Autumn Renewal – Revisited

By Chris Robinson

It happens every year. In late September and early October, as birds with migration to warmer climates on their minds gather in flocks that are increasingly restless, hunters and their dogs experience a similar sort of primordial stirring. For those of us who hunt and live in the northern tier states, the months of September, October and November are a time of renewal, a time to revitalize our relationship with our hunting partners, the ones with two feet and the ones with four paws. It is a time to say, “The hell with work. Let’s go,” to the dogs who are instantly up racing off to where the good stuff–guns, ammunition, coats, boots, vests–is stored, on their toes and dancing in place, tails waving as they wait, not very patiently, for you to assemble what will be needed for the day.

There is something about dusting off the ancient skills of the hunt that reestablishes a link with our ancestors. When we don the “battle dress” of the hunt, pick up our weapons, summon our four-footed buddies to our side and sally forth in the company of friends and dogs, we are embarking on the same quest as did our forebearers back to the time when humans established themselves as formidable predators, albeit now with considerably less dire consequences for failure.

The early hunters were quick to recognize their limitations. It did not take those folks long to realize that their hunts were far more likely to end with food roasting over a fire if they had help from a hunter with a better sense of smell, better hearing and better speed afoot. Thus was born the need to form a partnership with the wolf which had all these gifts in abundance. When the wolf accepted man’s invitation to share his food, his shelter, his campfire and his companionship, the contract that provided the wellhead for all the specialized wolf descendants that now share our duck boats, goose blinds, pheasant and hare fields, quail coverts and bunny thickets was signed.

It’s important to somehow keep contact with this essential part of human history as increasing urbanization destroys our sense of who we are and from whence we came. Hunting is one way to restore our ties to the land and to the natural order of things. It is important to be reminded from time to time that meat does not sprout from plastic trays covered by shrink wrap. Living critters die in order for us to eat and survive.
There is something about spending time with a dog in wheat fields, prairie marshes, on big water, in flooded timber, woodlots, and on conservation reserve program lands that provides a perfect staging area for this restoration. It is, above all, a sensual rejuvenation during which you once again become aware of the texture and sound of frosted wheat stubble beneath your boots, the disorienting feeling of being enveloped in a sea of prairie darkness before the dawn restores your sight and sense of direction. It is a time to recognize and remember the heavy scent of cattails and other marsh vegetation so rich the smell almost becomes a taste. It is a time to again experience the warmth of the dog against your leg as you sit together waiting for the first rush of wings in the half light before sunrise, the sheer pleasure of hearing the sounds of crowing cock pheasants and whistling quail greeting the end of another night when they did not become a meal for a great horned owl or some vagrant coyote. It is a time to appreciate the absolutely breathtaking beauty of a sunrise or sunset, be it one on the prairie, the coastline, in the woods or in the mountains and to marvel at the brilliance of a starlit sky, after the guns are cleaned and put away after the day’s hunt and the dogs, tired and well fed, are snoozing contentedly by the fireplace. It is a sky that is foreign to most city folk, unclouded by smog or urban lights, accompanied not by the rumble of traffic and the roar of jet aircraft but by the far off songs of a lonesome coyote or two. It is life the way it was long ago.

There is also a comfortable quiet about hunting where you can sit in the same blind for long periods of time when the birds are not flying with the same person and the same dog or walk next to or behind them for hours and feel no obligation to make conversation. There is no one to impress. Both your dogs and your hunting partners know virtually everything of any importance that there is to know about you and they accept you for what you are, warts and all.

The hunt is a place where you have license to stretch or even obliterate facts if by so doing you can improve the quality of a story. It is a place where someone who is a superb raconteur is as valuable as someone who is a superb shot. It is a place where fine whiskey and fine dog work are viewed as gifts from the gods. It is the perfect place for a spiritual rebirth.

Most waterfowl hunters learn, over the years, to keep an eye on their dog as well as the sky. Like their lupine ancestors, dogs usually see the faint dots in the sky or hear the rush of duck and goose wings or the cackling noises of waterfowl in flight well before their human partners, including those who are young enough that their senses have not been decayed by time to the point where they need either visual or auditory assistance. When their human partners begin the soft calls meant to coerce the birds within shotgun range, the dogs tremble, their gaze fixed on the approaching birds. When, at the report of the shotgun, a bird or two tumbles into the water or the stubble field, they leap out of the blind in pursuit, a canine chalk line dropped to the downed birds.

It has always been a source of amazement that hunting dogs are so willing to go against their embedded drives. They sit or stand still until sent, quietly run or swim out, pick up the bird, turn around and return to deliver it to hand without a trace of reluctance to give it up when the mindless instincts of millennia all tell the dog to bark and chase, run like hell after the bird, grab it and eat it on the spot. That the dogs do none of these things is what makes every retrieve a singular and truly incredible event. The wonder of a dog making a retrieve, be it waterfowl, upland birds or small game, is not just that they do it willingly but that they do it at all. Quality dog work, whether it is a retriever chasing down a crippled and diving duck or goose, a pointer, setter or a Brittany standing a pheasant or a quail covey as rigidly as any West Point or Annapolis Plebe being braced by an upperclassman, a spaniel snuffling through the grass, its tail windmilling, nose down, every motion screaming “birds” or a hound in hot pursuit of a rabbit, is enchanting in its ritualized choreography of grace and beauty. It is the kind of work that adds the essential brush strokes to the unfinished canvas in a hunter’s mind’s eye.

It has always been a mystery how dogs find birds. Hold a game bird up to your nose sometime. Aside from the slightly musty scent of feathers, you won’t really smell anything. What this means is that you couldn’t find a bird by scent on your absolute best day. But how dogs do what they do with their noses is a mystery and will remain a mystery until dogs somehow learn to talk. I’ve seen my own dogs detect the scent of a downed goose 50 yards away from where the bird was actually located. The ability of dogs to scent game is a miracle of nature. There is no way to study it because there is no visible evidence of what is happening. Researchers at some of the finest veterinary schools in the country try to explain a dog’s scenting ability with a lot of scientific jargon. Personally, I prefer to think of it as magic.

Hunting without a dog is like the proverbial day without sunshine. For people who hunt with their dogs, the work of the dogs is so important that it defines the sport. I’ve shared thousands of hours in the field with my dogs and countless days through the years. Every hunting trip, even if it was only for a couple of hours on my own farm, has been special but some have been so special they linger in the memory like a passionate love affair, bittersweet reminders of yesterday. They are sweet because they happened and bitter because they ended.

If you really need another reason to hunt with a dog, here it is. A dry dog that has had the burrs and stickers combed out of its coat makes a really good bed mate after a long, hard day in the field. There is something soothing and comforting about a dog nestled close when you are cold, aching and tired. When you get right down to it, most of us aren’t all that far removed, at least not spiritually, from our days as small children. Linus has a blanket, we have a dog.

So to all of you who hunt with your retrievers, pointers, setters, spaniels, hounds or terriers, good luck and good hunting. For the duration of the fall hunting seasons, may the sign on your doors or your computers always read “Gone hunting.”

Click here to read the complete article from the Canine Chronicle November/December 2013 Issue, Vol. 38 Number 11.

Short URL: http://caninechronicle.com/?p=40481

Posted by Alex on Dec 28 2013. Filed under Current Articles, Featured. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.