Four Tough Days

    

   It all started as a duck hunt. While on vacation hunting pheasants for nearly two weeks I had watched these mallards do the same thing every day I was in the area. They would come of the roost at about 9:00 in the morning and trickle into this slough until about 11:00. There were lots of them. It was a couple miles out to where they were. All on foot of course. I had been sort of saving the shoot for when I had time. I only get a short time to hunt pheasants so I figured as long as the weather held those ducks would probably wait. Well I was wrong. With my pheasant itch scratched I finally decided to walk out to the little slough. Having seen the ducks go in there the day before I was sure to have a quick shoot and be on my way to more upland adventures. Well waterfowl being what they are at 10:00 I had seen zero ducks. Not even a single bird. At 10:30 I decided to walk out and go check the roost. Sure enough the roost was empty. They had moved out the night before ahead of the cold front that was coming. I should have known. I thought I would have one more day before the front got there. I was a little frustrated with myself for not hunting them when they were there, but I knew putting it off could result in this. I wasn’t entirely surprised. I regrouped and went about the rest of the day chasing long tails.
    The grass grew high and thick this year in Utah, and Southern Idaho from the rare rains that fell last spring. We aren’t used to these conditions here and my family and friends have all shared their struggles in the unusually thick cover. It isn’t as fun. You don’t get to watch your dog as much. You cant see him most of the time, and for me that is a big part of the magic of the hunt. Don't get me wrong the sun still rises and sets over the same breathtaking landscape, but without visibility of the dog something is lost. Multiple times I myself have had dogs on point, followed the tracker to them, worked the flush only to see the bird squirt away on foot through their secret network of little trails under the heavy growth. It is frustrating to dogs and hunters alike. This isn’t South Dakota. The fields aren’t full of birds. There are only a few birds, and they are tough to find on normal years. Getting them out this year has proven difficult and at times mentally defeating. A flushing dog would be a better choice maybe. (Don't tell anyone I said that.) We have somehow made the best of it, and have been walking back to the truck with tail feathers protruding from our game bags more times than not.

It is late season now and Tic was rested so I put my old friend on the ground, and sent him on a cast to enjoy the cool afternoon. It has been a warm fall. It was so nice to walk without sweating. Tic had more energy too and was really working his guts out for me. It is no secret that Tic has a thyroid problem and is on medication for life to treat it. He is not the same dog he was before the health issues, but he gives me a good days work and is still a bird finding fool. It isn’t as refined as it once was, and he gets in his own head sometimes, but he is still my best bud, and I trust him completely with the hunt. As I would expect he did a great job covering every inch of ground until he found point. He would point several times, but he was color blind this day. Though I enjoyed watching him work hens we were still looking for that elusive rooster when the sun sank behind the mountains. Tomorrow would be a new day and I was confident we would find roosters.
    

