On a Clear Day In June

After hunting 12 seasons with me across the plains states my beloved Beau passed on Wednesday June 7th halfway through his 15th year. I had acquired 3 Pinecoble setters in 2003 and raised and trained them at my southern Wisconsin farm in the rolling hill country of the driftless area. Beau arrived in the early spring to our valley and was all legs and big feet and was just fine being held in my arms or falling asleep in my lap.

Over the coming month's he quickly developed to be very athletic and I was thankful I had the room for him to run. Such a beautiful sight he was to watch just relishing in his ability to cast about the landscape. Beau's natural ability on birds was a 10 plus as well. Having quail and pigeons at the farm I learned very quickly this dog was something special. He'd strike a beautiful point on quail at just a few months old like a seasoned pro.

One day at my vets office he suggested I might want to attend a workshop by one of the pointing dog clubs to meet some people and give Beau an opportunity to work a couple birds. I thought well let's go and see what we can learn. There were about a dozen folks there with young dogs and a crew of nice people running the workshop. They had a pigeon tethered and first off wanted to let people bring their pups into the scent cone to get oriented. We stood back and watched as dog after dog either rushed the bird or cowered looking up at their owners for direction. Not a pointer in the bunch! Then the leader asked me to bring Beau up. Beau walked with me until we reached the edge of where people were watching and upon seeing the bird stopped raised a front foot and locked up! I heard someone say "What's he doing?" People became quiet as I just let him focus on the bird. The instructor then told me to bring him into the bird! Let him get used to the bird moving and flapping his wings. Well I knew Beau instinctively was programmed to hold point so we just moved away instead. We watched a few more dogs try to catch and chase the bird before leaving having decided this group couldn't be of any help except for picking up a few tips on homing pigeons. As we were walking back to the truck one of the members from the club stopped me and asked about Beau saying he thought he'd make a pretty good dog! Nice folks with good intentions but I learned early on it's all between you and your dog. You're the owner, pack leader and trainer. No one can read and understand your dog like you can. You just have to learn how to do it.

As Beau approached 10 months old he was quite confident, powerful and full of himself. With two other teammates to chase and bowl over we reached a point where I scratched my head and wondered what happened to that other Beau so innocent and perfect right out of the box? He had quit pointing training birds to boot and seemed to just want to run run run. After a consultation with the breeder I was assured he'd come around on wild birds and this was just a growing up stage quite common with many dogs. It was still a few months until we hit the road for sharptail grouse hunting and there were many days Beau and I found ourselves at odds over this adolescent behavior.

September came none to soon and I'll never forget turning out all 3 setters that first opening day in a half section of rolling alfalfa. They raced into the field with Beau in front running into the wind. He quickly veered south and slowed as he approached a  slight rise then locked up tight his head held high with Mick and Molly honoring in a string right behind him. They were 100 yards ahead of me so I ran up within range as a covey busted in front of Beau taking one bird with my second shot just a couple minutes from the start of the run. I just shook my head and said " There ain't  nothin wrong with that dog!" It really hit me at this moment that I had the incredible luck to have 3 very exceptional bird dogs. The development plan became very clear. Start with exceptional breeding and just add wild birds! Often.

I was very humbled by my experience with Beau because he had ability and potential beyond my comprehension in the beginning. Luckily he came along in my life when I had the time to fully enjoy the gift of owning such a beautiful and talented bird dog. I had read in a book that reaching an impasse with a dog during their development was the time to "put them on a shelf" while they grow up a little. That's all that Beau needed really. Having two other dog's to deal with made the task of giving Beau that time much easier as well. How to understand and develop a dog's potential was a valuable lesson indeed. The reward if you're patient could maybe be a once in a lifetime dog. That was Beau.

Beau's ability to detect scent at great distances was incredible and exciting to watch. He'd just cast about working the wind with head high then stop looking ahead to the source leaving you to play your part in the game. All the setters had their own strengths and together they made an excellent team. Beau was always out front and they'd watch each other as we'd work through cover checking to see who picked up scent. They're skills meshed naturally over time with Beau being the point man and Molly the wing "girl" being very fast but able to stop on a dime and an expert at tracking and recovery. Mick had an uncanny ability to read situations and anticipate the birds next moves. He loved the close work would hold forever and never left a situation until he found the very last bird. It all worked beautifully as Beau would never push or crowd birds always keeping a safe distance to avoid busting them so range was never an issue. On one afternoon he became birdy in some hilly pasture country and we moved along as he cautiously followed the scent. Grouse had moved through feeding in this area I suspected. Then as we reached the top of a hill he came to a beautiful point looking right at the top of the next hill! There was about 50 yards of flat land before the ground rose to this plateau of sorts he was focused on. As I looked at the situation of totally open area my only option was to move forward and hope when they flushed I'd maybe get a passing shot or maybe there would be a bird that stayed behind.. So I took a couple steps forward and a large group of sharptail started flushing from the very top of that plateau at a distance of course that was just out of range. But what a beautiful thing to see as Beau picked up that scent and pointed at that range. I will return to those hills now for as long as I can to remember what it was like to have a dog like Beau. He was made for that country.

There was a pecking order among my setters with Mick being the dominant male but while Beau respected the routines he clearly owned me! This was from day one of course and until the very end he'd check in with me after I got settled in bed then lay down on the floor next to me. He also wasn't shy about marking his territory getting himself in trouble one day in Montana after he took a leak on my friend Tom's custom made boots!

For over a decade life was like a dream as I lived out this fantasy I had as a kid of hunting places I read about in magazines in the local barber shop. Then the years flew by as we traveled together and enjoyed each other's company. I truly loved this dog and how special he was. Everyone that met him was immediately drawn to him by his friendly and gentle demeanor.

Suddenly it seemed season 12 came bringing tears to my eyes as I watched him start to fade in the field. That season became a tribute to all the setters as we just enjoyed each other's company as best we could. We took our time and stopped to rest more often. There were moments that seemed to be just like old times and others that reminded me we didn't have much time left. But precious they were either way.

Then on a clear day in June it was time for us to say goodbye finally. We had a fantastic run at life together and we had so many many great days in the field. As I looked at the sky I thought yes life will go on but Beau and I were here. Together. It was wonderful. Just wonderful.

Beau dreaming away the afternoon. So long my friend.

So Long November

              Everyone waits all year for fall to come and with it the anticipation of season openers. For me these days mean something different. More people. More hunters. The stark reality that every year all of them are competing for opportunities to hunt less and less quality habitat. So what do I wait for? November.

Early November as the snow geese start moving in.

