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Field Cocker Madness
The brace of pointers was stunning, and they were locked up on the edge of one of the thickest patches of greenbriar I'd ever seen. The tangle was so dense it resembled unfurled rolls of concertina wire. A little cocker named Rip didn't care, for when he was cut loose, he snaked his way through that mess with more moves than a belly dancer. I'd I couldn't see him, but to know where he was I just needed to see which section of greenbriar was shaking. When the dog locked on his target, a covey of wild quail exploded. They believed if they held their ground they'd never have to leave. How wrong they were.
End of a Friendship - by Tom Word
Ben and Sam were sharing an end-of-week dram of The Macallan in Ben's library-conference room when the subject, end of friendships, came up. It was a too-frequent subject on their minds these days, with COVID-19, the fast-approaching presidential election, BLM protests and riots, frequent threatening hurricanes and other impending disasters. Almost everyone seemed out-of-sorts. But Ben and Sam had in eight decades lived through many difficult times, and so had in their old souls a certain confidence that this too would pass. Their shared motto, kept to themselves, was, "Don't take anything, especially yourself, too seriously. Eventually, the pendulum will swing and the country will right itself a bit."
The Meat Dog - by Tom Keer
No one ever filled up a freezer with grouse and woodcock, and that's why folks who purse these birds are never considered meat hunters. A whitetail doe or a cow elk, that's called filling the freezer. The cost center procuring the savory grouse or the two small medallions of livery tasting woodcock breasts places the gamebirds on par with truffles, caviar, and tuna. Ours is a whacky pursuit of a foxy local bird and a seasonally migratory bird with an upside-down brain. Go figure.
10 ways to kill more grouse
Ruffed grouse are hard to hit in any situation. They're wild, just like the terrain in which they live. Here are 10 tips to improve your hits. They're ones I learned the hard way which is short-handle for the fact that I've missed one hell of a lot of birds.
Oklahoma is more than OK
Opening Day is the one we wait for all year long. It's the time when we gather our family and friends, our dogs and favorite shotguns, and trade in every day life for the fields. If we're lucky, the day falls on a weekend and we don't need to make special arrangements. But if Opening Day lands during the week, well, then many of us mysteriously get sick. If enough of us bird doggers scrap work then the country's gross national product might suffer. It'll rebound when we return, but if we miss the opener there is a good chance we won't. Belling dogs and following up points isn't all it's cracked up to be; it's much, much more.
SportDOG: Gear the way youd design it
My dentist, Doc Biehn, was a waterfowler and I always got to check it out when I got my teeth cleaned as a kid. I remember one visit when he handed me a new, Marlin Super Goose he extracted from his closet. I'd never seen anything like the 10 gauge, bolt action shotgun that took a 3.5 inch shell and came with a two-shell clip and full-choked 34-inch barrel. That beast weighed a whopping 10.5 pounds, making it a virtual shoulder-cannon for waterfowlers. I could barely lift the heavy artillery let alone work the bolt without significant muzzle rock. My amazement turned to confusion, and in the end I couldn't see how that firearm would replace my side-by-side or pump in the blind. The Super Goose must have been designed by someone who didn't hunt geese.
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.
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.
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.
Running Spring Woodcock - By Tom Keer
A pro trainer recently asked me about my training bird bill.
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.
The Joy of Cover Dogs - By Tom Keer
Places in snow country are reported to have lots of words to describe the white, powdery flakes gracing their winter countryside. Maybe that's true, but at home in New England we have the same with stone walls. Scratch farmers in our country's earliest years had to clear rocks struck by the point of a moldboard plow. They'd hump the granite, soapstone, flint, and quartz to the field edges and toss 'em in a neighborly fashion. These low-to-the-ground structures were called dumped walls and they served no purpose other than to allow for more successful tilling.
