The
day was planned in woodcock country, hoping to find steady birds for our
younger dog to work on. Most of the time Maggie held point reliably, but on
grouse she was far from flawless. There’s no better bird than woodcock to work
a young dog on.
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Weaving
through the alders, we hunted hard and covered a lot of territory, but we found
no more woodcock. Where could they be? A beaver had been busy and created a
large pond. And then we found a second new pond made by another beaver. Moose
had crossed through and deer had a trail parallel with the stream. Finally we
turned inland to work our way back.
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Old
mister grouse exploded skyward. I fumbled in the tangle of cover, never getting
to fire a shot. Maggie had held that bird for an unbelievable length of time. I
was ecstatic.
After
several minutes of praise we hunted on, walking a meandering course more or
less following where the alders met the forest. Atop a bump on a knoll Maggie
locked up again with Colby backing.
Not
sure what to expect, I hurried past her with my gun up. A grouse flushed twenty
feet from her nose. It was an easy straight away shot, but the bird ducked
behind a fat red maple as I pulled the trigger. The tree will live to tell
about it, and so did the bird.
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