    I try to rest my dogs every other day when I can so Sunnie would get the call on day two. She is by far the better of the two these days.(don’t tell Tic, or Angie I said that) I have so much confidence with her out front. Her beauty and grace as she floats over the landscape is second to none. I try to hunt her in shorter cover for that reason. I love to watch her work the wind, and every now and then she does something really amazing. This was not now or then but after two hours of watching her work everything from grass to sage and even cattails she finally stopped. She had crawled into some cattails and went on point. As I started in to her a rooster jumped and shot out behind me. I turned and stumbled but found my feet quick enough to put the pattern on him. At the report of the gun three more roosters and two hens went. All the roosters were out of range. I hustled to where my rooster had fallen. The ground was nearly bare but he was nowhere to be seen. My heart sunk in my chest as Sunnie searched relentlessly for the downed bird. I had seen this before. The thing I hate worst about hunting is losing a wounded animal. It is a fact if you hunt long enough, even while trying to do everything right, you will at some point lose one. I hate it! After an hour of circling we gave up. My heart was heavy and not only had we lost a nice bird but I was sure we had seen every rooster in the state just fly away. I am nothing if not determined. I convinced myself that time had taught me to just keep covering ground and eventually the luck will change. “Hunt like you know they are there” I kept telling myself. Around noon my belly started growling so we started back to the truck to get some lunch. As we were walking down an old Agricultural access two track road I saw a rooster flying. He landed 50 yards in front of us, and as we came around the bend in the road I could see him standing on the road looking at me. I thought “Wow, this one is dumb, Finally!” The wind was at my back so I backtracked to where he couldn’t see me deciding to get the wind right so Sunnie could have some of this. We went around where the bird had been and worked back to it with the wind in our face. Sure enough Sunnie locked up as confident and beautiful as ever. As I walked in I could see part of the bird's tail sticking out from under the edge of some cattails. I thought how has this bird lived this long. He is dumb. He was in a thin band of cattails just off of the two track with a pond on the other side. I wanted to avoid the water retrieve if possible so I tried to work in between the bird and the water to flush in a better direction, and I was about to find out how he had lived this long. As I took my last step I slipped a little and the bird took that opportunity to run behind me. When I tried to turn myself around he flushed. My feet got tangled in the cattails and I tripped and fell down twisting my knee as he flew to safety. Sunnie gave me the look. I have never been more grateful that dogs cant talk. I was injured enough without her giving me the business. My knee seemed okay but my Ego was a little bit injured. Age might be catching me a little. I have always had great feet, and could turn and shift them as well as anyone, but now I was starting to question myself. After lunch we went on about hunting. I tried hard not to get discouraged. Sunnie kept the tempo up and helped make it easy to keep going. At about 4:00 she hit the brakes and stood in the middle of a grove of Russian Olive

trees. This is another trick I have seen before, but more times than not I am able t get the rooster flying through the trees. As I got close the bird flushed. It was a nice rooster. He put a tree trunk between he and I and never gave me a shot. FRUSTRATED! At this point only one thing could save the day. I went back to the truck and drove straight to the closest Ice cream vendor. I got a thick Caramel Cashew Malt on my way home. It is a well known fact that you cant eat a Caramel Cashew malt and be sad. It helped some, but I was already thinking about tomorrow.

    Day 3, Tic on the ground. My knee was a little stiff but with the help of Ibuprofen I was able to walk. I had gotten with a friend to hunt some public land close to home. Yes, it had come to this. Pen raised roosters. Certainly I could get an easy two over Tic and stop this streak of bad luck. I had some adulting to take care of in the afternoon but certainly we could get our birds by noon and be on our way. I will keep this part short. My friend, Maureen saw one rooster that caught her sleeping and she didn’t get a shot off. I saw one rooster at about 100 yards flying. That's it. I was a responsible adult and went home to take care of business.

     Day 4! Sunnie on the ground. Again! I was really frustrated now. Anybody that knows me well will tell you the harder it gets the more determined I get, and it was only this determination that pushed me forward to hunt again on day 4. I went to my favorite spot in Idaho, and vowed not to return to the truck until we had a bird down. Sunnie was fresh, sharp and looked like a million bucks. She hit point after point, again and again only to see a hen or two flush away to safety. She seemed as determined as I and her search was fast, thorough, and relentless. She had covered 21.4 miles and I had 8.2 miles according to the SportDOG Tek 2.0 GPS before our luck would change. She was working the scent of a running bird in medium grass when by chance the bird took a wrong turn and nearly ran into me. Both he and I were shocked and surprised. He had no choice but to flush at my feet. Somehow I managed to get my feet set, the safety off, gun to my shoulder, get down on the gun and track the bird all on autopilot. The bird crashed to the ground a victim of my bottom barrel and Sunnie dove on it within seconds. I think she knew how desperate this situation had become. She brought the bird to hand and we rolled around in the grass together while I said good girl over and over. As hunting is we would go on to get two more roosters in the next 45 minutes both pointed and both flushing behind me. I was singing all the way home, and the world seemed normal again. Maybe I’m not old just yet.

