonwoods, saplings, grasses, kochia, and wild plum thickets. It’s a favorite hiding place for quail and pheasants.
Gus the Brittany and I were hunting this ground solo on a mild winter day under a richly blue and cloudless sky. When it comes to the island, the solo hunting strategy is to circle it along the edge and let the dog work in the cover, and come back through the middle where penetrable. The cover is so heavy the dog is often out of sight, but a bell kept Gus located and guided me when and where to move.
We were heading south working the east side of the island when we came to a plum thicket. I was adjusting my pace to Gus’s bell as he worked. About half way into the thicket the bell suddenly went silent. Point! I bent down to see if I could see Gus through the lower part of the plum thicket. No way. There was too much understory of grass and weeds throughout the thicket. I straightened up and just stood there waiting for a flush. A mental picture formed of a covey of bobwhites and Gus in a frozen standoff.
After about a minute without a flush I yelled, “Get ‘em up, Gus!” hoping to startle the quail I imagined huddled in the thicket. Nothing. “Come on, Gus! Get ‘em up!” Yeah, I know. I’m asking my pointing dog to do what is not natural to his makeup – break point and flush. But I’ve at least got to get him out of that thicket let alone try for a shot on a flushing bobwhite. I keep imploring Gus to flush. Nothing happens.
Now the standoff has gone on for more than two minutes with me repeating my urgings to Gus to stop being a pointer for just a couple of seconds. When I’m afield and nothing much is happening, I get to daydreaming and looking around at the scenery. This is the direction I was drifting when a racket erupted in the plum thicket. A big cock pheasant shot out the top of the thicket and took a southeast angle across my firing lane. Knock down! Gus came out of the thicket looking for the retrieve. Team work afield with Gus. I miss you good dog.
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