Bird Hunting and Man's best friend or Not!

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This is a story about my yellow Lab and I going on a hunt near Gettysburg on state game lands. A story I hope will motivate some of you to get out there and others to reflect upon past hunts with man's best friend or NOT!

I crested a small hill and rounded a slight curve and my headlights shown across the parking lot of State Game Lands 43, I spied no reflective taillights nor the presense of anxious dogs or half asleep hunters. I pulled into the parking lot with visions of pheasants exploding everywhere, my gun running empty and fresh bird on the table for dinner. My pup, Conan, was excited as he knew he was about to head out on another adventure, chasing those rascally and wild birds, Pheasants.

As the truck came to a halt, my ever faithful companion was wimpering to be let out and attack the nearest tree. God forbid that a tree or tall bush went unwatered. What is it with labs and drinking gallons of water per day I wondered. I hop out and open the rear door and Conan springs off the seat like rabbit headed to hole with nare a worry about objects in his way. By golly that dog has to pee. He rushes from bush to bush and tree to tree, smelling and lifting his leg. What a bonehead I think and chuckle. Next time, I won't buy a dog from the Amish in Honeybrook...LOL

While Conan is taking care of business, I uncase my shotgun, a tried and true old friend, my Remington 870 Wingmaster 12 guage. Oh what a fine gun. The smell of oil, my mind racing with fond memories of hunts past as this shotgun barked and let lead fly to take game. The small joys and pleasures in life. A mans favorite hunting dog and shotgun about to write a new page on Pennsylvania Pheasant Hunting. I am relaxed, happy, and content. The quiet of the morning, the grass still wet with the nights dew, the slight chill of a crisp autumn morning, ahhhhh, Pennsylvania and all it has to offer...minus Rendell. LOL

I call pup over to me so I can put his orange on. I load up my vest with a half a box of 12 gauge #6's and head up the trail. I walk a few hundred yards when I come upon a small pond. I know its there. I can feel the cold air surrounding the pond, the reeds so thick I can't see the water, and then, I see movement. Two drake Mallards sitting on the water. They are nervous because of my approach. I whisper to pup to heal. I decide to take these two birds after puddle jumping them. I ready myself and dog and all of a sudden I realize that I don't have any steel shot. Cursing myself, I back away slowly and head back to my truck, dog in tow. Conan keeps looking back knowing game was close. He reluctantly follows me back to my truck where I ditch my Orange and all lead shells and load up with steel #'2s. I'm happy as a fat kid chowing down on hot donuts knowing I'm about to add two ducks to the pot tonight.

I trek back toward the pond, not allowing Conan to run free, but walk at the heel next to my right leg. I creep, walking ever so slowly, trying my best not to spook the ducks until the timing is just right. Conan is trembling with anticiation as he can sense my excitement. I am almost in what I consider perfect positioning to take these ducks when all of a sudden they explode off the water with such thunder as it startles me. I fumble to mount the gun, sliding the safety off, touching off a quick shot and missing. I quickly work the action, ejecting the spent hull and reloading a fresh one. I squeeze the trigger again, feeling no recoil, and not seeing any feathers floating in the air. I missed again. I pump the forearm one last time knowing that this shot must count for such easy prey. They are climbing straight up, belly's fully explosed, I see huge targets of easy white. I can see their orange feet pushing against the air as if trying to help propell them higher faster. I pull the trigger one last time and not a flinch from the birds. Not one feather floating to earth. Not one bit of hesitation by the Mallards indicating at least one pellet found its mark. Nope, not this morning. Not one duck.

I look down and see my lab. My ever faithful flusher and retriever standing at attention. His head perfectly inline with his body. His ears perked up so high that he looks statuesque. Man, what a beautiful site to see such a fine looking animal in such an awesome pose. His head turns as he watchs the ducks fly away into the morning mist. Conan slowly turns his head and thats when I catch his eye. His eye is filled with disgust. His eye, that beautiful big ole brown eye is seething with embarrassment. He gives me a full one second glare with all kinds of negative emotions showing in his eyes. Just as slowly as he turned his head to look at me, he turns slowly back forward and drops his head and walks away, tail between his leg as if he's ashamed and embarrassed to be hunting with me.

So I ask. Hunting with mans best friend or NOT!!!

[mredder351]

Great story!

Man's best friend? Yes.

