Artemis gone

Goodbye Artemis.  You left too soon. Thanks for that last retrieve.  I had no idea.

Love Always,

KGT

Never Cared Much for Retrievin'

Artemis, my aging GSP, never cared much for retrieving. Never really had to, I guess.  A few times I greatly regretted not insisting on this more, but those were generally fleeting pangs; Artemis hunts dead pretty well.

Today I decided to work a woodcock hunt into my Friday schedule, to honor old Spy (over whom I think I shot my first woodcock, in Maine... or maybe that was Butch...), and to tune up "Miss" for a week in the ADKs. It was a full moon, and it had been windy so maybe there'd be birds in my favorite coverts, I thought. I enjoyed the sound of the laptop closing, signalling the end of the week and a clean break for the woods. We headed for the Finger Lakes National Forest.

Miss was excited to be out, and it was windy, so I opted for two bells, each with a different tone, which has been working well for me. She was on birds quickly and I missed two in the first five minutes. I called Miss to heel and we took a little time out together.  Miss seemed to understand the little exercise, and didn't push to move or whine. She just relaxed, her nose opening and closing like bellows, but otherwise still. I soaked in the wet smeary fall colors, the mosaic of landscapes on the ridge, and cloudscapes in the sky. I breathed deeply the poignant aromas of wet autumn leaves mixed with a little pine. I admired the familiar lines of my LC Smith 20 gauge, which was a key to a door I thought permanently closed, but opened by Josh who encouraged me to just give shooting left-handed a try ( a massive turning point in my life, but that story is for another day). I recalled other friends, too, that I shared many memorable hunts with in these woods. I smiled at my good fortune, a gesture not lost on Miss, who perked up.  "Find a bird," I said enthusiastically, having firmly pressed the reset button.

She hunted flawlessly, pointing and holding woodcock among the head-high dogwoods. There were two in the bag in the span of 5 minutes, and a third fell from a group of three Miss pointed in a rose thicket. A dramatic turnaround and exhilarating flurry of upland bird hunting at its finest. I was thrilled, each time I saw the bird fold and Artemis follow up, locating and worrying the bird a bit before looking  up to be sure I saw her mark of the downed quarry.

After picking up the third bird and placing it gingerly in my shooting vest's game pouch, I thought it would be nice to get a good picture. There was a pond very near, with a barbed wire fence around it, which I thought would do nicely for an October sporting photo. The shot would take advantage of the pond in the background, and I could use the wire to hang the birds rather than the more typical placed-on-the-ground shot. I emptied my gun, set it securely against the fence, and reached in my pouch for a woodcock. I felt around  and found one, pulled it out and brought my other hand to it, to admire it again before hanging it and thus transforming it from quarry to food in my possession. I looked at it for a moment and vaguely wished I knew how to sex and age woodcock, when the bird fluttered and flew away, landing with a splash in the middle of the pond!

Every hunter has experienced that perfect moment that turns imperfect. The fantastic buck that eludes easy recovery, plaguing the hunter with all manner of self-doubt and anxiety. The great shot on a first drake Canvasback that lands in the cattails, besting the trusty retriever. But a woodcock escaping the game bag and splashing down in the middle of a pond?

I looked at Miss, who came when I called her, but had missed the drama. I looked at her the way a coach looks at his kicker who hasn't made one all year, but is needed now, to win the big game. I think my dog deeply resented me looking at her that way, judging by her facial expression. Or, she was thinking "this kind of thing only happens to the most idiotic of orange-clad men."

Artemis never cared much for retrievin' , but her number was called to make a play. I brought her to the water's edge. She smelled the bird and worked the bank a little. The bird fluttered and splashed a bit, drawing the dog's attention. She looked back at me. Sheepishly, I said "Miss, get the bird," while pointing out over the water. She walked to the water's edge, stepped slowly but confidently in, swam to the bird and retrieved like she was a duck dog doing a boring drill. All I could muster at first when she dropped the exhausted bird in my hand was "thank you.... good girl." But she already knew that.

