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Field Trials Matter
Most scouts yawn when linemen run 40's, but not at the 2020 combine. Mekhi Becton, a 6-foot-7-inch, 364 pound offensive lineman out of Louisville ran a blistering 5.1. Heads didn't turn so much as they spun off of heads, for what current lineman of Beckton's size runs what used to be speed of yesteryear's fullback? My, my have times changed.
The Code by M.R. Thompson
We'd been walking for several hours, neither of us speaking a word. Even the dogs at heel sensed the tension in the air. Frank looked hangdog while he occasionally checked his cell phone for service. My feet were sore and only getting worse in anticipation of the ten miles back to civilization when all of a sudden we heard the gravel crunch and diesel roar of a truck coming toward us on the logging road. We looked at each other, grabbed our dogs by the collars and jumped off the road and into the underbrush. The truck roared by and I tried to puzzle out the day's events that brought us to this sorry state of affairs.
Midseason corrections
Next year's quail opener was set before the season ended. This year's was good, check that, it was really good, the best in recent history. There seemed to be birds everywhere we went, all of the dogs worked great, and that combination caused us to set the bar for next year very high. Ours was a reasonable goal, mostly because we had several months in which to prepare. And so we did.
The Great Debate: Pointing or Flushing Dogs for Quail
My wife said I winced when we pulled up to the only game in town. It was an old motel of a vintage that reminded me of the Golden Era of travel by car. Over the years families probably over-nighted here while on their way to any one of a number of the nearby wild quail Valhallas. No visible capital improvements had been done for a long time, at least I couldn't see any renovation. The 30-some-odd rooms looked sad while the adjoining restaurant and tavern was booming.
Its a Dogs Life which isnt so bad
It doesn't come as a surprise to anyone that we bird doggers are different. Most folks remember beginnings and endings. They remember their first day in a new job when they couldn't find the coffee or the bathroom. They remember packing up a box with their belongings on their last day and walking out the door. Everything in between usually just blends in, but not for bird doggers. We remember the beginnings, the middle and all the way up to the end.
Cadillac Farm by Tom Word
My great friend Joe Prince, farmer and every-day-in-season quail hunter of Stony Creek, Virginia, died from a tractor accident I predicted in 1997. His brother, Dr. John S. Prince of Emporia, died of old age at 97 last month, having practiced as an Internist to age 90. They were alike as two peas in a pod, smart, hard working, opinionated. Both had served in WWII, Joe as an enlisted radar operator aboard troop transports to Europe, John as a Navy officer aboard a cruiser.
You Cant Just Have One
I love the saying 'anything done in moderation shows a lack of interest' because it's true. My gun cabinet, my rod rack, my decoy rack and my kennels are all full. I'm immoderate, just like you.
COVID-19 in Our Bird Dogs - By Shawn Wayment DVM
The current status of our world today resonates like a Hollyweird thriller...I remember frighteningly reading the Hot Zone by Richard Preston while in veterinary school and thinking to myself how scary...good things that will never ever happen! Well...Hello 2020 hold my Corona!
Whatever you do, dont panic if you accidentally shoot the dog
My liver and white pointer Gep stood staunchly on point on a covey of scaled quail on the Colorado prairie. I hadn't seen my 6 month old coverdog-setter Gretchen for almost an hour since I turned her loose on the shortgrass prairie. My last check on the GPS showed her 700-plus yards out to the west. As I approached Gep, a large covey of scalies erupted in a whirr from the cholla as I raised my Parker GH 16 bore to pick an escaping bird. The first bird folded and I swung to pick another bird out of the covey. I pulled the back trigger just as I detected motion from the corner of my right eye...Gretchen appeared out of nowhere and it was too late. I had already fired the second barrel on a late riser just as she arrived on the scene. I was pretty sure she got peppered by the tail end of my pattern.
Advice on a Dog Sale - By Tom Word
Ben Reach religiously followed a policy, preached to him by his father, not to get involved in law suits involving dogs. But ironically, he was asked for advice on bird dog matters constantly. This was because Ben had many friends in the bird dog world and was trusted. He had judged trials over many years and never shown favoritism. Nor did he ever decline to try to help a bird dog professional trainer-handler in distress, and there was never a shortage of them. The profession was by its nature highly risky.
Whatever you do, dont shoot the dog - By Tom Keer
I've never seen a bird dog get shot, but I hear of at least one instance per year. When the stories roll in I get sick to my stomach. They unfold in pretty much the same way. A group of folks review the pre-hunt safety talk. All have heard it before, all are in agreement. The dogs are cut loose, the hunt is underway, and spirits are high. Jokes fly around, conversation is light, and everyone agrees they are more happy in the field than at work.
Shadow Oak Bo Remembered by Tom Word
I treasure many memories of Shadow Oak Bo, the first and clearest (I can watch it like a movie in mind's eye today) at Coney Lake in the Lee County All-Age when Bo was a first year. I was riding with Luke Weaver in his pickup, following in the course path. Bo had a pretty find just ahead and we both said, "Wow, that's a handsome setter." A couple minutes later he had another and got too close, bumping the bird. Luke stopped where we could watch Robin after judges and gallery moved on. Robin administered a stern correction with a rein to Bo's chest, and an instant after, Bo, undaunted, was licking Robin's hands, with tail wagging, happy as could be.
Skin Laceration Repair in the Field by Shawn Wayment DVM
There is nothing finer than being afield in autumn's country with bird dogs. The whir of wings as a covey of scaled quail erupts from the sand sage can stir the cholesterol from the morning's greasy-spoon-country-dinner breakfast. Gun smoke clears the air as the setter climbs through the taut five-stranded barbed wire fence retrieving the first bird of the day. This is the Wild West, and ranchers want assurance that their livestock are protected. As you reach down to take the bird your well trained setter delivers gently to hand, you notice fresh blood on the dorsal surface of her back. A nimrod's classic morning has now turned into a trip to the local vet ... which in this case is 150 nautical miles from where the event occurred and it is Sunday.
Beware the Twins - By Tom Word
They were twins, and identical, at least every one said they were. Of course white folks would have said identical anyhow, they couldn't have distinguished between them if they were just cousins, let alone twin brothers. They could each ride like the wind, and scout a bird dog, which Ron did for a living, working for the all-age handler, Sparrow Bates.
The Nose Knows: Reading your Birddogs Signs by Tom Keer
If you own a bird dog, let alone a string of 'em, then the odds are high that you know what their every movement and noise means. But if you're hunting over a buddy's dog then you might not be as keyed in to their tells. Here are two common situations that bird dogs encounter and some different ways in which they react.
