After writing the last post I got to thinking about some of the dogs I have owned. Or that have owned me. Some of the early dogs did more training of me than I did of them. In my younger days there were a lot of quail and we usually just kept taking dogs with us until they became bird dogs.
Sally honoring Tur Bo.
Dolly honoring Mann.
Sally pointing quail.
My kids named one of my first bird dogs Scamp. As most of my dogs were, he was a white and orange English setter. In his first season, another guy and I were hunting and stopped to fix some of our gear. I saw Scamp start across an open field toward a hedge row. He was almost on point, walking stiff legged toward the hedge row. He went about 200 yards and went on point. There was a covey of quail there. How did he know? Was his nose that good or was the scent lying close to the ground and went to him? I don’t know but he knew those quail were there.
Another time I saw him running with a pointer down a hedge row. They were running side by side as hard as they could run. Scamp was on the out side. He put on the brakes and slid to a point. The pointer thought he was winning the race and went on down the hedge row. There were quail in front of Scamp’s point.
The last time I hunted Scamp I saw him run into a tree. I knew he couldn’t hear very well but had no idea he was blind. I started back to the truck with him but I didn’t have a leash with me. Scamp was still hunting. Dennis Garrison was with me and on the way back to the truck he said, “dog on point”. I told him I was going on to the truck. He said, “it’s old Scamp”. I said, “I’ll be right there”. We killed the last bird that he pointed.
I wrote some about Pal in the last post. I was hunting him and some more dogs in northern Missouri. I put an e-collar on him and turned him loose. I was putting the e-collar on another dog when I saw him walking stiff legged across a plowed field. He was almost on point, slinking across the plowed ground. The place we were on was an eighty acre field. It was a quarter of a mile deep and a half a mile along the road. Pal crossed the plowed ground, a quarter of a mile and went on point. He knew from the truck that those quail were there.
Once, when I was hunting Black Kettle National Grasslands in Oklahoma, I was on the north boundary of the place I was on. Tur Bo had been off to my left and crossed the fence off the grasslands right in front of me. I watched him slow and act like he was going to point at any time. He was slinking along. He went almost 200 yards and went on point.
Since he was off the grasslands I stood at the fence watching. He was on point for several minutes when the covey got nervous and flushed. I was hoping they would fly back onto the grasslands but it didn’t happen. Quail get smart too.
In my tribute to Dolly I told about her retrieve of a chukar that is worth telling again. I was guiding at Bird Fever in Richmond Missouri. We had a continental shoot and were cleaning up afterwards. It was windy and there were a lot of left over birds. I had 8 or 10 hunters with me. Dolly went on point with the strong wind hitting her right in the butt.
Dolly honoring Mann who is honoring Sally.
With the wind behind her I just knew the bird was right in front of her. I kicked the grass in front of her and out a few yards. Nothing. I tapped her on the head and she moved up a few yards and went on point. I kicked in front of her. Nothing.
I tapped her on the head. She moved up a few yards and went on point. The strong wind was still behind her. I kicked the cover then tapped her head. I don’t remember how many times we went through this but finally she went into the hedge row and brought me a dead chukar that was probably 35 yards from where she first went on point. How did she smell this bird?
I have a few books on scenting and I read everything I can find on it. I don’t know how anyone can write a whole book on it. When I’m through reading what they write, I come to the conclusion, “they don’t know any more than I do”.
Rusty was another neat dog that I owned. The kids named him Rusty because it looked like someone had poured rust on his face. He was my pick of a litter I raised. I was young when he was a pup and I ran him in a shoot to retrieve trial. He didn’t win but one of the judges told me he was the most exciting young dog he had seen in a long time. I decided to make him steady to wing and shot without having a clue on how to do it. I took something out of him.
He was still a good dog but he was never as good as he could have been. Rusty loved to retrieve. Kermit Maxwell and I were hunting in south Missouri once and we had found some quail. We had both knocked a quail or two down and Rusty had found mine. The grass was real short where the birds had fallen. Kermit kept saying his bird had to be right there.
A couple of quail and a 16 gauge AYA.
It was a wet fall and there was a lot of water standing in this field. I was looking in another direction when Kermit said, “there’s my bird”. Rusty had run his head under water in a little hole in the ground and grabbed his bird. Kermit said he had his head so far under water that his collar was wet.
I had worked Rusty, on his retrieving with what ever I had in my hand, at home. Some of the time it was soda cans. When we would get close to the truck he would start bringing me cans. Beer cans, soda cans or anything in the ditches or along side the road. But he also brought me several quail that I never knew I had hit.
I was hunting in Kansas, going through a field that had been mowed with a brush hog. It had been full of small saplings and when the mower cut them they bent over and it sliced the end. It was almost like sharpening them. I remember thinking that if a dog landed just right they would be like a spear.
About the time I thought that, my dog came by me and jumped off a small hill and didn’t move. He just stopped where he hit. I thought, “oh no. He’s impaled himself on a sapling”.
I went to check on him and he was on point. When he landed he went belly to the ground and didn’t move. He was pointing a rooster pheasant. I don’t remember whether I killed it or not. I was just happy that my dog was okay.
I don’t know how people without hobbies live. I think about bird dogs or bird hunting every day. Even on bad years I still have my memories.
Sally pointingsome pheasants.
Dolly pointing quail.
Tur Bo on point.