Spidey was a Grouse Dog

 

Bonasa Northern Spy, Sept 6, 1997 - Oct 11, 2013

 

Last Friday Spy breathed his last.  I saw it coming, and dug a hole for him a couple days earlier.  He went to the earth in the side yard on a pleasant October morning with a couple grouse tail feathers and a 20 gauge shot shell. That evening after playing catch and shagging grounders and flies, Nolan and I stood over Spidey's grave and I told a few stories, and a bit after sunset a woodcock came in low over the field and set down on the lawn about 20 yards away.  It seemed fitting.

Spy was the last of his litter; Kate went before him a few years ago.  He was okay on woodcock, but he seemed to really enjoy finding grouse.  He was certainly more fleet of feet than either Kate or their dad Butch.  Rather than trail birds, he seemed to pin a higher proportion of them than did Butch.  I remember the first pointed grouse that I killed over Spy, his first season when he was a year old.  It was an October afternoon at Frye Mountain WMA in Maine.  The bird held very tight and I was expecting a woodcock. When it rocketed out I downed it with one shot from my 20 gauge SKB SxS; that was also the first shot I had taken on grouse with that gun, which I had picked up that summer. That gun and dog combination was together for 13 seasons.



 

Spy split bird dog duties with Butch for 4 years. In the era Before Kids, they got plenty of time on the ground.



Spy on woodcock, rookie season 1998 -- see the birdy?



Old dog on woodcock (bottom center).  Same old ATS Basic Beeper!



Spy's retrieves of upland birds were memorable... because they were relatively few, and usually were tough cripples brought back alive.  He pointed dead more often than not.

Ducks were different -- he had no problem retrieving them until ice-up.  Not very stylish, but he liked fetching them.

 

Rich and Spy, northern Maine 2008.

I don't recall the first woodcock I killed over Spy, but I vividly remember his last.  Three years ago, when Spy was 13, I'd hunt him up to a couple hours a day and Brody (1.5 yrs at the time) would get the lion's share of time.  We were in Minnesota and I was guiding a gentleman from PA.  Spy pointed this woodcock 3 or 4 times and each time we either didn't get a shot or missed.  It was getting late and the dog was getting tired. FINALLY, my guy from PA kills the bird, and I'm jumping around cheering, it was such a relief and I was so grateful.  So I leash Spy and lead him -- or more accurately, he leads me -- out toward the truck.  I've got my shotgun (same 20 ga SKB) over my shoulder, Spy tugging on the leash pulling me through the brush and saplings. He suddenly stops and I just about trip over him, and a moment later up flies a grouse.  My shotgun comes forward off my shoulder, butt-stock to cheek and shoulder, and pop -- drops the grouse.

Good old Spidey.  He was a grouse dog. 

 

 





New dogge

Some grousers already know about my new dog.  Ezra is a six-month old setter from Chuck and Nancy Thurston's Whispering Woods kennel in Michigan.  I was on my way through Michigan a couple of weeks ago to the Orion board meeting and so arranged to stop by the Thurstons' to take a look at the dog.  Six hours of visiting later, I was pretty much committed but knew I had to run it by She-Whom-We-All-Know-Must-Be-Consulted-With-First.

Well, luckily Wendy has never met a dog that she didn't like, so she deliberated for a second or so and then said yes.  Now, one of the things that I knew about the dog ahead of time (and one reason why he was still available), is that he had developed a limp at five months.  The Thurstons had had him checked out, x-rayed, etc., and they told me he was fine according to their vet.  The limp had cleared up by the time I saw him, so I committed to the purchase.

Brought him home--beautiful dog, one of the calmest dogs we have ever seen.  But wouldn't you know it, the first day out with Wendy's boxer, running up and down the trail, and Ezra pulled up lame again.  So we made a vet appointment to have him checked out again and arranged to have the Michigan vet's x-rays sent to our vet in Trumansburg.

Well . . .  the Michigan vet had missed the fact that Ezra has a hairline fracture to one of the bones in his elbow.  Our vet expressed surprise that the Michigan doctor hadn't caught the fracture in the x-ray.  But in some ways this is a relief, as I had done enough internet research to start worrying about everything from elbow dysplasia to hypertrophic osteodystrophy. Good news is, with restricted activity the dog should heal on his own, with no lasting effects, in 10-14 weeks from the original injury, that is, if we can keep him from re-injuring it.