Crusted Blues

As Tic and I started our descent I could see there was a crust of snow in the shadows of the pines on the southeast side of My Hell Hole this morning. I had not been up there for several weeks so I was excited to see mother natures frosty October breath starting to take its toll. The aspen leaves were yellow and falling, and the under-brush was almost bare. One of the most valuable assets of this wonderful place is that dusky grouse seem to gather here as the season goes on. It just gets better and better with the declining weather. The only way in to this place is down and the only way out is up. It is like hunting chukar in thick brush. It is brutal, and I love this place.

Tic was running below me searching a group of pines just below the top when birds flushed all around him they rocketed down the canyon gaining speed with gravity's help. I was just out of range and chose not to take the chance of crippling one. Tic stopped to flush and as I walked in another dusky flushed and quickly put a pine tree between he and I to aid his escape. I chuckled a

little as I thought about my old dog and I having been made fools by this first group of birds. Tic didn’t look as amused as I was and I think he was blaming me. Never the less when I released him he went right back to work. I wasn’t sure why he didn’t get them pointed but as I walked I began to realize the crusty snow was making our movements very loud. It might be a tough day. These late season birds are not the “fool hens” that my grandfather would talk about. They get up and get gone! We walked on and the crusty snow would make it tough to get close to anything telegraphing our location and path constantly. I heard several birds flushed far away from me and Tic we didn’t get within 60 yards of them. I was getting a little bit frustrated when my Sportdog Tek 2.0 tracker went off telling me that Tic was on point. I quickly started in his direction, but again birds started flushing before I

could get into sight of him. My luck would change this time however. Two birds flushed late as I got to Tic. I missed the first one but connected with the second and it tumbled down the steep hill with Tic in Pursuit. Tic was on the retrieve, and I was able to admire my old dog for just a moment as he struggled up the hill with the huge bird. That was just the medicine we needed. Both of us felt better with the little bit of success. The rest of our morning would be more of the same. We had points with birds flushing early and behind trees. We had wild flushing birds and even a nice point on a ruffed grouse that played his game rather than mine putting the only tree around between us. Sometimes things go perfectly and other times it seems impossible to get a shot. This was the latter. We would come home with only two birds, but I think it was the most fun we have had so far this season. There were lots and lots of smart grouse and it is fun to get worked by them every now and then. I learned through the years to respect the Duskys that live in My Hell Hole. Though they seem like fools at times if the cards are stacked in their favor it can be a very long day. What great birds!

Early September Grouse First hunt of the year

A little rain fell last night so I was feeling very hopeful while driving to one of my favorite early season grouse spots this morning. I had a brand new tracking collar that I was excited to try out. Its a sportdog Tek 2.0 and with a dog that runs like Sunnie I knew it would come in handy.

It was just before sunrise when I slipped two 1 1/8 oz number six's in the chambers of my 525 and we started up the hill. Sunnie and Tic were all wound up. It always makes me giggle when seasoned dogs get so excited about a new hunting season. I was excited to see my dogs now veteran dogs work together doing what they specialize in. I never get tired of watching a fine dog work scent and hit point. With a slight breeze in our face I was feeling really good about the possibility of getting some good dog work.
The first to show off some skills was now 7 year old Tic. He found a nice ruffed grouse tucked tight in some dead fall. I could barely see the tip of his tail through the heavy cover, but the tracker got me there. The bird shot like a rocket, barely visible flashing through the green leaves of the early

Look hard maybe you can find Tic in there.

September aspens. I swung quickly and shot as the bird disappeared behind a tree. I had to laugh while I thought to myself just because you get them pointed doesn’t mean you get a great opportunity. I did not connect and though I wanted the first bird in hand It was still fun to see Tic with a full tail of hair get the first point of the season. He has been so solid for me for a long time. He always give his all.

