Learning from dogs

I took Brant hunting for ducks this morning.  He communicated a simple truth last night as I left him for a deer stand, in the rain. With his eyes he said... "when its raining, we hunt ducks."  I believe he crystallized another "versatile hunter" maxim in that moment.

This morning, the hunt was a classic October duck hunt... a few birds flying around right at first light in the light rain, and then tapering off by 8:30 am. The hunters shot reasonably well, the dog retrieved reasonably well.  But, for Brant, it was just a marvelous day... a hunting day.  He was simply happy, blissed out, digging the "is-ness" of the dawn, the ducks, of the sublimity of the damnable pleasure (Tantillo 2002) of hunting.  I sat watching him, studying him, his demeanor, from our shared spot in the tall marsh grass-- we were both sitting on the ground together, both watching the skies hopefully, awaiting the moment when we could do the next thing, the thing that we love slightly more (only slightly) than what we were already doing.  He felt my gaze and turned his head to look at me.  Thump-thump-thump went his tail as his eyes brightened, looking deeply into my own, and then he looked away, looked out over the waters. His could have been the eyes of any of my companions, as the ducks are setting their wings, communicating sentiments like "isn't this amazing?" I sat there processing the second lesson from Brant in less than twenty-four hours.   Find ways to wag more and bark less, he seemed to say.  Words to live by.