So there you have it. A new addition to the stable, and instantly the best-mannered house dog (next to Aldo) in the bunch.  He should be a nice addition to our grouse camp ponies.

New dogge

One pup left

Posting this for Jim Caron, who bred Phoebe's sister this fall:

Hi Jim-

Any chance I could talk you into posting the attached photos of the last male pup I have available on your Grouser’s blog site?

All of his brothers and sisters went to new homes this past weekend but his prospective new owner decided at the last minute the timing was not right for him. I would be happy to send pedigrees, hip results for dam and hip/elbow/eye and thyroid results for sire. This little guy is 8 weeks tomorrow (1/10) and he‘s ¾ Llewellyn (sire is 100% registered Llewellyn with FDSB). My e-mail contact info for anyone with questions is jacaron@fast-air.net I could partially deliver him as far as Lansing on Feb. 6th if that would help someone who may be wondering how to arrange to get him.

The litter has been registered already with FDSB and he has first shots, dew claws removed and wormed. He will be a hunting machine by this coming Sept. and I’ll bet he will back his Aunt Phoebe.

I’ve also included one photo of his mom, my Daisy, after a short hunt around the house this past Oct. when she was 4 weeks pregnant. A solid memorable point on a grouse under a spruce that I proceeded to miss (followed up and got it though).

Thanks and feel free to send any photos you may have of Phoebe working the brush.

Jim Caron

So here are the pics, let me know if any of you are interested.


thanks.

Timberdoodle Time

Just 4 more days left in the NY woodcock season (last day Monday, November 14th, which coincidentally is the date of the Elmira, NY RGS banquet ;-)). The woodcock seem to be "in" in the ever-increasingly-shrinking Hector neighborhood, and the forecast of west/south winds the next few nights is not conducive to birds leaving in any big way (nor migrating in for that matter).


I had a brief and productive hunt with Brody recently -- moved 10 woodcock in about an hour and 45 minutes. Not big bunches, but rather a steady encounter rate of mostly singles. Same sort of thing we experienced in Maine.


Do your dogge a favor and get thee to a thicket!

Wicksall setter breeding planned

I know most of you guys with two year old dogs aren't in the market for a new pup, but perhaps some of our intrepid readers may be interested. The dam is a litter mate of my Phoebe. Here's the info:

I’m responding to let you know that a breeding is planned for late Feb. with pups ready to go in late June. I have attached pics of my Daisy and her sire Bandit who I also own. She’s the one next to me but as you can see the two are carbon copies. I have also attached a pic of the sire I plan to use for the breeding, Ben, who is owned by a guy that works in the same office I do. Both have passed the Penn-Hip with flying colors and Daisy is registered with FDSB, Ben will be within a month. Ben is a great uncle of Daisy which I want so I can hopefully have access to this same bloodline in the future. I do not plan to keep a pup but the sire’s owner wants first pick.

I’m taking reservations now and asking $550 and $600 with $100 down to hold a pick. I’ll refund the $100 if you change your mind but it’s the only way to develop a priority list for those serious about it. There are a few others ahead of you but you would be pretty high on the list at this point. I don’t anticipate them lasting long since I recently heard that several other breeders in the L.P. including both Bandit’s and Ben’s breeders are not planning any spring litters.

I can send Daisy’s pedigree but I need to scan it in which I have not done yet. I have the pedigree of one of Ben’s littermates if you want it but his will not be available until he is registered. This bloodline has quite a mix including Bondue and some Llewellyn. The line was developed by a group of woodcock banders in Mich. who wanted close working, cautious dogs. That’s what you will get- these dogs don’t range much over 50 yds. in the thick stuff but will stretch it out on the Montana prairies when they can see the handler better. There is no field trial in this line. The offspring should run 40-55 lbs. and if they are like their parents they will be very personable. I want them to go to hunters only but they make great family dogs too. My two greet my whole family every morning and act like they haven’t seen us for a month the way they carry on.