As we walked on up the canyon. I heard a hawk scream a couple times and then saw two blue grouse flush from up on the ridge and fly back over my head down toward where I parked the truck. I have to assume they were frightened by that hawk neither dog had gotten within 100 yards from where they flushed. I was deep in thought about this when a voice from my Tek 2.0 Said soonie is on point 110 yards to the south east. Soonie? I laughed the device always mispronounces Sunnie's name. I turned on my screen and followed it to her. When I got there I couldn’t see her at all but a big blue grouse flushed I tracked it and shot as the barely visible bird flashed through the trees, and again I only got one shot and did not connect. Sunnie came out of the brush looking at me as if to ask, well, where did it fall? She always has a way of making me feel bad for missing. “I'm sorry” I said out loud “No bird”. I'm glad dogs cant speak because she gave me the dirtiest look as she started about her business again.  Another hour would pass before I would hear “soonie is on point” again. This time she was 45 yards away but before I could get to her I heard a bird flush, but never saw it. When I got to her she was still standing but had lost style telling me that the bird had indeed flushed. I have to admit I was getting a little bummed by now. I was a little discouraged as I released her and we started on our way. It wouldn’t be long before Tic would slam point. That point where the dog is running full sped and all of the sudden spins and freezes all in one motion. "WOW! Nice work Tic I had better get a picture of that one." I thought. With camera in hand I tried to get a better angle and whoops..... There went the bird. I didn’t even get a shot. It was

another ruffed grouse. A beautiful red phase bird. I wanted to hit myself with a stick. Now I was really down. “Get a better angle dummy! Maybe shoot the first bird of the year before you worry about stupid stuff like pictures.” “UGH!” What can you do? So I sent the dogs hunting and off we went. Fortunately Tic didn’t make me grumble and moan very long before he was standing over a nice blue grouse. This one would meet my determined side as he tried his escape flashing through the trees. For the third time I quickly tracked the bird and flashed a shot at the last second. This time I heard the bird crash through the underbrush. Tic brought the bird to hand. I was so happy to have been able to finally finish one. Sadly

it was starting to get hot. Both dogs had the look of exhaustion on their faces so we hunted back to the truck not seeing anything on the way back.

It was still a fine day. The Sportdog Tek 2.0 proved to be a useful and effective tool. Even though I had only one bird in the bag I watched some brilliant dog work. Both Sunnie and Tic looked great. I cant wait to do it again in a couple of days!
I just have a feeling its going to be the best year yet!

The Art

     I woke in a cold sweat with my Setter, Tic's nose one inch from my face. His terrible breath was a comfort to me as it was the first clue given that I had only been dreaming. I had a nightmare! They had canceled bird season and all I kept thinking was how all the hard work we had done during the off season was to be wasted. What would I do in the fall with no bird hunting? A smile came to my face as I sat up put two feet on the floor and said jokingly, “Cancel bird season?” I had to laugh. I looked down at my little Setter sitting in front of me looking at me like he knew something about today. “yes we are going to hunt birds,” I said quietly. He looked excited to hear me say the words that he had been hoping for, and had heard so many times. I got to my feet, stumbled through my morning routine and It wasn’t long before we were standing at one of our favorite haunts. It was early November and we were really into our bird groove. Ruffed grouse were on my mind, and the thought of a hike through the Wasatch Mountains was sounding really good.

   Standing with my gun broke under my arm looking up at the glory before us I could feel the light breeze blowing the crisp smell of winter down the mountain to sting my face. Soon it would snow, and I was happy to get another hunt or two in before winter in the high country. The wind would be perfect for Tic, and I was excited to see my veteran bird dog perform his version of art in

front of me. The leaves were mostly gone the trees were barren, we were alone, and there wasn’t an unnatural sound to be heard. Perfect! I thought about the terrain I had walked so many times, and quickly came up with a strategy. It would be a long hike along a gentle ridge to the top, and then our best chances at birds would be on the other side. Without another thought I sent Tic to hunting and I started in behind him working up the ridge toward the top. Walking in the forest behind Tic these days is like being with the best old friend I can possibly imagine. It is comfortable and relaxing. There is a feeling of trust and a complete understanding of each other. I don’t have to say anything he just plays his role on our team, and I do my best to fill mine. We are in sync.

