February 2008 Updates page 11
29 February
MAHA staff,
The upland season is winding down for another year. TJ and Berk (my Wirehaired Pointing Griffons) and I are preparing to again enter our annual and extended hibernation period. No, I'm not retired and denning up doesn't mean I get to stay in bed all day. I will still have to get up early and show up for work at least occasionally...the lawn will soon turn green requiring a weekly trimming with the mower...golf balls will need to be whacked about the groomed pastures and the lure of the crappie will soon temp our Griffs and me out onto the water. TJ, Berk and I will continue our conditioning runs in the field, although these treks will become shorter as the days become longer and hotter.
Kansas' Stone Post Fence Upland Country
During nesting season, we'll confine our outings to the local football field (something I suspect the gridiron players don't really appreciate). They'll also stay in shape with our version of dog sledding. I outfit them with harnesses which attach to my bike. They pull while I increase the workload by riding the brakes. Our routine is good business for the bike brake company, but it doesn't do much for the inner tube around my mid-section. In a few months I'll reach deep into the gun cabinet, way back behind my cleaned and oiled side-by-side small-bore upland gun. I'll drag out my beat-up old 12-guage goose gun and fit it with a tight choke for spring turkey. I'll rummage about in the drawer and locate the collection of dried up diaphram turkey-cluckers and then wander aimlessly about the burgeoning timber collecting chiggers and ticks and maybe even manage to seduce a gobbler close enough for a shot. No, life will not cease totally, but for this obsessed bird hunter and his gun dogs, sometimes it seems the off-season would be best slept through.
On a lighter note, we've had another great year with Mid-America and have included some pictures to chronicle our year. After several years of drought in the western areas, it was a relief to see the moisture return to near normal levels. The rains were great for the CRP, which grew so thick in some places that simply falling down would have been difficult. It is welcome cover for the birds in a year when freezing rain and snow have also been on the rise. I have been absolutely amazed by the thick layers of fat in the pheasants during the later part of the season...literally gobs and gobs of the yellow mass. This is a healthy indicator and positive predictor of winter survival rates.
Berk on point.
Name that dog: Berkano of Hundgaard Kennel or Chewbacca of Star Wars Kennel?
TJ and Berk have done outstanding work this year, although I was reflecting a bit recently on the division of labor which comes with owning and hunting behind pointing dogs. For the most part, it's great: dog runs about...dog locates bird...dog points birds. Then...I stroll over at my leisure...load my shot gun...ready myself...walk in boldly to flush the pheasant or quail and shoot. Then I step back...praise myself on my shooting prowess and wait while dog delivers bird to my outstretched hand. Oh, I have to carry the bagged birds, but for the most part the tasks relegated to me in our partnership are pretty...well...easy. For the most part the dogs do the heavy lifting in our crew.
But there are occasions when our seemingly easy jobs as dog handlers can be...well...unpleasant, onerous, and even downright dangerous. For example, this past weekend Berk locked into a rock-solid point next a large pile of tumble weeds. I blundered headlong into this sticky mess and was nearly trampled by a very agitated mule deer buck. Did I mention that Berk stood staunchly by watching the whole escapade? The next day, Berk pointed into a small tuft of tall CRP grass and when I swaggered in for the flush, a very irate bobcat burst out right past me. Again, Berk was several yards away, and again doing her job of pointing staunchly, albeit at a safe distance. I think I saw a slight snicker on her whiskered mug as I back peddled away from the cat.
Two pair: Griffons and Roosters.
The more I think and write about these incidents, I more memories flood back...and the more irritated I am becoming with Berk. For example, we were fortunate to hunt ruffed grouse and woodcock in northern Minnesota this year. On the last day of our hunt, Berk pointed into a deadfall and TJ, being the older and more aggressive of the two dogs, volunteered to save me the trouble of climbing into the pile of logs and branches. While Berk stood staunchly downwind of the mess, TJ weasled her way next to a hollow log, stuck her head in and got a face full of porcupine quills for her efforts. TJ and I spent the next 45 minutes extracting those barbed spears, while Berk bounced excitedly about, anxious to get on to the next adventurous encounter with game. Then on opening day of pheasant season in Kansas, Berk again stuck a picture-perfect point and TJ again volunteered to do the flushing. From the tenor of this tale you can probably guess the outcome: a very perturbed skunk. And Pepe le Pew promptly doused TJ with his aromatic essence, which by the way had to be scrubbed from her wiry coat by me.
Berk and TJ with a brace of early season prairie chickens.
So it's with these images and odors that I file this report and collection of dog-tales on our year in the Mid-America hunting fields. Thank you so much for all the hard work you do to provide the membership with opportunities to pursue our passions.
TJ of Plum Creek Kennel, Berkano of Hundgaard Kennel, and Charles of Michelle's Kenne
