and Father Time. Zoe had swapped ends in
mid-stride, took a couple of lunges back up the downwind side
of the path and, with tail whirling so vigorously you would expected
to hear the sound of it, plunged into the thick stuff.
I'd move up close enough for a decent, even a sure shot if taken
at the right time. But in "the heat of battle" I don't
always make the calculated moves that come to me in the lull
of a loss or win.
At the outset I hadn't prepared properly. Anticipating woodcock
and ruffed grouse shooting, my shotgun of choice was 28 gauge
SKB over/under, primed with the No. 7 1/2 standard 3/4 ounce
loads. Winchester loads a full 1 oz. in some of their 28s and
having found them very effective out of skeet and improved cylinder
chokes I always tote a handful "just in case" I need
a heavier load of number sixes, as for pheasants, thick foliage
early in the grouse season or spooky birds late. But they where
snug in the carrying loops in my vest pocket, not in the gun.
The only thing that might have compensated a bit for being undergunned
and underloaded had been a decision to use an improved cylinder
and modified choke tubes, putting away the skeet tube I'd started
with, in the interest of cleaner kills during a very dry season
which put good dog work at a premium.
So when this rooster rocketed out, appearing to be lifting a
leaping black Labrador into the air with its long tail feathers,
I hesitated about shooting at all, thereby passing up my window
of opportunity to pop the bird as it towered up over the open
path. By the time I rationalize that Zoe deserved a bird for
her effort, the rooster had leveled and put the highest stand
of brush between us. But I touched off anyway, just as his image
was burned |
away when he flew directly into the sun.
It was delayed, blind, poke and hope shot that had no business
connecting. Strictly luck.
Even when the bird slanted down in something between a wobble
and a spin with a broken left wing I cursed by luck. Out where
it came down, chances for recovery were not good.... a runner
in a mixture of semi-dry bog and dense canary grass.
Zoe, thanks to her previous owner and some brush up work I'd
done with her was reliably steady for normal, straight retrieving.
She was only started, however, in her training to make her sit
and stay after she had flushed an upland bird, ala a spaniel.
she emerged 10 yards up the path
from me, in control of a struggling rooster pheasant
But
since I hadn't seen her come out of the flush area, I half expected
to see her anchored there, responding perhaps to the gun shot
even though in the excitement I had failed to reinforce with
a verbal command. Then we'd do it in the classic manner, even
though the brush would have made it nearly impossible for her
to follow the rooster's flight line.... say her name to release
her and wave her in the direction of the fall.
But if she had gotten confused when she broke and was ramming
around I was prepared to fight my way over into the area of the
fall (at 75 to 80 yards a long fall for an upland bird), with
Zoe at heel to be cast off to "hunt 'em out" as she
had when originally seeking the bird.
But she wasn't on hold and there were no noises or waving ground
cover as occurs when a bird flies and an inexperienced dog, |
which hasn't seen it or zeroed in on the
flight line, comes back to root around in the scent still hot
in the area of the flush. So I hit the whistle with the come
in call.
I could hear her before I could see her.... partway between me
and the area of the fall.... and in a few ticks she emerged 10
yards up the path from me, in control of a struggling rooster
pheasant. She'd done it all on her own, about as difficult a
recovery is you can expect from a retriever, young, old, hard-headed
or biddable.
As is her quirk, she raced up and threw the bird at me. I failed
to field it and she had to catch it again. This time I handled
it cleanly. Obviously there was work to be done. She should learn
to plunk her butt and stay until sent when she flushes a bird.
Should learn to hang on to what she's picked up until told to
release it. She might even come around to holding still long
enough to get properly hugged when she delivers like she did.
But win, lose or draw, in the interim, I got me a hunting dog
whose nature dictates the job gets done.
Before the waterfowl season closed down, Zoe endeared herself
even more and made a down payment on the pre-season work that
had been done with her, guaranteeing future efforts. A combination
of factors in recent years has cut back my total involvement
waterfowling, steel shot among them. A goose or two a season
satisfies me and as I age the effort, cost and maintenance of
all the accessories vital to serious duck hunting seem more bother
than worth.
But being blessed with walk-to waterfowling opportunities, I
keep my hand in mostly by jump-shooting the canals, pond and
ditches out my backdoor. Because I don't like using steel in
my good guns or relics, I keep a couple of |