Feel free to call me at work or home if you wish to talk more. Also let me know if you want the pedigrees and hip results. I also have more pictures- Ben made the cover of the MI hunting guide in ’08 with his owner and owner’s two daughters (bottom photo).

Daisy is owned by Jim Caron of the Michigan DNR, in Crystal Falls, Michigan (U.P.), and I can put anyone who's interested in touch with Jim. thanks everybody.
Jim

Rock of Ages

Spy seems to have come down w/ anaplasmosis. Thought he was going to die last Mon./Tues -- shivers, couldn't stand, cried out in pain a couple times, could barely raise his head. But put him on doxicycline Thursday and he was ready to hunt again Friday -- 4 wc and 1 grouse point, 2 wc killed, 1 hr. He's his old self again.















I've gotten Brody out a few times since getting back from WI. It's always been maybe half an hour for exercise if nothing else. Tuesday afternoon (10/27) I had 15 minutes to run Brody before I had to pick up the kids. I put him down in a wet aldery area. Lots of white wash (day old?). Brody went on point.... but started flagging. He wouldn't take a step so I walked in and put up a low, weak-flying woodcock, which he chased out of sight. He came back around and continued hunting, and pretty soon went on point. Again tail flagging but wouldn't take a step . This time when I walked in a wc sprang up strongly. Easy shot. Bang. I missed. This time Brody just watched it fly away. I still haven't shot a bird over a long-held, statuesque point by Brody.

Wednesday afternoon. This time I had an hour. I brought Brody back to the same covert as yesterday. Ten minutes into it I bumped a woodcock that Brody didn't see. We continued hunting in the direction the bird flew. Brody was ahead, down slope among fir, cedar, and alders in a fairly soppy area, just about the right distance for land fall of the bumped bird. The bell went silent. I waited a bit for him to start moving again, and when he didn't, I moved ahead to find him. It took me a good minute, but there he was statue still in the thick wet stuff. A dark dog is hard to see in the dark woods. I moved ahead of the dog, approaching from the side. I was startled by a rustling of vegetation and a brown blur of hare hair hopped away. One jingle of the bell told me Brody saw or heard the bunny, but stayed put. I took two more steps and up twittered a timberdoodle flying right at me until it was about 5 yards away, at which time it turned away but quickly dipped low around a fir thicket and it was gone. Arghh! Brody had turned to rock, but my hands had turned to stone. Stoned by the woodcock. I really want to kill every bird pointed like that, to reward the good behavior.

So Thursday, a potential buyer of our house was visiting with a house inspector. I got them started, then got out of their hair for awhile. This gave me an hour and a half to try to get Brody into birds. Most of the first 60 minutes where uneventful. Then we worked along an old road lined by a stand of jack pine sloping down either side of the ridge into aspen and alder. I heard a grouse flush, so whistled Brody in to hunt the vicinity. He went on point about 30 yards into the pines. I walked in to flush, and a grouse busted out of the tree over my head, and my one shot did no harm. We followed, and again Brody pointed, this time looking up into the canopy to a spot from which a grouse burst forth. This time my load of steel 6s knocked it down -- Brody's first grouse on a solid point that lasted more than a few seconds.

Further down the ridge Brody's bell indicated he was moving slowly and pausing. In a little while the bell went silent. As I crept to his point from higher ground a bird flushed from about 30 feet up an aspen, and my shot broke a wing, at least. At the shot, the bird Brody had been pointing flushed.... toward me. I turned and took a going-away shot as it banked and flew down slope. The grouse went out of sight as I shot, but I did see a small cloud of feather dander hanging in the air in its wake. Shooting birds over Brody's solid points was just what I wanted. However a potential downside to this happy story is that both these last two birds were live on the ground so Brody then caught them (notice one bob-tailed bird in the photo). Time will tell whether he still wants to point, or if he thinks he can just run 'em down.

Last day for woodcock is Saturday, so I'll be out tomorrow trying to add a couple more birds to the larder for Thanksgiving appetizers.