              This period of time is when the overwhelming majority of hunters give up upland pursuits for another year and focus on stuffing their pie holes in front of the big screen. Seconds anyone? Need another beer? I wait all year for these days. Suddenly it's quiet in the field. Out of state license plates become scarce. As we walk along I pick up trash when ever I can. Spent shells, plastic soda bottles, candy wrappers and beer cans, These are blemishes I quickly tuck into my pouch. I wonder what people were thinking. The answer is they weren't. The walks we take are often times chosen because we can keep boots on the ground for long periods of time in one area. We hunt it all. We're not cherry pickers hopscotching the countryside. There are birds in every square mile but where and at what time is the question. November is best suited for these needle in the haystack pursuits. We load up and I say, " Lets go find a bird". The fall field work changes the opportunities daily. The corn harvest reveals what no one could have anticipated in October.

Following the harvest and hunting the edges.

               Day after day I experience incredible shooting rotating through my inventory of favored runs. We are alone out here. The only sounds are of geese and ducks moving overhead as we walk mile after mile sometimes breaking for lunch other times just carrying on checking here and there for what the harvest has revealed. My setter Beau rides along and waits patiently as we hunt. He's approaching 14 now and doesn't like being left alone. I enjoy the look on his face knowing he gets to load up in the Jeep once again. My lab pup just turning 18 months makes progress with every bird contact. I can see the changes in her as she adapts to our routines. Her development has been a journey for both of us. She's leading quite a life working birds day after day. Despite the challenges she faces learning to control her exuberance I laugh every day at her efforts to get it all right. Sometimes we do and sometimes we don't. No worries. We'll just keep walking into the wind. November's good for that too.

B at 18 months on one of those November days we got it all right.

               Early fall was warmer than normal so the birds had no reason to use heavy cover. They lived in the unharvested crop fields leaving people to question their numbers. That's a good thing. In November this pattern is broken by changes in weather and the field. Suddenly the wind has a bite to it and the sky turns grey more than blue. First ice forms. These are days for real hunting. Occasionally you will see gang hunters on weekends driving around more than hunting. I think to myself why haven't they discovered what this is really about? So it goes as they pass on their version of reality to their children. I flee at the sight of them. Some days I shoot only one bird and am thrilled to have experienced taking that bird in beautiful surroundings one on one. Fair chase. Those are good days indeed. Then we go again the next day and the next looking for those perfect moments. My pup has taken to bringing me my boots if she thinks I'm slow to get ready. November is the month to be thankful for indeed.

Beau poses on a classic November day in his 14th year. I'm incredibly thankful for my time with this dog.

             While there are no limits on perfect moments they are fulfilling. They can be very different by definition and not always culminate in the taking of a bird. Beautiful points, flushes and days your pup gets it all right. Tracks in the mud and snow letting you know a population is alive and doing well. November is special in all these ways because we know it won't last much longer so every day becomes more precious as time passes. We watch the forecast wondering when the hammer will drop because it always does sometimes more dramatically than others. The Jeep needs a cleaning inside after weeks of hunting. I try to keep it organized but it's a battle. Gear changes from day to day in and out. Mud and feathers everywhere. Water jug, shell case and skunk kit packed in between the dog kennel and my waders. Extra gloves,socks...somewhere. A spare whistle hangs from the mirror. I know it's all going to end soon. November that is. How will I feel? Lucky knowing we were here one more time!

So Long November!

             

These Days

While walking day after day over the last decade with my bird dogs it's given me time to pause and reflect on the world around me. The world that sometimes seems so far from my daily existence and experience. But that's no accident instead a conscious decision to immerse myself in this life that's allowed me to survive as well as could be possible. That's given the hurdles of growing older while trying to remain true to my passion for this sport. This time for reflection I discovered long ago is essential to my piece of mind and well being.

Now 5 days into the season of 16 pheasant hunt I've had a couple great days then just a couple nice walks with my dog and one filled with multiple failures leaving me humbled by realizing being another year older has it's limitations.

Yesterday my 16 month old pup and I hunted a beautiful area of heavy cover around several small pot holes. These early runs are half hunt and half reconnaissance often times just figuring out how these runs will play out as the season and harvest moves on. It was 38 degrees under full cloud cover and felt like it could snow anytime. I loved just breathing the cool air with ducks and geese moving around us everywhere. My pup was happy she got me out for this late afternoon hunt skirting the edge of cattails until she would come upon scent. It's taken a few runs for her to remember what this pheasant game is like you see. I hunted her extensively last fall as soon as she was broke to the gun something many people wait to do but I'm a believer in starting pups early.

B at 6 month's

 On this day I could tell she was getting dialed in checking back nicely when asked and stopping when locating birds. Progress on all fronts. Surrounded by soybeans already harvested and with corn within the next mile I knew this would be a late season area again but should still have a few birds now probably.

So as we walked I accepted the reality of what was available cover although low on my preference list it is what it is. You see for more than a decade I would never hunt cattail and heavy cover with the setters instead covering the open grassy areas adjacent to harvested crop fields. With CRP now gone in most areas we hunt whats left these days. I enjoyed seeing my pup work birds and cornering two roosters who easily had the upper hand in this environment. Even though bird numbers are down again we always see roosters on every run sometimes getting an opportunity to take a bird and sometimes not.

Walking along I savored this performance my pup was putting on learning with each bird and coming to understand how to hunt together. I thought a lot about what my ability being a year older means and how to keep enjoying our time together. Perspective changes as we change. It's the same with habitat and bird numbers. We enjoyed this hunt being with each other. No one else in sight with
the feeling of snow coming soon.

Arriving back at the Jeep with an empty game bag was no indicator of the success of this days hunt. "These days" I'm grateful to still be out here in these beautiful places where I can make sense of things in my own way. Watching this young dog discover how to play this game with such desire took me back to the early days with the setters as we walked along. As I looked at my watch I had thoughts that maybe we could make another short run someplace but then felt the ankle I broke in March tightening a bit and instead slowly drove down the section line enjoying the ride.

The Sentry

Every year I make my way through my inventory of favorite grouse runs. I return to some in hopes of experiencing incredible moments of days gone past. This is a story of one such place. A moment in time to never be forgotten but serving as a reminder of just how special it is walking through this country where sharptail grouse have endured the harsh climate to raise broods year after year.

A decade ago I discovered a 2 square mile area that had everything sharptail needed in abundance. A mix of rolling hayfields with high hills surrounding it along with crop land and federal waterfowl production acres. Plenty of nesting, food sources and winter cover.

This population was more predictable in some years than others depending on crop rotation in the early season. The years when the 320 acres of crop land in the center of the area was alfalfa used by birds to raise their young provided incredible opportunities for the setters and I. When it turned to crops making the birds less accessible the game became more difficult but the birds were always there someplace within that 2 square miles.

