Call's for red meat and carnage not-withstanding, the 2008 Maine Grouse Camp was for me all about the meaning of a good dog.
As we avoided thinking about aging, about the fact that much had changed in the world and amongst ourselves since the last time we raised glasses of whiskey in the Macannamac Camp (a mere month after 9/11/2001),we were constantly reminded of the hope for the future, the joi de vive of puppies reveling in existence, in their own lives, all wrapped up in ours. While we ignored aches and pains, new conditions found in old men, and politics and religion at the dinner table, our consorts tussled, vied for top dog, and did their best to make us proud, while doing their damnedest to learn and be who they are. Here's to Connolly (Sp?), Lilly, and Phoebe-- who will teach us much.
I took special pride in Lilly, progeny of Canoga's Artemis. She was a part of the Tidball family for a short time, stole our hearts and took up the banner of our dreams for the everyman's dog; versatile, close-working, and a loved family pet. The Kleinman family is her family now, and she is thriving by any measure. The fruits of Pete's labors were evident though-out the week, and I beamed with muted pride as he walked out of the woods having shot at his first grouse over Lilly. Very nice work Pete.
The "grown-up dogs" had their work cut out for them. There were three; Stella the Boykin Spaniel, Spy the English Setter, and Artemis the German Shorthair Pointer. Stella, the least experienced, made a nice debut before succumbing to what so many ardent hunters find irresistible, a woman's stocking. Not all of us eat them, but be honest, the thought crosses the mind when confronted with fishnet, lace, etc. God bless Stella and women's stockings.
Spy had all the work he wanted, given his age, and from all reports, did not fail to impress. I wish I would have had the chance to hunt over him and with Andy.
Artemis was the "go-to" dog for the trip, hunting hard and hunting well every day, all day. Of the 20 grouse and 5 woodcock the camp brought into possession, Artemis had a large share. She was gritty, she was smart, she was tolerant. She impressed me beyond my wildest dreams. If only my performances were as virtuoso has hers.
These three grown up dogs were all great camp mates. They held up their ends of the bargain, and were great role models for the puppies and the people in camp. They continue to teach us much.
And there was Kate, the veteran. Her career cut short by illness, the infirm inspire. So many firsts with this dog, for so many of us. I admired Jim's commitment to her, and empathized with his feelings of betrayal, never by Kate but by whatever Red God graces us with the number of years we will spend with our canine partner. Damn you Red Gods...thank you Red Gods. The paradox and the sublime before us all, and the era that was Kate, at least for me, ending where it began, at Spider Lake. I said my goodbyes, and visualized a place on my wall for a picture of her, where a taxidermied grouse adorns my office, pointed by Kate, my first grouse and the opening of new galaxies. Thank you Kate. You will not be forgotten.
Our dogs define us at least as much as we define them. The beauty of that is that they are doing their best to train us not to measure ourselves by what we kill, but by how well we hunt. This is both art and craft, measured not in numbers but by our ability to reach, or to be taken to, the ecstatic place of "now." Always optimistic, always seeking, they are helping us learn the meaning of unconditional love, of true courage, and of faithful loyalty. There were feathers in mouths and game birds in the bag, to be sure. But the 2008 Maine Grouse Camp was, for me, all about the meaning of a good dog.
Ruffed Grouse Society +
lookit the size of those friggin' grouse . . .
seated, l to r: Path Walker holding Brad 'Brody' Pitt, Lil' Billy corralling Spy and Maya, Dr. Dirt grinning over Lilly, The Vicar of State College clasping Claymore's collar, el Jefe grasping Gaston de Phoebe, and Safari Jim with Meg and taming Thor God of Thunder
Guilty?
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.
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.
Nearly had a woodcock tug-o-war a couple times, so I'd better bring home two (or multiples thereof) next time.
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