Rays of golden sun and smoke gray clouds fight for dominance. Ultimately the sun wins. The Wyoming wind also has skin in the game and seeks to make a shot at the title. The dogs and I are merely props in the scene. Pulling up a hood and zipping my collar I seek to keep warm. The, Read More
Dogs fly out of their kennels. An energetic ball of dust builds with each concentric circle. Coolers, duffels, and water jugs litter the ground. Chaos is distilled into organization. Camp is established.
Cooped up in the back of the pickup the dogs were restless. They had been let out a few times between stalks, but mostly it had been a long ride. Antelope were the top priority. The dogs and a chance to look for sage grouse were a distant second. By mid afternoon we were, Read More
I was once told that speaking critically of girlfriends and spouses was one thing, but to do the same about someones gun dog is crossing the line. There are a ton of great hunting dog breeds out there but most of us settle on one or two. From that point on we espouse the, Read More
“Daaaaadaaaa,” calls the three year old over a barely repressed giggle, “it’s baaaaack.” He’s spotted the pheasant again. That used to be reward enough for him, but now he’s grown to expect a show too – the Keystone Kops routine of his father trying to snap a half-decent photo. I’m pretty sure he’s rooting, Read More
The old lady gets all the ink. See here, here, here and here. But I actually do have two dogs. My 5 year old male, while lacking the flair for the ridiculous and the dramatic of his counterpart, has been consistently retrieving birds like a laser guided missile since he was a pup. At, Read More
“Dada, Dada I called the pheasant!” came the voice from the yard. I can’t call anything. To a passing flock of mallards, I’m as persuasive as a hitchhiker with a chainsaw. The most effective thing I can do with an elk bugle is leave it in the truck. I have my strengths, but imitating, Read More
Pop, pop, pop. “Dada, what’s that noise?” asked Everett, excited. “That would be hunters shooting at birds.“ I explained. “Why don’t you shoot at birds?” he whined. “We have to find them first son. But we’re trying” I answered, the picture of paternal patience. We were hunting pheasants near home with a few stolen, Read More