During one of those tougher years the setters and I had searched to the far south side for the birds on high ridges around a waterfowl production area. We headed on a line for the highest point I knew had a cluster of buffalo berries at the very top. A vantage point I also knew would be a favored spot. The setters became birdy as we approached with Mick going on point first just off the crest of the hill. I gave it everything I had in me to catch up and get on top making it just to the edge when the most beautiful flush of a covey I had ever seen took flight. Birds ascended in a circle around me going straight up and then looking down at us the intruders. I made my choice and took one bird from what was a dozen or so and watched the rest fly out over the landscape. Incredible I thought knowing that moment would be one I'd never forget seeing those birds in full display rising from a place only sharptail would be. There's no doubt they watched us from afar as we approached. In the early season you just sometimes get lucky and get close enough as we did on this perfect day.

Yesterday the 8th day of the season of 16' I made that walk again as I have every year since hoping to see a covey flush from that same spot. It's still unchanged. The same circle of buffalo berries around a small rock pile. Off to the right is a lone bush surrounded by more rocks. It's about 6 feet tall and last year as we approached I saw a lone sharptail with it's neck extended feeding on berries. I stood and watched and then walked in until the bird flushed within range but declined the shooting opportunity content with seeing the "sentry" no doubt guarding this special place. So on this day as we approached again a lone bird flushed from the same bush and I was content once again with the "sentry" reminding me of that special moment I'll never forget.

The 7 Year Itch

This September marks my 7th year as a North Dakota resident. I first started hunting here in 2004 and quickly fell in love with the beauty of the wide open spaces. It didn't take long then to figure out this was also a great place for a bird hunter to retire at age 55. Plenty of time left to enjoy my lifelong passion for hunting with pointing dogs.

Living where the birds live has had it's benefits no doubt about that. Having lived in and around rural areas most of my life it was an easy adjustment but every local culture is different. With such a sparse population it doesn't give people much of a perspective at times as to what should be acceptable social behavior. People are more likely to just ignore the oddball or occasional (and sometimes regular) disturbances the local idiots cause. However if they're within your eyesight or hearing it's you're bad luck! You see with everyone likely related in some way complaining or expecting a ticket be given is sometimes not worth the price of being shunned by your extended family sums up the problem.

Such are the burrs under my saddle as I shake my head at what would never be accepted in the other world I used to live in. So these days I find myself increasingly having to count my blessings and reminding myself of the benefits of this world. Access to some beautiful bird country and wild birds for my dog's to work just minutes away. Affordable housing and lower taxes. I didn't move here for the social life certainly but over all these people of German descent are a friendly enough bunch. They also have their reasons for continuing to live here among extended families. Previously I would define a good neighbor as someone seldom seen or heard having lived in a secluded rural setting but living now within a small town I have no choice as to seeing or hearing people. There it is the real root of my dilemma. The real source of my 7 year itch.

It's a balancing act really or a compromise whatever way you want to describe it. But in order to have it all as a bird hunter I've had to pick and choose. It's not necessary to own any amount of land to hunt. There's plenty of accessible acres even with the loss of much of the CRP across the country. Besides I cover a lot of ground in a day so I'm traveling miles from home to keep rotating the birds I hunt. Having neighbors who don't always exhibit good common sense is nothing specific to North Dakota I have to remind myself. So learning what battles to fight and those you choose to leave alone are part of the compromise. At times I admit it's been a hard lesson.

The question then is, will my love of the open spaces and the opportunity to live with my bird dogs in such a place overcome my itch? More diversions will be required I think. I have to dilute the exposure to idiots and small town life in general. Always remembering people really are pretty much the same wherever you go it's how you look at that reality that makes the difference!

Once There Was A Way....

                                                 To get back home. Lyrics from track 14 on the Beatles Abbey Road album Golden Slumbers made me think about what's on my mind today. This is a conversation I've had more than once as my hunting partner and I crisscrossed the western plains states. Talking hour after hour as we knocked down miles often times late into the night.

If you look at your life it's often obvious how we call on the past as a reference point for our future. We would ponder the difference between living in the past and simply pursuing our passion which may have been born during those innocent days of our childhood. But isn't that just trying to recreate a moment in time we'd ask ourselves.

The answer is that living in the past is when you stop searching for new adventures and your reality becomes only those experiences recalled from memory. Our debate was not whether how you lived was right or wrong but just being conscious of your choice as to how you spend your time and why. Being on the road has a way of causing you to ponder such deep and profound subjects! Sometimes we reached conclusions other times thoughts were left just hanging in the air as questions with no answers. Then there would be miles of silence before our minds refocused.

As we watched our headlights illuminate mile after mile of the road ahead we knew our pursuit did in fact have it's roots in our early years. The things we experienced and where we lived no doubt shaped our lives in much the same ways. I refer to these things as perfect moments. Experiences and feelings permanently embedded in our minds and filed under "all things good". Everyone can recall these things in their lives and how they've played a role in shaping the future.

We agreed on the distinction between trying to relive the past and simply following a path whose rewards are familiar and have a high probability of satisfaction. I likened it to having a great run skiing. Your mind and body remembers the adrenaline rush and alerts your senses to look for it and want it again. So you try and try again sometimes finding it over and over. Other times you can't get it quite right as conditions  change and your chance is lost. But your mind and body still remember and drive you to find it again pushing you and inspiring you to act. To move forward searching.

That's exactly what we were doing as our vehicle filled with favorite guns and gear towing a trailer with 5 bird dog's made it's way through the plains states. Our memories had become a compass in a way telling us in fact this was our way home. A way to search and find those perfect moments over and over again. 

Looking Back And Looking Ahead

                                                       Looking back the setters and I certainly had a wonderful life together. Actually the experiences we had exceeded my imagination of what our time together would be like. As I look into the crystal ball that sits on my bedroom bureau it serves as a reminder to me that the future is only limited by my own imagination.

Mick taking a break west of the old windmill with Beau and Molly in the background. We started our sharptail season here for many years. Seeing 100 to 150 birds a day was common before CRP acres started to vanish. What a time we had!

                                                        As each dog passes I'm reminded that there are beginnings and endings always and that it's important to celebrate both. They are reminders of how to make the most of your time. The incredible experiences we remember and cherish in our lives always require the courage to make decisions to take the first steps on any journey. If I had done a cost analysis of what this journey would have cost me in real time and money from a practical view point it may have been easy to not write that check. But then what would I have had? For myself the question really was what is your life worth to you?

A wonderful place we hunted together in the foothills of the Bighorn mountains. Physically challenging but oh so breathtakingly beautiful! The setters were in the prime of their lives the years we hunted here. Just magnificent to have watched them against this vista.

