The upland bird seasons are drawing to a close this weekend, and I hope to get out at least a couple of more times. My year-and-a-half-old Brittany is showing promise, and I'd like to get him into a few more birds. The end of the season is a time to look back and remember the good days spent with good friends and good dogs. Opening day might have been my high point because it was just me and the young Brit. We had a four-bird limit in about two hours, and I was so proud of how he hunted. About a month later, I rested the Brit and took my 10-year-old Lab. The big black dog tore his ACL last fall, so he hadn't hunted in almost two years. After surgery and almost a year of rehab, he was raring to go. On this day, Creede hunted perfectly, and I took another limit of pheasants. I couldn't have been more pleased, and the dog appeared to feel the same way. There were plenty of not so good days when the pup ran too hard and bumped birds or got too far out, but I'll let those memories fade. I guess we all do that -- remember the good times and forget the not so good.
I can remember my first pheasant with absolute clarity, and it happened 40 years ago. It was my second season, and we'd hunted many days that season, as well as the year before. I remember snippets of previous hunts, but I mostly remember being excited and grateful to be included with my dad and his friends. But I have a perfect video image of my first pheasant. I don't think it will ever fade. What's weird is that I don't remember many other birds taken after that. I can remember specific conversations I had with Dad and Granddad while we rode to the field and I remember fun days hunting with high school friends but after that first one, I quit keeping track of birds in the bag.
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