Tur Bo and Dolly both on point.
Tur Bo in front on point Dolly behind honoring
Tur Bo honoring Dolly
It’s been too cold to train dogs but I have been getting a pen ready to house some pen reared birds to train with. Most of the quail seasons are closed. Oklahoma season closes Monday. Some states go to the end of February. The end of another quail season always brings a feeling that can only be termed “withdrawal”.
Late in the season, last year, I went hunting near Atchison, Kansas. On the way home I got to thinking about my grandfather, Ben O’Kelly. Grandpa was born in the 1880’s and died in 1960. He had been a blacksmith and was stooped over from bending over the forge and anvil most of his life. I don’t remember him having a blacksmith shop but he had a small farm with a large garden, a milk cow and usually some horses or mules. Grandpa never owned a car nor as far as I knew ever learned to drive.
It was late in the season when I hunted near Atchison and most of the cover was either beat down or had been grazed down by the cattle. I had hunted Luke and Blaze on the first place and although both of them had pointed I never saw a bird. I think the quail had run out and flushed before I got there.
I drove by some walk-in properties that were grazed down to where I didn’t think a quail could make a living. I had two dogs that hadn’t been out of the truck. I was looking for a place when I saw a water way that had quite a bit of cover in it although it only ran about 300 yards into a harvested soy bean field. I turned Tur Bo and Dolly out and we started up the east side of the water way.
The water way was a large triangle with the widest part near the road. We got to the north edge and there was a small water way running to the west into the soy bean field. The dogs ran to the end of it as I watched them. We started back down the west edge of the big water way. Both dogs came in front of me with Tur Bo well ahead of Dolly. About 50 yards in front of me Tur Bo slammed into a point. When Dolly saw him she honored.
Tur Bo was looking to the west so I made a circle to get well out front of him then started back toward him. I saw the quail on the ground, running. When they got close to Tur Bo a large covey flushed. I dropped one with the first barrel but missed with the second. Dolly retrieved my dead bird. The covey flew across the road off the walk-in property although I checked the water way back to the truck.
It doesn’t take a lot to make me happy. Tur Bo had pointed a covey that more or less had held, I killed one bird on the covey rise and Dolly had made a nice retrieve. We had all done our job. Some better than others. I felt good about the trip then I got to thinking about my grandpa. What would he think about someone that had just driven 200 miles round trip, killed one little ole quail and was on his way home happy.
Grandpa never had a whole lot but he was always happy and grateful for what he had. I think he would have thought that I had a pretty good day.
My new dog sculpture.
Luke
Luke pointing a single quail.