                                                       The people who's lives have been interrupted by loss and hardship that just pick up and continue on their way are an inspiration to me as I look ahead now. I wonder then as I look into the eyes of the new pup watching me at my side what our life together will be like. Beautiful sun rises and sunsets. The passing of the seasons. Watching new life emerge. The comfort of a loyal companion. Tears of laughter. Tears of sorrow. That's the cycle of life. The setters passing reminded me to again understand and embrace it not turn my back on it.

Molly. The queen of the castle!

                                                       The reason I'm writing is so I'll never forget what it felt like to follow not just my beautiful trio of setters but my own heart. I have been lucky to have been able to spend much of my life where I needed to be for the most part. As I look back then it startles me sometimes to now know how important that really was. Looking ahead it makes my path an easy one to choose. Just follow that dog!

                                                      

                                                      

Along The Way, The Cop That Got Shot By A Skunk

                                           This is a story about neighbors mostly. People are pretty much the same wherever you go as I see it. Harmony exists between people when the Golden Rule is observed that is treating others as you would expect to be treated. On the flip side everything can go to hell pretty quickly when people seem to be void of any such wisdom.

With a population the majority of which is retired folks you have within this small town a considerable amount of time spent on lawn and garden maintenance. There are some people that work all day clipping and snipping keeping their property looking beautiful. A great way to keep active and needless to say a great source of pride in doing so.

Now comes the core of the drama. Cats. Lots of domestic cats allowed to wander about and then due to folks that feel sorry for those cats not so fortunate to have homes lots of feral cats living under buildings and within abandoned structures. In the spring of 2015 there was a real problem with the number of both populations. I'd see them hopping in and out of garbage cans in the alleyways left uncovered and of course come across areas in my flower beds they had used as cat boxes. The lady across the street whose yard is just immaculately kept was just beside herself. The ferals and a crew of domestics were using her hedges and display garden as a playground. After listening to her complain about this problem I encouraged her to call the city and talk to the owner of the domestics that lived a few houses away. Turns out that lady fed the ferals in her abandoned garage all winter which explained why they were in our neighborhood.

After trying to just be a good listener hoping my neighbor would push the city into action I said well if you want to borrow my live trap you can. Then just call the cops and they'll come and pick up the cats. I had called them myself inquiring about what they were doing about the problem.

The first day the neighbor had the trap the cops had to come twice within the first couple hours. Then it was pretty much one a day for a week mostly ferals. If my neighbor wasn't going to be home I'd set the trap at my yard and within a short time had caught 7 or 8 cats just on my side of the street in addition to the several that the neighbor had caught. I am not a cat hater by any means it's just that this was a real problem. In the mean time word was out around town that my neighbor and I were "cat catchers" as they referred to us. The cops were in the neighborhood almost daily for over 2 weeks.

Despite our efforts to get the city to deal with the issue the domestics still kept coming into my neighbors garden areas and using her whole yard as a cat box. They'd break off plants, lay down in the flowers and just set up vigils at the bird baths. Then I was up early one morning and walked across the street to check the trap at my neighbors. As I walked around the hedge I could see something in the trap. I watched for a few seconds when I saw black and white and I mean a stripe of white on the back! I laughed to myself knowing what had happened as I also then picked up the faint odor of skunk! It was just after 6 a.m. too early to wake anybody up over a skunk in a trap so I went home and continued on my morning routine of coffee and surfing the news. I lost track of time until my doorbell rang around 9 0clock I guess. As I walked to the front door there stood my neighbor. Oh my gosh I thought I hope she didn't get sprayed! That thankfully wasn't the case as she explained what she had found when she went out to check her garden coffee in hand. I started laughing before she revealed the part about the skunk and she said, "oh did you already know? why I could have been sprayed by that damn thing!" For second I thought I might be in trouble but I quickly added it was too early to wake anybody and I lost track of the time you see... No worries there. I suggested a call to the police.

Officer Nathan rode up minutes later and took a look surveying the situation. I stayed on my side of the street! After 15 minutes or so of walking back and forth trying to figure out how to get this thing out of the yard I walked over to see what he was proposing to do." Well can't shoot him cause it's in town. Spose we could drop a cover on the cage and just walk it to the truck and take him out to the landfill and then shoot him". Just then here comes one of the city employees with the city backhoe. I said "Hey ask Roger he'll know what to do". So officer Nathan flags down the backhoe and the two of them formulate a plan. They decided to lift officer Nathan up in the backhoe bucket over the hedge so he could drop a blanket over the cage then hook a chain to the trap so Roger could then hoist officer Nathan back over the hedge with the cage dangling from the bucket. Then they could put the cage covered in the backhoe and officer Nathan would follow Roger out of town so he could then dispose of the skunk!

I stayed on my side of the street watching the plan in action. What a spectacle! Off they went out of town. I had told officer Nathan that was my trap and I wanted to make sure I got it back. No problem he said I'll bring it right back. It got to be middle of the afternoon and the neighbor and I were both taking a break from lawn and garden maintenance. I said I wondered when my trap was coming back and just at that moment here comes the police vehicle down the street. Officer Nathan gets out and is wearing only a t shirt and not his regular uniform. I can smell skunk pretty strongly. How did it go? Well when I bent down to shoot him in the cage just as I was going to shoot he turned around and shot me first! He said he would have been back sooner but he had to go home and change out of his uniform. He informed me the cost of over 600 dollars including his Kevlar vest was probably a loss as you just can't get that smell out!

An unwelcome visitor. Elliot a well known cat in the neighborhood has claimed my neighbors garden as his domain much to her dismay. We caught him once but his owner refuses to deal with the issue.

So the story made for good conversation that summer but hard feelings still existed between people on opposing sides of the problem. The city did actively communicate to those people feeding feral's finally but my neighbor was still plagued by the domestics from down the street.

Love Creeks Mick

                               Mick my beautiful gentle and loving boy passed away on a cool sunny afternoon the second day of spring 2016. Mick was a Pinecoble setter with tri color markings that were just stunning. Bred as a classic grouse dog his pedigree was full of Old Hemlock lineage.

The sloughs froze early in November 2014 making this day a memorable solo hunt for Mick and I. Two weeks later together with my sons Jared and Carson we enjoyed Mick's last day in the field together on a snowy Thanksgiving weekend. He just wouldn't give up, I'd stop frequently to clean his paws of snow and we'd continue on into the wind. 

He arrived at the Love Creek valley in the winter of 2003 as a pup of 11 weeks. Mick soon revealed his playful nature and gentle personality that were distinct traits throughout his lifetime. With wild birds out our back door there was plenty of scent to discover and explore. Those early days were spent just walking the 3/4 mile lane leading to the farm with me admiring this new and beautiful creature that had come into my life.

