I am the worst shot ever. I read ALL the magazines. I try everything: the latest chokes, different ammo et al. BUT, behind every "good" hunter is a "better" dog:
In 6F, and overcast weather with an EVER so slight 4 mph (at best) wind coming at us, this guy (above) bursted out approx 5 feet to my left from 4" of drifted snow. Darlin had been working his scent. There were bird tracks EVERYWHERE in the snow around his cover. We produced this one bird, and this one story:
(BANG),I pulled back and winged him, in every sense of the word "winged", and watched him descend down, with his head up (meaning he was still good to go), into a very open and frozen over soy bean field (thankfully), and then HAUL ASS. Clearly visible.
From my vantage I watched the rooster head west at approx 300 yards, as I stood standing on a terrace. "DEAD BIRD DARLIN`...GET HIM", I yelled. She focused into the direction of the downed bird.
I could see the snow trail my dog was kicking up behind her back legs in the tall grass. Before the bean field where the rooster went down, visibility was zero due to the snow and over grown prarie grasses.
My dog knew what to do. Instinct. For a split moment in this Mele` she peered back at me for instruction (im not kidding here) and I pointed as I saw this rooster double back between a grouping of maple trees and old oaks, naked and outlined in black....slightly separated between the CRP field and the bean field. The rooster attempted to double back... a veteran trick not uncommon of late season birds. I love them.
"Fetch", I yelled and pointed to my dog, in close persuit. Trying to send a command that she would identify with in this new situation.
Watching, I shook with anticipation. At this point, this whole show was just for me: Drama. Folly. Aggression. Learning. Pure hunt.
The crippled rooster darted past the trees and headed out further into the stripped bean field. Darlin` had a clear shot at it. No cover. The advantage of a sporting dog to a wounded game bird. She fucking raced and tackled him.
I watched and cheered. Primal as it might seem, I was proud.
She got to him. Yelping and barking in a high pitched tone. It was her first. She acted accordingly. He scratched and fought as she nipped and pulled persistently. She tore ALL his tail feathers out in an attempt to stop his flee. It worked. Their scrambling black outlines in front of me from the terrace: For a moment I wondered what this would be like if I were her. FINALLY catching something I was after for all these months. Face to face. It was happening in front of me.
The rooster respectfully did his best, but it was clearly over. I finally raced down through the snow below the terrace to where they were struggling. Crash and thump, the sound of drifted snow sinking beneath my feet, like old pillows being slammed together.
Darlin didnt really know what to do. A seasoned bird dog would have just gave it a CHOMP and the whole moment would end right there. Tho she is just an 8 month old pup. The sound of her bark was of confusion, "why arent you playing anymore"?, and "STOP"!... Snow flying.
Breaking the fight up, a confused and semi focused GSP pup and an even more exhausted 3ish (from his spurs) year old roosters spar had ended at my hand. The rooster still had some lights about him, so humanely, I shook them out. It was time.
Suddenly, right then, the wind picked up. The snow started drifting again. My legs reminded me that they were there., and I reminded myself that Im still not an athlete. The watch that I bought in England years ago told me that the sun was about to go down.
This was our day, today.
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