Redemption at Jim's Comeuppance...and the House of Pain

I went to the Finger Lakes National Forest with Rich on Sunday to find Artemis a woodcock or two. It was the first woodcock hunt of the season for Artemis, having been benched for the Grouse Camp odyssey due to her master's absence from the continent.

I met Rich at the Ballard Pond parking area.



















We decided on "Jim's Comeuppance " as the covert de jour, and we were off. Light wind, 54 degrees, 3:15 pm. I was wearing LL Bean Cords with chaps over top, a stylish custom art collector's item orange t-shirt, and an Orvis strap vest, topped by a bright orange "Ugly Dog Hunting" hat. I carried my LC Smith 12 ga Ideal grade, loaded w 7 1/2s. Rich was also properly kitted up, though perhaps a tad over-layered.

We hunted through the "Walk in the Park" portion of the covert, and though Miss got birdy a few times, produced nothing. We came to the flats at the bottom of the slope and made our way towards the corner, where I shot a grouse two years ago. Artemis, up a head, came to a sharp halt and a woodcock exploded up and away. The wind, I thought-- she over-ran the scent. Moments later, Rich shouted "bird." A re-flush. Rich thought he knew where the bird put down, so we steered Miss around. She came into a nice point and Rich and I approached. As luck would have it, the bird came out my way. Bang bang. I actually saw the wings, both of them, fall. Feathers floated down behind. Miss was pointing a blob on the ground. I picked up the wings, for science. Rich offered good-naturedly that perhaps the birds needed to be let further out before shooting. Rich is full of good, sage advice like that.

So we had shot one woodcock. We continued on, and were presented one or two more shooting opportunities that resulted in no birds. Then, we reached the hardwood edge and Miss was convinced that we'd find grouse there. I did not doubt her, but this was a woodcock hunt. So we shinnied over the fence towards what I used to call "deeper in" but has now been re-christened by Rich and I as "House of Pain." Here, there is penance and purgatory for any and all that require it. You will hurt if you hunt in there. Mike O'Connor experienced this covert three years ago. He said it hurt. I have never disagreed. I will let Rich speak for himself on this.

We were flummoxed by a grouse repeatedly, both Rich and I missing shots at the wily rapscallion. Miss drug us through every hidey-hole, every multiflora rose thicket, every Devil's Walking Stick. Shots were missed; shots were made. I added another woodcock to my bag. As did Rich. More shots were missed. You would pull up for the shot and be raked across the face and hands by any number of razor sharp blessings of nature. Unlike those hunts where one hears groans after the shots, here, in the House of Pain, one hears groans and shrieks intermittently, especially as the bird flushes and the shot is attempted...

Finally we had had enough. We exfiltrated, got out while we still could, bloodied and stumbling, but somehow satisfied, as flagellant priests during lent. We worked our way back through the flats, past the pond, up the slope with spruces and the walk in the park. We were walking languidly now, enjoying the sunset. Miss was hunting, rather aimlessly. We had that "end of hunt" stupor going. I mentioned to Rich the famous comeuppance bush, and told Rich the story of Jim's Comeuppance. As I pointed at the bush for emphasis, Artemis approached it, slinking a bit. "It was just like that, but it was Kate" I said... and Artemis slammed into a point. I was speechless. Rich walked to the outside and I volunteered to go into the bush on my hands and knees to try to flush the bird up and his way. As I began crawling in, Artemis adjusted to the right. As I began to straighten my back to stand, the bird flushed out and away to the right. A snap shot and it was down. "That one was for Jim, and for Kate" I thought.

Thanks to Jim and his generosity in showing me this covert, I have had, almost annually, a good afternoon outing here. It is a once a year covert for me (for woodcock), one that I was glad to share with Rich this year. We enjoyed a magnificent sunset at the top of the hill, sitting on the foundation of the old farm house that once stood over the coverts. We enjoyed some tobacco and some rum, made plans for our four woodcock, and parted ways.

She's ready

Well, any ambivalence I might have had about taking an untested yearling setter into the Michigan and Wisconsin grouse woods has now vanished. The short version: we got Phoebe out onto the Hector Backbone today for the woodcock opener, and in one hour's time I watched her go from a completely clueless doggie doofus to an absolute woodcock-pointing machine.