We have all experienced moments when we know opportunities are upon us. Instinctively something within us knows we are close to what may be essential to our survival and well being. Mick was exactly that. The match was "right as rain" as the saying goes. So Mick became true north for me at a time when at age 49 I was ready to map out the rest of my life. I often lamented Mick not arriving earlier but the truth was I wasn't quite ready for him yet.

Mick training on quail at the farm

As an avid reader I had been enjoying the Ben Williams accounts of prairie hunting with multiple dogs when I reconnected with an old friend from high school who just happened to have been hunting in North Dakota. Soon 2 new roommates arrived for Mick also Pinecoble setters! That started a decade of traveling and hunting experiences I remembered only reading about in magazines as a kid in the local barbershop.

Thanks to Mick my life had taken on new meaning and purpose. He taught me most of what I now know about dog's even though I'd had a dog all my life. There was also no doubt that I belonged to him. Always by my side and watched by those big brown eyes. Tail wagging till the end.

Mick was a dominant male no doubt about that but due to his gentle nature we always came to compromise. His eyes seemed to always say trust me R lets just try it my way! So most of the time we did as Mick would leave no birds behind ever! And he'd hold a point for as long as it took me to find him. He had uncanny bird sense so I just let him work his magic a beautiful thing it was indeed.

A proud and dominant dog but so very gentle and loving. That was my Mick indeed.

One story about Mick I haven't told in these pages was a visit to the vets office several year's ago. We were sitting in the large lobby waiting to be called when a little boy about 4 years old came walking over with a stuffed toy in one hand. This boy was fidgety and smiling as he made his way towards us Mick having his eye on the toy. He was the only one of my setters that enjoyed toys. The little boy stopped a couple feet from us and said he was here because his mom had to bring their wiener dog to see the doctor because he was to fat! He explained that the doctor said the dog had to be on a special diet but that he still gave him extra food when he was hungry if his mom wasn't looking! Then he reached out and petted Mick on the head and being a proud dominant dog Mick responded with a cautionary rumble from deep within his throat meaning R tell the kid no petting on the head! Tail was wagging the whole time of course but I explained to this precocious little boy what the rules were.

So today I feel a little lost without my Mick. He was my compass for more than a decade. The number one rule in bird hunting is to follow the dog of course. That I did and for many people this may be beyond their understanding how a dog could be a catalyst for changing your lifestyle. The lesson is to know when these opportunities are upon you as they can come in very unexpected ways then listen to the voice inside for directions. Be faithful to yourself and follow them. Thanks to Mick he was all of that for me as well as a loving and faithful companion that helped change my life in so many wonderful ways! Hold that point Mick I'll be there soon.
                              

Love Creeks Molly June 8th 2003 to June 10th 2015

Sweet sweet Molly a truly remarkable hunter and companion passed away late in the afternoon on June 10th. We helped her cross over after what was as wonderful a life as any bird dog could have. Born with more natural ability than I'd ever seen. 

Molly was a Pinecoble setter and I chose her after spending quite a bit of time with the litter. I noticed a slightly larger pup that stayed on the outside preoccupied with carrying around a rope toy in her mouth. I'd pick her up which she was agreeable too but then watched as she went back to the rope toy. The other pups clamored around our feet as Warren and I talked. Since the folks with second pick of the litter wouldn't arrive until late the next day I stayed the evening in a local hotel and returned the next morning. Actually before my head hit the pillow that night I knew that pup a little more independent than the others was going home with me.

Molly pointing Quail at the farm shortly after arriving home.

This is what natural ability means!

The 1000 mile ride home was like no other I'd ever been on. I had placed Molly in a small kennel right between the seats in my van and soon after we exited Warrens driveway she started my orientation. Molly had a set of lungs you wouldn't believe. Howling at a pitch that was unbearable but I thought well give it a while and she'll settle down. I think I lasted just a few miles down the interstate before she was in my lap for the rest of the entire trip!

Little did she know her new home already had 2 room mates waiting also Pinecoble Setters. Mick was 10 months and Beau 6 months old at the time. The farm was surrounded by 200 acres of CRP which held a few wild pheasants and we kept both Homers as well as quail for all of their entertainment.

She was quite a pistol as a puppy but when I saw her pointing quail with incredible intensity a couple weeks after arriving all sins were forgiven. From there on out it was "Hail to the Queen" for the next decade as we traveled the western plains states.

Molly in the shadow of the Big Horn mountains Montana

Molly grew into life with her pack quickly putting the males on notice of her standing. Always eager to please she was just a real pleasure to live and hunt with....As long as she got to go on every run! Out of the 3 setters she had the most prey drive by far and saved us from losing many many birds with some incredible long retrieves. After a while the males just got out of her way and let her do her job in that way.

Molly, Beau and Mick on a fall afternoon at the farm. It was a wonderful place for them to grow up.

Beau and Molly worked exceptionally well together over the years. He could cover ground and she was fast as lightning never encroaching on another dog's point but stopping on a dime. I'd be walking in the field and if she saw me stop she'd back me until she saw me move again! Beau and Molly were very very close. He watched over her and always went outside whenever she did. Always. After she passed he walked around the house over and over during the night then would ask to go out only to come back in after a couple minutes. I'm sure checking to see where she was.

I knew the carefree days of sitting in the sun with her on the back porch were coming to an end but we really really had quite a life together as a pack. These dogs changed my life and took me on an incredible journey. A dog like Molly makes you want to just keep walking into the wind. Forever. I truly loved her for that and for everything she taught me. Love Creeks Molly. Sweet sweet Molly.

Sweet Sweet Molly

The Back Side of May

It seems like it took forever at times. A long cold winter then a back and forth battle between seasons before winter finally gave way to a new growing season. Young goslings are visible now paddling about and feeding under watchful eyes. The Setters take it all in as we watch the world come to life. Sitting on the front lawn is a daily ritual now. I watch their noses constantly twitching as they survey the scents coming by on the wind. It's a parallel world we can only speculate about but to them it's very real. I wonder what spring is like through their noses.

Increasingly Mick and Molly are indifferent about going on walks. They let Beau go solo with me most of the time now. Their bodies tell them it's best. Stay quiet. Relax. Sleep away the afternoons. I worry about their maladies. The bumps which are tumors. So many of them now. Like time bombs. There's nothing to be done at this stage except keep them comfortable and enjoy these carefree days. Mick and Beau stick very close to me. People will try to tell you scientifically dog's are given to much credit for their real understanding and comprehension of our world as we see it. They are animals that really just live in the moment concerned with satisfying basic needs. Nothing more or less. I say there are people exactly like that and even more one dimensional. Less compassionate,understanding, and without empathy. In my reality I see the world differently and for those that discount a dog's life I'm not surprised you can't see what I see or feel what I feel. It's yet another parallel world. One I choose to live in and a place I'm most happy to be.

