Some Nice Dog Work

It doesn’t take long for my dogs to get restless from a few days stuck in the house. And after a busy holiday season, hunting every couple of days had become routine. Then all of a sudden, only hunting once a week seemed too much to bear. The past few weeks, Dixie took her frustration out by eating my fly tying materials. I lost a bag of Grouse feathers, a bag of wet, matted, half-chewed, unidentifiable feathers (there were only three left, they may have once belonged to a pheasant), a Hare’s mask, two and a half Calf tails, half of a Pheasant tail, and some dubbing. Thank you, I appreciated that. It’s the thought that counts, really. Needless to say, I was relieved to meet Bill Blair and David Honeycutt of Wilmington up at Wintergreen for a morning Quail hunt.

At the clubhouse, I shook Bill’s hand and he answered my introduction with a humble, but jovial, “Sorry boy, you must have messed up with Boyce because you’re stuck with us this morning. Neither one of us can shoot worth a sh@#.”

I politely laughed, but silently hoped that wasn’t the case.

Dressed in blaze orange and with guns broken over their shoulders, Bill and David leisurely walked behind Gus as he quickly quartered the field. David and I were reminiscing about our previous year’s hunt and how much his son enjoyed coming to Wintergreen, when Gus locked up. Bill and David took their positions walking in on the dog and the bird unexpectedly flushed. Bill promptly swung on the unpredicted flight path and knocked the bird down with one clean shot. So far, the morning’s introductory comment was turning out just as I had hoped.

Moments later, Gus provided another attempt for Bill to prove his sense of humor. Bill walked up behind Gus into seemingly open cover.

“Can you see the bird?” he asked.

“It looks like Gus is staring right at it,” I answered.


Bobwhite Quail are perfectly designed to disappear amongst the dead pine needles and rust colored brush that litters the ground beneath the canopy of longleafs and loblollies. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust my dog’s eyes almost as much as his nose. Sure enough, four feet away from Gus’ nose, a Quail sat contently nestled in the sparse cover, camouflaged by light browns, faded greens and withered yellows


Flight won over fight and the bird exploded from its hidden position in a blur of feathers.

The panicked sound of wing beats can create a sympathetic response that causes an increased blood flow to your brain and the sharpening of your senses. Time seems to slow as you pick up your target and shoulder the gun. The sudden rush of adrenalin creates a tunneled vision, focusing you in on your target, blurring the background, and developing a sight picture at the end of your barrel.
A course of heart-pounding events that unnerves some of the best bird hunters, but Bill calmly followed the bird’s flight path and pulled the trigger. With another spectacular shot, the bird fell.

“Nice Shot!” I congratulated him.

“Thanks, I’ll probably miss every bird after this one,” he laughed.


After our first sweep and a baker‘s dozen of birds in my vest, I started towards the tall broom grass at the edge of the field. Gus suddenly stopped 20 feet behind me. I turned back. He sat frozen, staring ahead, tongue hanging out. It had the appearance of a point, but I knew better. I stepped forward calling his bluff and Gus bolted back out into the middle of the field

“What was that all about?” David curiously asked, as he and Bill stood confused over what had just taken place.

“That was the, ‘Oh sh@#, were headed back to the car’ look.” I answered.

They both laughed.

“Well, the dog might not need a break, but this
50-year-old a#$ does.” Bill joked.

Back at the car, Bill begrudgingly answered his voicemail.

“Here’s some advice,” he said, “Don’t ever own rentals.”
I smiled, “I don’t doubt you. I cringe when I think of what my landlords in college thought of our living habits.   I had one ask if anyone in the house worked as a grease monkey because there was so much dirt and grime in the carpets.  I didn‘t have the courage to say it was due to the rain on Mardi Gras.”

After another sweep of the field,  we ended up with some more great shots and some nice dog work.  With our morning’s inventory laid out on the back of the truck, David and Bill were both pleasantly surprised.
“I really didn’t expect us to shoot that well,” Bill commented.
“Well, at least you did,” David jabbed.
I laughed, “Thanks, guys. I enjoyed it.”