The somewhat longer version: We were in the woods by 4:00 pm, under sunny skies, 62 deg F, 6-10 mph winds out of the north and northwest, and as usual I was wearing jeans, my torn and tattered Carharrt vest, Filson hat, and toting the 16 gauge loaded up with early season 8s.

For the first hour and a half we scoured two coverts in a row (many of you have been there, but if I told you where it was today I'd have to kill you) and turned up nothing. nada. zilch. I was beginning to doubt if I had any woodcock finding talent at all.

By 5:30 or so, things started to heat up. Phoebe had had one or two false points up to now, a pattern I'd seen fairly frequently, so when she went on point in some gnarlies I was expecting more of the same.

WRONG! wrrrrrrrr. WOODCOCK.

BANG. . . . . BANG.

Ouch. I missed two shots on Phoebe's for-real-first-ever live point on a live bird. Ouch. We hunted for quite a while where I marked it down, but never did get it to flush again. Oh well. So we kept going.

Ten minutes or so later: the same scenario was repeated. Point; bird; bang; bang; NOTHING. Ouch.

Now I'm starting to get pissed at my poor shooting. Damn. I really want to get a bird for this dogge now, and I'm blowing some very easy opportunities. Fortunately I had marked the second bird fairly well, and when we got to its general location, Phoebe went on point. Staunch! and there it was, the woodcock on the ground two feet in front of her nose. Cool!

I make my move on the bird from three feet away. That blasted bogsucker escaped two more shots from my mighty Parker . . . mighty powerless Parker, that is. DAMN! now I'm starting to foam at the mouth and swearing at my self in the woods. (Honestly. I'm talking to myself, and had to stop because I realized Phoebe was hearing my tone of voice and thinking it was being aimed at her.)

We move on. At this point I'm 0-for-six and am praying to the Almighty that I be given another chance. And then it happened.

Phoebe goes on point. No ambivalence now, no uncertainty, no doubts about my untested puppy. This dogge is for real. I move in, and two birds go up simultaneously--and they're GROUSE!!

BANG at the farthest one, flying away left to right. I don't see any reaction whatsoever from the first bird to that shot, and then I turn to shoot at the second, closer bird. BANG! and the bird falls!

Thank God. I call Phoebe over, who at the moment is going absolutely crazy with bird scent, so it takes her a while to come over to the spot that I've marked with my hat. And then it happens: I can't find the bird. Phoebe can't find the bird. I walk around the spot in circles with a sense of deepening despair. I saw the bird fall, but now I'm beginning to think that it was a crippled grouse that then ran away. Damn. This is quickly becoming one of the most depressing hunts of all time.

And then it happens. After circling and circling and circling, Phoebe comes right back to the small tree where I've hung my hat, and she locks up. There, two feet away, is a stone-cold dead woodcock laying camouflaged among the leaves.

HOORAY!! the dogge has found the dead bird, has done it by pointing dead, and in finding it has accomplished what I was not going to be able to do by myself. Her first dead bird over one of her points. Needless to say I experience an instant mood change. You know, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat kind of mood swing. I'm on cloud nine. I'm a bit surprised that it's a woodcock, having had the impression that the flushes were grouse, but I'm happy nonetheless.

After letting her nose the bird a bit, I put it away in my pouch and we move on. By now I am truly following the dogge every step of the way. She has come into her own as a hunter. And then it happens.

She locks up on point again. As I move in, she lunges at something on the ground. She's got it . . . and it's a GROUSE . . . the second of the two birds that ten minutes earlier had flushed simultaneously. And then it dawns on me--this is the first double of my upland hunting career. Granted, it is a woodcock and a grouse, but a double's a double I figure. (Judges, give me a ruling on that one. Grouse purists may insist that a true double consists purely of partridge. Discuss.)

Phoebe's first double

Wow. At this point I've got a grouse and a woodcock in the bag. It's getting dark, the dogge is now going absolutely nuts after having had the taste of grouse tail feathers in her mouth, so I decide it's best to leash her and quit while we're ahead. We exit the woods at 7 pm, happy and secure in the knowledge that this dogge is ready to hunt.