I've been up to the lake several times this spring loading up the Setters with everyone in their favorite places. They're glad to ride along. I open the windows and stop to let them see roosters alongside the road and in the ditches staking out their territory. It's fun to see the moment they focus on the birds. Ears go up and they extend their necks to catch a glimpse before the wily birds sneak away in the grass. We pass by many places we've walked together over the years as we drive along. They worked so hard and covered so much ground. I'm writing not only to share but to help remember as well. I take none of it for granted.

The forecast indicates the season is moving forward. More consistent growing weather ahead. For the Setters time will move faster now. The cycle of life is never interrupted and surely as these seasons come and go I know I will be forever changed as well. So I watch them closely for any sign of a down turn which will surely come. But for now these days are as precious as any we've spent. I observe their nuances and appreciate each of their distinct personalities in this time I call " The Back Side of May".

Central Plains Upland Forecast Spring 2015

Every spring upland hunters watch the weather with hopes of a better hatch and a return to the days when bird populations made us think the good old days would never end. My friend to the south 100 miles recently sent me his forecast.

Arlan: Glad to hear all is well in rural North Dakota. We had an open winter which I think helped a lot with what seems like a robust pheasant and duck nesting crop. The trick is finding some cover to nest in. But things are looking up as I heard Monsanto came up with a Pheasant that nests on gravel roads and cut soybean fields and is a prolific breeder as long as you spray them with Roundup at least twice a year. I'm loading up on Monsanto stock. Hope to get out and do a little fishing but first me and my friends at Monsanto have to try to get rid of some wormwood which is taking over my tree rows. Go Monsanto!

 

The Bittersweet Season

 For the past decade the setters and I have spent the majority of each year in anticipation of the sharptail grouse season in September. The first weeks of those seasons hold some of the most cherished memories of our time together in the field . Covey's holding tight for the setters with their silken hair blowing in the wind waiting for me to walk in to flush bird after bird. It was often common place to count 100 birds or more each day walking mile after mile waiting for the perfect points to fill our game bag. There are specific points and flushes over the years so perfect they are forever burned in my memory. In fact I admit to going back to the same spots just hoping to experience such perfection just one more time. But I'm afraid it's like wishing you could have one more day with someone you loved after they've passed on. Time stands still for nothing as they say.

The setters came into this season at age 11 turning 12 starting with Mick in October followed by Beau in January and then Molly the following June. I had run Beau frequently the prior season of 2013 because he just didn't seem to be affected by his age. It was really an incredible thing to observe. Of course I was grateful knowing we were well beyond that time most bird dogs of his size and days in the field lived to hunt another day let alone doing it without missing a beat. Because I love to cover a lot of ground hunting the big hills and open spaces Beau and I had spent day after day together that year.  However the clock was ticking and I knew it all to well. I had saved the close cover and easy walking for Mick and Molly during that season. They were grateful for every minute as we enjoyed each others company.

Knowing we were all a year older as September 2014 approached I tried to adjust my expectations for this season I knew was a gift beyond anything else. Still together day to day. Doing exactly what I dreamed about  while working a job for the better part of 30 years. Living and hunting with a trio of beautiful bird dogs.  Then the season of 2014 was finally here and I knew exactly what run I wanted to take Beau on. It was 2 miles of beautiful rolling hill pasture with deep bowls and hill sides sharptail love for protection from the wind and high points they use with incredible skill to survey their domain keeping them safe from approaching hunters and their capable bird dogs. From our starting point it was a 3/4 mile walk uphill into what I knew to be some of the best sharptail cover around. On this day we would have to circle around to come back into the wind heading west as we traversed the hills. We hadn't gone a quarter mile when I noticed first of all that the casts Beau was making were much shorter than normal. He's a tall lanky setter that just cruises the cover with head held high making him a great sharptail hunter often pointing at great distances. He'd come around and stop for just a minute looking at me before continuing on making sure of our direction I expect. It's not unusual in this type of cover for him to get out of my line of sight due to the hills and bowls. I then watched as he disappeared over a rise. I use Garmin tracking collars so I knew exactly where he was at however when I heard him bark I knew he had lost me. Again unusual as he hadn't been that far out and we were in open cover. I walked to the rise and looked out ahead seeing him standing a couple hundred yards out looking about with ears perked up. I called to him but he didn't seem to hear. I waved to him and got the same results. He just didn't seem to know where I was at although I was in plain sight. I just stood there looking at him and my eyes started to water. This is it I thought. The tipping point. In stature still an incredibly beautiful dog I thought as I continued walking toward him calling and waving until he could see and hear me. We had become so very close the last couple years as we spent more time one on one in the field. As I walked I then thought about how deeply I had gotten to know this dog over a period of time and how lucky I was to have actually lived with him. He had repaid me with what I can only describe as an intense loyalty. Also I must add the equivalent of an Ivy League education in handling this very special type of bird dog. Finally after closing more than half the distance between us he started to wag his tail letting me know he had located me. We had barely begun to turn into the wind at this point and my boots felt heavy due to the reality before me becoming clearer with each step forward. Such an incredible dog. So beautiful to watch surfing the wind for scent. What I was watching seemed to have happened so suddenly but was actually years in the making. The process of aging. Declining stamina and failing senses. It was an extremely difficult moment knowing we had finally crossed that line in time when there's no turning back.

Eventually we got into scent and found birds. Then there would be moments when all was right with our world once again. Sharptail are not commonly pursued by aging hunters and their old dogs. It's a game best enjoyed on a more level field of abilities. But the dance is one so beautiful as it unfolds between the players that it's hard to know when to stop and be content with your memories.

The Bittersweet Season

Over the weeks ahead I came to terms with the effects of time and became optimistic once again as I accepted who we were. Shooting birds for each setter. Hunting the best parts of the day. Stopping and just enjoying our time. This time that I had worked so hard for. This time that was now ours to enjoy in this "Bittersweet season".

For The Birds Along The Way

It's April 2015 and this will be our 6th year in this rural community within what's referred to as the German triangle of North Dakota an area largely settled by Germans from Russia. It's strictly farm and ranch country and insulated from any other opportunity for development in that way. When once asked about where I thought a hunter should ideally locate I replied "Find an area with the unlikely probability of any future development that happens to have favorable game bird habitat!" That pretty much sums up where I currently call home.

With a county population under 2000 people it takes a lot of cooperation and teamwork to support local clubs and causes. The same people donate countless hours to civic organizations like I've never seen. But that's the magic that makes their communities work and continue to be great places to experience the benefits of the small town rural lifestyle. It's easy to poke fun at these communities and the people but just read the national news headlines on any given day and it's not hard to understand why multiple generations choose to live and raise families in areas like this.