    My thoughts blend into the surroundings, Tic moves to my side, and a complete relaxation comes over me as I now find myself standing on the top of the world gazing humbly out over all of creation. The magnitude of what's in front of us leaves me feeling small and insignificant. Tic standing beside me looks as though he is as captivated by the landscape of the world below us as I. We are alone, but stand together motionless, and silent. Only the sound of the wind blowing across, through, and between us separates our being. Without a sound, a gesture or command we start down together in perfect unison working toward a common goal. I feel connected and in sync with him, and I know he feels the same. My eyes follow his movements as he casts across the unbelievable landscape, searching, always searching. He is a picture of life, of beauty, and athleticism against the backdrop that is mountains, canyons, trees, and rock that run from here to eternity. Their beauty is just a Siren's call luring us into the difficult, and relentless terrain that causes struggle, and harbors our reason. We search long and hard until all at once the world stops. He has found a place to stand. His tail straight in the air , his nostrils flaring,

and his mouth is tasting the sweet intoxicating flavor of scent that he lives for. He is motionless before me like in a painting that only I can see. The picture moves me emotionally and just for a second I am hesitant to move in, flush the bird, and shatter the perfect moment. I now have to do my job for him as he has done for me. Carefully I slide in toward the standing dog. Ready, focused and almost frightened with anticipation. I can hear myself breath. Then with the first wing beat silence turns to chaos, and the bird is flashing through the trees. All in one motion my feet shift, the gun to my shoulder, the safety off, the quick swing and the report of the gun brings the bird crashing to a stop. I can hear my breath again, and then Tic's as he returns to me carrying his prize, his head held high with pride. I break my gun and remove the spent shell. I can smell the soothing aroma of burned powder. For just a moment we are content and accomplished before we return to our search.

   That would be the only time we would achieve perfection on the day. This was a beautiful dream that stood in contrast with the nightmare I had woken from in the morning. I never tire of watching a veteran bird dog brush his print in the canvas of the magnificent world we are so bless to be a part of. There is nothing more beautiful.

Thank goodness for bird season.

My first puppy.

 It is the off season. June staring July in the face more inspires lazy hot days, grilling in the backyard, and fishing than it does stories of bird dogs and calling ducks. Today I've been thinking back. Back before I had discovered the English setter. Before I knew how to call, or train a bird dog. Before I had a driver's license. Back to where memories become shadows and a boy wanted a long eared shorthair puppy so bad. It was summer then too I think.
My father was a backyard breeder of German Shorthairs back in the 1970's and 1980's. My parents were divorced so I got to visit my dad on the weekends. Often there were puppies at his house. Oh how I loved it when there would be puppies. Dad would let me play with them and I would try to teach them things in the back yard. I suppose that was the beginning of my desire to train bird dogs. Each week I would see less of them and sometimes a new owner would stop by to buy a new puppy. I don’t remember being overly sad that the puppies slowly disappeared. I did always dream of having one of my own, and often tried to talk my mother into letting me bring one home. We lived on the edge of town and I would try to explain that it would be perfect for me to have a bird dog to run in the fields on the wild pheasants that lived there completely unharnessed by a boy and his dog. It didn’t seem right that those birds should live in such a way. Again and again, year after year I would try to talk her into it and every time in her infinite wisdom she would say no. And then it happened. I went to visit my dad and he broke the news to me. There was a new litter of puppies, and he seemed really pleased with the breeding. There was one pup in that litter that I really had my eye on. She had a lot of white, and a few dark liver spots, with the biggest ears you have ever seen. I thought it was so funny that they got wet every time she drank water. I was so taken by her for who knows what

