Saturday was a day for the memory book. After Dad scored his first rabbit run by Daisy, we moved toward the standing corn fields. Working our way from the wood line, George and I surprised a pair of fine cock birds. Unfortunately for my brother, his gun jammed, and as he hurriedly worked to chamber another round, the second rooster rose helicopter fashion. I never saw the first bird, but I killed the second bird on my second blast. Upon skinning our harvest later that afternoon, I discovered that I had hit the bird with both shots. Pheasants never cease to amaze me with their extreme toughness. Not many animals can take a shotgun round and continue flying. At any rate, my first bird of the day proved to be the biggest bird I've bagged all season. Fortunately, the breast was still intact, and it made a wonderful meal a few nights later.
It was an exciting start to our mid-morning plunge into the corn. The birds used the cover to their advantage all day. A rooster flushed well out of range and we did not take it. However, ever persistent, Daisy was eventually able to corner the same bird in an opposite field and George took it with a single shot. With two birds and a rabbit, we rambled into the overgrown clear cut that nearly all hunters avoid. It's thick and treacherous, but full of game. A flock of turkeys, pressured by Daisy's methodical pace, flushed, and George squared up a hen. His first turkey ever. It was cause for celebration and a sweet taste of revenge, as we have had the misfortune of running into turkeys out of season. More often that not, I shed clothing and chase down the dog, sometimes this takes place over the course of a mile or two. Running a mile full bore through the woods is more like trying to sprint an obstacle course.
After wading through the bramble, we returned to the far corn fields—in reality, elaborate mazes for the birds, Daisy worked the forest edge and pushed out two running hens. George and I sprinted after them in a spirited attempt to make them flush. They did. Pulling up abruptly as the second hen rocketed over the stalk tips, my Mossberg 12 gauge found its mark cleanly and the hen folded nicely. It was a shot I could not have made a year ago. Summer practice paid dividends in the field once again.
By lunchtime we called it a day. George had to be at work, and Dad and I were looking forward to a little college football. Not that we could have hunted longer, everyone, dog included, was exhausted. It was a banner day for the pup. She scored a trifecta: rabbit, pheasant, and turkey. One hit short of the cycle. If we had flushed and bagged grouse, it would have been unforgettable, but Saturday was as good as they come.
Daisy's Bird (Pheasant) Count: 14
Rabbits: 2
Turkey: 1
It was an exciting start to our mid-morning plunge into the corn. The birds used the cover to their advantage all day. A rooster flushed well out of range and we did not take it. However, ever persistent, Daisy was eventually able to corner the same bird in an opposite field and George took it with a single shot. With two birds and a rabbit, we rambled into the overgrown clear cut that nearly all hunters avoid. It's thick and treacherous, but full of game. A flock of turkeys, pressured by Daisy's methodical pace, flushed, and George squared up a hen. His first turkey ever. It was cause for celebration and a sweet taste of revenge, as we have had the misfortune of running into turkeys out of season. More often that not, I shed clothing and chase down the dog, sometimes this takes place over the course of a mile or two. Running a mile full bore through the woods is more like trying to sprint an obstacle course.
After wading through the bramble, we returned to the far corn fields—in reality, elaborate mazes for the birds, Daisy worked the forest edge and pushed out two running hens. George and I sprinted after them in a spirited attempt to make them flush. They did. Pulling up abruptly as the second hen rocketed over the stalk tips, my Mossberg 12 gauge found its mark cleanly and the hen folded nicely. It was a shot I could not have made a year ago. Summer practice paid dividends in the field once again.
By lunchtime we called it a day. George had to be at work, and Dad and I were looking forward to a little college football. Not that we could have hunted longer, everyone, dog included, was exhausted. It was a banner day for the pup. She scored a trifecta: rabbit, pheasant, and turkey. One hit short of the cycle. If we had flushed and bagged grouse, it would have been unforgettable, but Saturday was as good as they come.
Daisy's Bird (Pheasant) Count: 14
Rabbits: 2
Turkey: 1
No comments:
Post a Comment