A Hard Earned Meal

I have a “redder” side.  It’s time I finally come out of the hunter’s closet and admit to being one of those who actively pursues game with firearm in-hand.  Unless you know me well, you don’t know that I hunt, and I keep it that way on purpose.  I occupy a very small space as a blue voting, environmentalist that also hunts.  However, I try to distance myself from some of the general beliefs that dominate the hunting community – shooting something you don’t eat is unacceptable in my book.  More on why I hunt in the next blog post…This post is about companionship and what it takes to truly earn a meal.

About six years ago I went upland game hunting for the first time with a dog – a bonafide bird dog.  I’m not talking about that neighbor with a mutt that fetches a ball, nor that neighbor with a retriever that has never had a mouthful of feathers.  Ike, a German Shorthair Pointer, showed me the beauty of a working dog and he consequently sparked my curiosity and desire to have a dog.  But like Wilson Rawls writes, “I didn’t just want any dog, I wanted a huntin’ dog.”

Last fall I finally took on the challenge of training my own bird dog, Wyatt D.R., a Brittany.  I dumped my savings account (which didn’t include much), got a 0% APR credit card and a few books on how to train bird dogs.  I was about as ready for my adventure as a virgin heading into a candle-lit room on prom night.  But I wasn’t deterred; nothing was holding me back from that bundle of puppy fur and my attempt to make us a successful hunting team.

It’s one thing to have an obedient pet.  I know how much work it takes and I commend anyone who has a pet that is moderately well behaved.  However, those with true working dogs take training to another level, working with their companion for years after puppyhood.  This concept and realization was lesson #342 from my bird dog adventure.

Resting after a long day.

After 16 months of training, eight training books, hundreds of chased birds, incessantly pestering friends for advice and countless moments of frustration (aka lessons on patience), Wyatt and I finally put it all together.  Half-way up the Salmon River hills on a perfect upland game day (cool temps, blue skies), Wyatt went on point, perfectly poised like a statue, confident that I’d soon be there to flush his located birds.  And this time I actually had a good shot, meaning Wyatt got to see one of his pointed birds hit the ground.  It was the quintessential scenario we had been working towards – we couldn’t have been happier.

While the scene above may seem morbid because a bird dies, and thus many people criticize the sport, it is actually a beautiful process that everyone should observe at least once.  From seeing the dog in its element, completely happy working the field, to seeing how much effort it really takes to put a little dinner on your plate, there is a place for hunting.  At least I know my meal is truly organic and I understand that a being had to give its life to fill my belly.  More on this subject coming…


Appendix: How pointing dogs work

As a pointer, Wyatt’s job (and really his ultimate joy in life) is to find birds and “point” them once he knows where they are.  Pointers run non-stop, scanning and working the hillside looking for bird scent.  When they finally get on strong scent and locate birds, they freeze.  Literally pointing at the bird with their eyes and nose, not moving a muscle until the hunter arrives to flush the bird.  A well-trained pointer will hold still for as long as five minutes, and maybe even longer, awaiting for their person to do their job – shoot the bird.  However, this process is easier said than done.  The puppy doesn’t leave the womb staunch on point, and every dog has a mix of instincts, personality and level of maturity that affect how you’ll get to the stage where the dog consistently points the bird.