This is one of only two pictures I have of her

reason, but I knew my mom wouldn’t let me have her. I had even gotten tired of asking, and I am certain she was tired of hearing it. I made an agreement with myself that I would ask one last time. This puppy was worth trying. When she said no I would just never ask again, ever. While my dad drove me home in the car I planned my assault. I would tell her about the puppy and how cute it was, and her big ears, and about those poor pheasants living in piece, and on and on. However when I got home my game plan went out the window, and I could only get the courage up to just ask the question. I knew she would say no so as soon as the words left my mouth I expected to just say okay and turn and walk away. I was into my turn when she blew my mind. It wasn’t a yes, but she said she would have to talk to my stepfather. I was so confused. I thought I had the whole script written. Of course I knew he would say no because he didn’t really care for dogs back then. I went to my room trying to imagine what would make him say yes. I couldn’t really think of anything so I was beginning to give up hope when they came in together most certainly to tell me no. Instead I heard something like this. Blah blah blah... responsibility... blah blah blah ...feed it blah blah blah... clean up after it..... blah blah... yes blah blah blah Wait! Yes? Did they really just say yes? Was I really getting a puppy? They were still blah blahing all over the place but I was almost certain they said yes. And

My mom and Spider

they really did. I called my dad and I'm not sure if he was more excited or I was. That long eared white and brown shorthair pup became my first attempt at training my own bird dog. Never again did those pheasants in those fields have to live without being chased. I named her spider. I don’t remember why. I failed miserably at my first training attempt but she did turn into a bird dog of sorts. If nothing else she was steady on point and absolutely adorable.

SETTER TALES AND MALLARD CURLS: LATE SEASON UTAH CHUKAR

SETTER TALES AND MALLARD CURLS: LATE SEASON UTAH CHUKAR:         Stumbling over the top of the hill my eyes found Sunnie standing on point 100 yards from where I crested. After taking a couple mor...

LATE SEASON UTAH CHUKAR

     

    Stumbling over the top of the hill my eyes found Sunnie standing on point 100 yards from where I crested. After taking a couple more steps I could see she was actually backing Tic who was 30 yards out in front her. I took three more steps and the mountain exploded with chukars. As luck would have it I was just out of range. I stood with my hands on my hips gasping for air, and wondering how many times this has happened to me. It was the first flush of the day and it looked like they didn’t go very far so I came up with a strategy to get on top of them and released the dogs from their stand. I put the dogs at heel so they wouldn’t continue to push the birds up the mountain and we quickly made our way to the other side of the ridge so as to sneak around on them. We worked along the side hill to gain elevation on the north facing slope. It was difficult with the slippery footing and uneven terrain, but on a gorgeous, sunny, February day in western Utah I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. The mid-morning sunlight was reflecting off of the snowy north facing slopes. It really brought out the brilliance of rock and grass of the bare south facing slopes. The beauty of the world we live in that few seem to notice these days is just breathtaking. The scenery wasn’t all that was making me short of breath. The clime was exhausting, and my legs were starting to feel as though they were made of jello. I was thinking to myself next year I need to work harder at fitness. When we got to the highest point on the hill we stepped over the top to start working back toward where the big covey had landed. Just as I peaked over the hill I noticed Sunnie had slipped off somewhere. I guess I was not paying attention while as I was struggling and gasping for air. It wasn’t long before I spotted her running at full gate toward the location that I thought the birds had gone, and on the wrong side of the wind. Sure enough she stopped to flush as the birds escaped across the canyon and over the next ridge. Dang it Sunnie! I stood catching my breath. The evil chant of the Chukars on the next ridge started to really irritate me. I wanted to raise my fist and yell at them like a grumpy old man telling those dang kids to stay of his lawn, but I didn't. I had been climbing for three hours so I was not happy at the thought of walking down into the canyon and back up to the top of the next ridge to try once again to get in shooting range of those evil little birds. Being as driven as I am to get birds isn't always easy so I tightened my boot laces, thought it's not going to kill me, and off I went. When I got to the top of the next ridge I could hear and feel my heart pounding in my chest, and then I felt it sink as I realized that those dang birds had landed in the middle of big patch of pinion junipers, and that I probably wouldn’t be able to see them to shoot even if we did find them. “Boy, I cant catch a break”, I said to myself. The dogs were already down in the trees so I followed, and when I found Tic he was standing tall. Moments later I saw Sunnie below him standing birds in another spot. Hustling down the hill I slipped on some loose shale, and fell down smacking the middle of my spine on a rock. My clumsiness had made a real racket, and I could hear birds jumping. I couldn’t see them. I was flat on my back and my legs tingled like your arm does when you hit your funny bone. For a few minutes I thought I might be in real trouble. I noted as I was laying there that I saw a glimpse of two birds that looked to have landed down the ridge 200 yards or so. I looked my gun over to make sure I hadn’t put any new scars on it. I love that 525 Browning, and thank goodness I had managed to hold it out of harms way. It was as clean and beautiful as ever. Several minutes went by before I was feeling like I might be able to get to my feet. My legs were still feeling sort of asleep as I struggled to get up, but get up I did. I walked around for a minute or two trying to decide if I needed to give up the hunt or go on, but the more I walked the better I was feeling so I decided to continue. Remembering where I thought those two birds had landed I worked my back up, again. Once at the top of the ridge we once again worked down the ridge toward the place I thought they would be. Wasting no time at all Sunnie made scent and slammed into a