Little bit of disappointment? Yes.

Can you blame him?

[d90king]

Wing Hunting absolutely especially if you have Labs, Brittany's, German Short Hair's etc... Bore hunting absolutely not. Dogs point, flush and retrieve, never put them in a position that they have to fight. If you are faced with that, you need to fight for your hound not the other way around... You just need to "practice" with him so that you are always dialed in with your muzzle...

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Pics of a now old, 11yrs, pup!

[d90king]

Pics of a now old, 11yrs, pup!

He's a beaut! How are his paws? Do you give him Glycos....

[customloaded]

Great story!

Man's best friend? Yes.

Little bit of disappointment? Yes.

Can you blame him?

He's a beaut! How are his paws? Do you give him Glycos....

Nope, can't blame him at all. This is only one of a few stories of this dog being not so happy with my shooting...LOL I have since taken up trap, skeet, and sporting clays and my shooting has improved tremendously...LOL

He is from Amish folks near Honeybrook, Eastern Lancaster/Western Chester County.

His paws are fine. Only health issues pertain to his back. He is/was a crazy ass dog. Jumping out of the truck while moving, second and third story windows of houses, opening any door, going threw glass windows, opening the fridge and having a picnic etc...if he wants out, he's getting out. So, with his active life style, he's boogered up his back, compressed vertebrea & disc narrowing and he's paying for it now to a point. Yes, I do have him on "fish oil", Condrotin/glucosimine and it appears to help him tremendously Also, daily vitamins, and top of the line Purina. Other than that, in great shape.
I've hunting him in 15 states and he's made over 2000 retrieves. He's swam in the Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, and Pacific with three cross country trips and about to make a fourth. He'll be retrieving waterfowl in Colorado, Nebraska & PA this November with pheasant along the travel route back from CO.

[87th PVI]

Great story!
You should submit this to PA Game News or some similar publication.

[Dredly]

I don't bird hunt but I love my lab

[87th PVI]

I've never met a lab I didn't like!

If I were able to have a dog, lab would be a the top of the list just behind Basset Hound.
I grew up with Bassets so they have that specal top notch in my heart.

Grandpa always had Beagles for hunting small game. One day he brings home a Basset puppy with plans of making him the next hunting dog. He named him Smiley & trained him just as he had all the Beagles before. Then came the big day of Smiley's first hunt!
Grandpa came home all disgusted! Smiley did fine until they came to a stream. Smiley must have had cat feet because he was not about to get them wet! Grandpa had to carry Smiley across the stream! Well that was the first & last hunt Smiley ever went on.
As it turns out, Smiley seems to have been the smart one! While the Beagles who were successful hunters lived in the pen in the back yard, Smiley lived in the house with the family getting all the love & attention of Grandpa's two daughters.
Later, after I was born, Smiley would guard me by sitting/laying next to or underneath any place I was. (come to think of it, all of our male Bassets throughout my life have been very loyal & protective)
While grandpa stuck to Beagles, Smiley got the rest of my family hooked on Bassets... after going out on her own, my aunt had Bentley, who later came to live with us when she couldn't have any dogs at one of the places she moved to, so Bentley was my dog when I was young & thrrough middle school.
Next came Beauford during my highschool & young adult years. When I left the nest, I got Sylvester & at about the same time, my parents took in Cassie who needed a home, so we had Beauford who'd become an old curmudgeon by this point, and two "puppies" with Cassie about a year old & Sylvester about 4 months old. I'd walk the three dogs at the same time with the two young ones out in front & Beauford slowly taking up the rear behind us.

If you think open carry gets attention, try walking three Bassets sometime!

Beauford passed from cancer after living a long life of leisure, & Sylvester had kidney problems which shortened his life to just 5 years but he made those five of the best years of my life. Cassie had a long loving life & passed last year when she became unable to walk and had to be put down.

My wife is allergic so my pet days are over, & I still miss Sylvester so much I don't know if I'm ready for another dog all these years later.
My parents are still grieving the loss of Cassie so they aren't ready to adopt again just yet. I'm sure if/when they ever are, (Dad is ready, Mom isn't) there will be another Basset in our future.
They do dog sit a friend's Basset a few times a year, & have agreed to take her if she ever needs a home.

[Poonie]

Nice story, but SGL 43 ain't nowhere near Gettysburg!