In April every year the local chapter of Pheasants Forever holds their annual fundraising banquet and auction. They generate funds for local habitat projects through memberships,sponsor donations and of course they're annual auction. I have never been a club type of person although I've been a member of various organizations over the year's. The main reasons for this being available time and an aversion to meetings! During my career I basically made a living attending meetings of one type or another with most of them being expensive colossal wastes of time for the organization for which I worked. These were mostly meant to be download sessions or intimidation exercises to shame the masses into improved performance! So in my retirement being all the wiser after decades in the business world meeting culture I simply cannot find it within myself to be an active member of any of these groups no matter what the cause is. I've been forever ruined for the type of service and compliance they require. But when I hear of a good controversy or argument made public at one of these civic meetings my ears perk up. You see I've learned decisions always arise out of conflict and right or wrong the agendas will never move along without them!

So the question for me was how do I support the organization my interests as an upland hunter are most closely aligned with? It's not only the organization itself but the actual people who donate countless hours of their time. Many of them happen to also be landowners who graciously allow me to hunt on their land. I've got enough gear to last a lifetime and then some so being an auction buyer doesn't make sense. In fact I dream of someday only having those possessions I can load into a pick up truck along with my bird dogs! I tried being an active member for a while but as I've related it's not my forte. The schedule of events and operations of a local club are pretty straight forward and don't change or require a lot of input. That's fine really. It also makes sense that landowner relations and habitat opportunities be handled and initiated by local people they already are familiar with. Maybe being involved on a different level might make sense but the simple facts are I'm just a pointing dog man at heart. My main objective is to have my boots on the ground walking behind my bird dogs! So then how do I show solidarity to the cause?

Well I hadn't lived here very long before word got around about my pie baking talents. With many many great cooks within this Russian German community that's something that they valued. One of the more creative members of the club then asked me if I'd consider making pies for the spring auction. Of course I said lets try it and we were off and running! Right up my alley. Creative,independent, and somewhat unconventional with no meetings required! It became over a period of the next few years a great novelty everyone looked forward to at this event attended by a few hundred people each year. People enjoyed just looking at the pies on display and would marvel at what they'd bring at auction. It was common for them to go for 25 to 75 dollars each. All for a great cause and an enjoyable way for me to show my support " For the birds along the way!"

"For The Birds Along The Way"

Shed No Tears

                                       It's spring 2015. The setters and I have been gone from the rolling farm country of Wisconsin since 2009. Our time there served it's purpose providing the preparation in many ways for our exodus to bird country. A secluded rural property was a perfect environment for raising pups.

                                       Over the course of 30 years as you would expect an area as beautiful as the driftless area of Wisconsin continued to be discovered for what it was. One of the most desirable places to live in rural America. Not far from population centers you were quickly in the wooded hills and valleys largely occupied by family owned dairy operations. No trespassing signs were a rarity in the seventies and eighties. You could experience excellent trout fishing and grouse hunting walking mile after mile crossing fences without much interference except maybe from a Holstein bull on occasion. A foe most certainly to not be underestimated. The deer herd had years earlier moved to this part of the state and flourished in the rich farmland country.
                                       In the early fall of 1981 my friend Peter and I walked back to the valley behind my property a half mile and had a wonderful grouse hunt walking the hillsides of the Love Creek valley. This was a classic section of grazed wooded pasture with thickets of brush and cover in between open areas under a canopy of mixed hardwoods. Peter loved those hills and spent most of his time with fly rod or his Ithaca 20 gauge in hand . His English setter was a constant companion. We cleaned the birds that day out behind the old barn at my place as we talked about dogs and grouse hunting. Peter shot 5 birds to my 2. Boy he was quick with that Ithaca!

The Love Creek Valley

                                      As interest rates eased during this time the migration into the hills and valleys by urban pioneers became more prevalent. Some with more money than others built on the hills so everyone could see their vision of beauty. These places became like the acne of the countryside and it spread from one valley to the next and from one ridge top to the next as family farms were sold off and divided. During this time the number of dairy farms in the state plummeted as the latest generation looked to the future and cashed in their chips while they could.

                                     What followed was no surprise. With each farm that was divided new signs went up. No Trespassing! Keep Out! No Fishing! No Hunting! "This is my 10 acres!" "This is my 40 Acres!" And so and so on. And "No you can't pick mushrooms either" people would say if you asked. No! No! No! Who the hell were these people I thought. City people moved to the countryside was the answer. A plague of sorts had come to the driftless area forever changing the landscape and the personality of the countryside.

                                     Depending on how you chose to enjoy your time outdoors determined I suppose how you viewed this transition and new reality. For a pointing dog man longing to walk mile after mile with his bird dog's it was no place to live. A place to seek refuge from time to time maybe but certainly not a place to confine a crew of beautiful animals bred to pursue every species of upland birds. As sportsman no matter what our passion we all dream of someday living within the ideal environment for our sport. The day we decide to follow our instincts and cross over the line making our passion a way of life is our day of reckoning. Some of us cross over and some of us continue to dream content with memories of our times in the field. Each side of the line has it's risks and rewards with either choice being right or wrong a deeply personal question.

                                     On a recent trip back to Wisconsin the setters and I drove through some of the territory reminding me of the early days before the wholesale transformation of the states dairy farm country.
When it was time to turn west and head for the high plains we now call home it felt good to have my back to the past. I'm glad for the days we were there and the great times we had but I "Shed No Tears" as we turned off the interstate and crossed over into bird country once again.

Back in bird country once again.

To Wave Or Not To Wave

                          My story about living in bird country wouldn't be complete without touching on the subject of etiquette in the field. One facet in particular on this subject is the custom of waving a friendly acknowledgement to passing vehicles as you come upon each other while driving down the rural farm to market,section line, and secondary roads. Over the years I have passed many hunters as I travel these roads which bring us all into the heart of bird country each fall. It's no surprise that we're not alone. We all share the same passion although each of us has our own style and strategy for enjoying the sport.

What we all do not share is good manners! As time passes I come across more and more hunters that find it acceptable to ignore an opportunity to signal a hello with a friendly wave and smile or maybe even stop to chat about the hunt. The license plates of these vehicles are from a variety of states with some even being local. The indifference and unfriendly nature of these hunters can be born out of a variety of frustrations and feelings. In my view there are no excuses. Treat others as you expect to be treated is how I was raised in a small mid western town. That lesson has served me well in and out of the field. I have shared many experiences with other hunters and met many good people along the way.The only thing that can ensure having great days in the field is a positive attitude starting with accepting that only you are responsible for your success or failure to do so.

Treating others with a friendly and positive attitude has it's rewards!

