More on Neutering

      If you read this blog often you know early neutering is a subject I follow. Here is a link to more information. The author has a great point. What is the hurry?

      https://sportingclassicsdaily.com/whats-the-rush/

Plan B

     The day took forever to arrive. For over a month hours had been spent studying topographical maps and aerial photos. On weekends, miles were trekked looking for the perfect cover. Finally, the day arrived.

     Pulling into the old road at first light the sight of three pickup trucks and a half dozen men stopped me in my tracks. Rabbit hunters and beagles. Not wanting to crowd them nor listen to their commotion, I backed out onto the public road.

     I really didn’t have a plan B. It was all new country to me. Heading back up over a hill, I spied an old tote road marked by an iron post.

The woods went on forever.

     That old tote road led up the hill, nothing more than two worn indentations in the grass beneath the trees. A stream off to the east murmured. It looked like long abandoned pasture land and against an ancient rock maple leaned a heavy wood door with thick iron hinges. Not a trace of a building could be found anywhere. Softwoods mixed with the hardwoods. My girl Chara didn’t care if this was plan A or B or C, she charged about and her bell rang with enthusiasm.

     A long abandoned field created an opening in the trees. Chara got birdy as hell, her tail ablur. A grouse exploded from up high in a yellow birch. That bird wasn’t going to touch ground again for a long ways off, probably on the other side of the little stream.

I coaxed Chara on up the hill. Old scraggly maples gave way to younger maples. It certainly didn’t look like grouse country, but off to the east I could see softwood trees. Following an edge is better than following nothing. I walked to where the hardwoods met the wall of softwood trees. Chara dashed off to the west and then back to the east, convinced the birds were somewhere. Another grouse thundered away, this time from high on up in a fir tree.

     The softwoods petered out, but far ahead through the gray trunks of the sugar bush I could see another cluster. Up the hill to the left stood a small sugar house that probably hadn’t seen people since the previous March or April. Hundreds of sugar maples covered the hillsides. I trudged on.

Locked up.

     A small knoll broke up the gradual grade. Lanky spruce and fir stood over it, with their knee-high young blanketing the ground beneath them. Chara charged up the slope and stopped like a statue.

     On my approach a grouse exploded out the back. An easy shot and the bird tumbled. Another launched to the north and escaped. In a blur several more exited, with one coming directly at me. Reflexes made me duck as it flew a few feet over my head. Attempting to collect my composure, I swung on the bird, but it sailed safely away.

     Sometimes Plan B provides memories that last forever.

Sometimes they are laughing at us.