See you all in Wisconsin.

Kate the Great and the Puppy Formerly Known as Doofus

Welcome Maya!

On Memorial Day weekend we came home with our new pup, Maya. My daughter Emma picked the name based on sound rather than meaning. But the various meanings (spring, renewal, rebirth) feel like good omens to me. I’m looking forward to some renewal and great days ahead. Maya, Emma, and me (maybe Ben, too, if he picks up his sister's love of dogs).

Maya is a black and white Llewellin with a half mask. The breeder thinks she will be heavily ticked, like her half sister in the photo (black is the new white!).

I am technically co-owner and co-trainer in this enterprise. I get the back end and the part that wakes up at 5am. I also get October and as much bird dog as I am willing to create. Emma gets to be a 12-year old raising a puppy and training a best buddy. I am buying Emma a set of hunting chaps and a check cord. My "No Father Left Indoors" campaign is off to a great start.


A poem just for Maya
By Emma

When I look at the rain,
I think of the saddened tears rolling off of God’s face
When I look at the babies running around and screaming,
I think of all of the mothers at the spa
When I look at the color yellow,
I think of the giant sun that is warming the hearts
and souls of others
But, when I look at my English Setter
I think of the most beautiful, elegant and graceful
dog in the world
But, the one thing that is the most important about her
is that she is my very own

Kate et al circa 2001

Katie

Katie in Michigan, 2006
Sept 6 1997 to Dec 27 2008

We had to put Katie down this morning. It was time.

A lot to be thankful for

Good friends, good land, good dogges. One last (?) retrieve for old McPhee.

Grouse Camp Snippets

First, thanks to all the spouses and kids for your understanding/tolerance/encouragement about the grousers going off to camp in the Maine North Woods for a week. It was great to spend time with these characters and to recreate ourselves. I think it's safe to say that we all really needed this. Thanks a bunch.









Stella showed great intestinal fortitude by getting aggressive on bird scent and putting up a couple grouse before her camp experience was cut short by a trip to the operating room for sockectomy. I think that bird scent will be locked in her noggin for good, and Josh will be enjoying the autumn woods and bringing home many more birds with the help of Stella.





Pete's pup Lilly is full of hunt -- she didn't want to stop to pose for a photo atop this old log. She was fun to watch in the woods, stalking anything and everything, but especially grouse. I'm really looking forward to hunting over her a year from now.






Lilly was so birdy that you'd be on pins and needles, ready at all times for a bird encounter -- we had to remind ourselves that this was training. The hunting will come next year.






Camp was loaded with pups and 11-year-old dogs -- 4 of each, with Artemis in the middle. Baxter, one of the elders, didn't hunt but helped to entertain the ever energetic Conley (aka Meatloaf, white buffalo, and twenty other names). The pup appears larger than life in this photo due to the fact that he is larger than life.






Conley executing a stylish retrieve.... or a quick getaway.







Cody, one of the elders, put this grouse right over Path Walker. Bang Bang.....................Bang.
And that was that.







You could spend all day in the coverts above Drowned Road. Great views and hunting.





It was good to have a gunner like Richie Fella along to honor the dog's points. (it's not every Grouse Camp that one can say that about Richie Fella, so enjoy it Rico!)






A nice bird taken by a good shot over a pretty point.







Spy had this woodcock (bottom center) pinned. On this trip I recall seeing 4 of Spy's pointed birds (1 woodcock and 3 grouse) on the ground, which usually makes the bird bullet-proof. But we were 4 for 4 on these birds. Spy and Katie are littermates, 11 years old, spawn of Butch.





This, plus one more grouse (pictured above in Conley's grip), was the take for Rich, Pete, and Andy the last day of the hunt. When I got home and showed the kids this picture they wanted to see the birds... which of course by then were cleaned, wrapped, and frozen.

..... So I had to go out and get a fresh one....




Nearly had a woodcock tug-o-war a couple times, so I'd better bring home two (or multiples thereof) next time.