I'll share a story now about one of those conversations I had on a rural secondary road several years ago. My hunting partner and I were in southwestern Kansas in January on our last trip of the season. We had tried to find a way to access a remote section of river bed we were hoping held some coveys of bob white quail. Looking at our map we just couldn't seem to find access without running into posted land from every direction. So puzzled by this we decided to hunt a walk in area for pheasants on this morning with temperatures in the single digits but with lots of clear blue Kansas sky! Before we got to far in I spotted a red ranch truck coming our way. I yelled to Tom to head towards the road so we could talk to this guy as in these rural areas in the winter there's just not many folks around. We waved the truck down and walked over to the driver. He asked what the heck we thought we were doing out in such weather! The next thing he said was to my partner Tom " Hand me your gun" We thought now where is this going? Turns out Dave as we learned was fond of guns and knew Tom was carrying a nice Sterlingworth double at the time. He then gave us permission to cross his property to access the river bottom we were looking to hunt. He also said we could hunt the wheat stubble to the east of where we currently were if we wanted to take a chance that his wife wouldn't shoot us as she's mighty fond of the quail that feed in that field as they hang around the yard in the winter month's! Then before he drove off to bust holes in the ice on water tanks for his cattle he invited us to stop back at his house to let him know how we did. Tom was relieved to have gotten his gun back and we laughed about being introduced to Kansas hospitality. Dave later shared that based on his first impressions in talking to us that he respected us as serious hunters and appreciated that we took the time to talk with him and asked about permission to hunt.

That chance meeting happened to be with the owner of 10,000 contiguous acres of land. It made our trip a great experience and we learned many things about the area we would have otherwise struggled with. In fact that meeting turned into a friendship we will always remember. Dave and his wife Shirley invited us into their home on many occasions over the year's for lunch and supper even offering to freeze our birds for us. And it all started with a friendly wave and conversation!

I have learned much about bird hunting and bird dog's over time but most importantly will tell you that you can read all you want to educate yourself. Fill your head with data, harvest statistics and species characteristics. But most of what is really beneficial about any area you will ever hunt or any dog you will ever hunt with  is transferred from one person to another. Face to face. But this information isn't just given freely. You can't demand it and can't buy it. The holder or keeper decides if you're worthy of receiving it. How do they decide? It has everything to do with your attitude and respect for other people. Indifference and arrogance will never get you through the gate!

So my advice is simple and my message short. It all starts with an attitude and decision. "To Wave Or Not To Wave".

                          

A Molly Monday Morning

                                 By early October we'd been grouse hunting for a few weeks in warmer than normal temperatures this year. You then pick and choose the days and times you head for the field based on conditions your dog's can tolerate. With my trio of aging Setter's I have to be especially careful to not let them over heat in the warm weather. As for bird populations this year there's not enough birds for a truckload of hunter's to enjoy shooting like it used to be but for a retired bird hunter and his aging bird dog's there's enough to satisfy an old dog's desire to work one more bird.

Molly had been retired from active duty for a couple season's now but I still work these old dog's in the field letting them hunt at their own pace on walks they can easily handle. Just because they can't cover ground like they used to doesn't mean they've lost the desire or ability to find birds so I owe them these times as pay back for all the miles they covered for me in the past when they were in their prime. After all I need the exercise as much as they do!

We all grow old people and dog's alike. Life changes. But we can still enjoy it and everything around us just in a little different way. I've learned a little from seeing the Setter's grow old in that accepting and embracing the stages of life enables you to keep enjoying it versus spending your days lamenting times gone by. What a waste that is really. Life is and always will be about now. About the moment.

The rotation for the morning hunt was for Molly to spend some time with me on this day. It was sunny and clear just one of those mornings that make you want to be outside. The Setter's keep track of who's turn it is I swear. So when I started to get dressed Molly kept an eye on me and when I reached for my boots she made her move putting her nose right in my face as if to say "Please don't leave without me!" She kept nuzzling me as I struggled to lace my boots knowing what "boots" mean. Next step after getting on my gear was to put a collar on the dog fortunate enough to get to go along. Molly sat right in front of me offering up her head to receive the collar as I slipped it over her ears. Of course Beau and Mick also then took the stance but I told them "You stay" and they reluctantly surrendered they're lobbying knowing it was Molly's day. The next task was to get out of the house. You see there's always that heart wrenching final effort of the pups to try to go along even though they've been told to stay today. But I know they'll be asleep on the couch minutes after Molly and I leave dreaming away so I don't feel to bad. Besides I don't know many bird dog's that lead the kind of life they do!

Molly has always been a joy to be around. She knows the routines well and obediently loads up into the Jeep. She takes the back seat her normal spot but I encourage her to take shotgun beside me as this is our time I say to her as she gives me her look of approval as I help her into position in the front seat. Off we go down the street out of town as she sits proudly riding shotgun on this beautiful morning. I crack the window a little giving her the fresh air and a little breeze as we drive the ten miles or so to our run.

We turn off the main road and hit gravel which gets her attention. It never ceases to amaze me how keenly the Setter's use associative behavior skills to identify what's happening. It's fun to observe. A couple more miles and we turn into a dirt road and soon find a spot to pull off to the side. We're here. My plan is to take a walk along this old trail with ditches filled with cattails then walk uphill along a waterway through an adjacent pasture. All easy walking for Molly giving her a chance to enjoy the feeling of once again walking with me in the field. And if we see a bird or two that would make it all the better.

It was just beautiful out with no wind at all and temperatures in the upper 40's as we proceeded walking down the path. There were ducks on the water to our right and sounds of geese flying over head. With no one else to be seen we walked together with Molly working her nose into the cover for about a 100 yards. I had been looking to the south east at some cover on an adjacent hill side thinking about prospects for another day as this is an area I hunt quite often. When I turned back to Molly ahead of me 30 yards she was froze! Rock solid on point with the most intense look on her face looking into the brush and grass to the left side of the path. What have we here I thought as I cautiously approached. Closer and closer I came until I was right there. I walked right in and kicked ahead of me when a beautiful rooster cackled his way into the air flying straight north. I quickly fired before he could veer off to the right into the heavy grass ahead and he fell hard just on the other side of the fence in the open pasture to the west. Molly made her way over inspecting the rooster lying still in the grass as I made my way under the fence. She laid down then panting to catch her breath as I came upon her and knelt down to pick up the bird and compliment her on a job well done.

It was a beautiful moment that meant so much to an aging bird dog to once again take in the scent of a wild rooster in the early morning sun on this October day. We walked on for an hour or so through the pasture stopping frequently for Molly to catch her breath. Occasionally she'd cast out farther than usual and quicken her pace when the cover looked more promising but eventually she'd have to stop again to catch her breath. I just enjoyed watching her knowing her desire to hunt would never go away. We stopped on the way back to the Jeep as we rested for a while. I then took the bird out for her laying it on the ground between us as an unspoken tribute to our time together on this beautiful " Molly Monday Morning".