The
snow went, but never quite all the way. On the north sides of the hills and
hidden in the shadows of the softwood stands it lingered for what seemed like eternity.
Bare fields waited for the robins and on walks in the woods the dogs searched
for woodcock. Early in the mornings and late in the day grouse drummed in the
woods above the house.
In
a drainage ditch next to a logging road, which leads into an enormous
wilderness valley, a woodcock fluttered up in front of the pup’s nose. It was the
first of the year and the first of the young dog’s life!
Spring
would come after all. On the way home a hundred robins rested in a pasture that
hadn’t yet greened. For the next couple weeks the girls would hunt hard.
On
a sunny afternoon walk, well up on a hill in a deserted field, a stand of
maples no bigger than my wrist beckoned. Coaxing the dogs over, the seven year
old wirehair locked up on point where the grass met the young trees. Rushing
ahead with her camera, my daughter hoped to spot the woodcock in front of the
dog, but the bird spiraled up from beneath her feet, leaving its nest behind.
Three eggs waited for her return. The dogs would spend less time in the woods
for the next few months.
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