beautiful point. This was the best situation we had all morning. I was quickly walking in almost forgetting the pain in my back when I saw Tic quartering back to us right toward where the birds were from the wrong side of the wind. He couldn’t see Sunnie. I knew what was going to happen before I even got there. I had no choice, so I whistled the whoa command with hopes I could stop him from running through the birds. He stopped and the 10 or so birds that were there jumped from the sound of the whistle. I was still 60 yards out. “This just isn’t my day” I thought. I was really frustrated now, and I could see the dogs were too. With a sigh I made a plan to start my descent and we went on our way feeling a little defeated. We worked down the ridge back in the direction from which we came trying to get back to the place where we first found birds. At one point we came to a skyline and another big covey of 75 birds got nervous and flushed from the other side of the canyon. I just stood and laughed. I am nothing if not persistent so we hunted on. I wondered if I would ever fire a shot on this day. We had seen so many birds and nothing had went our way. The dogs kept working and I tried to keep my chin up. Another hour had gone by before Sunnie stopped and pointed again. I hustled in expecting the birds to jump before I got there. I had no Idea where Tic was either so I half expected him to mess things up, but not this time. It was a single bird, and he made a mistake and held. I was so excited when it jumped 10 yards in front of me that I almost panicked. Calmness prevailed, and all in one continuous motion my gun jumped to my shoulder, found the bird, and the bottom barrel connected. “fetch Sunnie”, I yelled as she was already in motion. Then my heart sunk again as I saw the winged bird running away 100 yards down hill. I couldn’t believe it. Was this little bugger going to get away too? Experience has taught me that if I can stand and watch often a crippled chukar will crawl under a sage brush or rock and hold at some point. This bird did that and I was able to direct Tic to it. Finally

we had a bird in hand. I had to walk back up to start hunting again but I had new life in my legs, my back hurt, but it wasn’t as bad now. As we worked the rest of the way down the ridge Tic, and Sunnie would take turns pointing and backing until Tic found the final bird of my limit down in the bottom. They really looked like a magnificent team even in their fatigued state. I was grateful to be on the hill in the company of the two dogs I had been cursing earlier. Its funny how we sometimes judge our four legged friends by the circumstance more than their actual abilities.

I finally took some pictures and started the 90 minute walk back to the truck. Together the dogs and I had 10 sore feet, and one very sore back, but a definite feeling of accomplishment. The harder you work the sweeter the prize. It's true.

BTW. I'm fine its nothing more than a deep bruise.