# Stories with Bird Dogs



## A12GaugeGirl (Jan 10, 2015)

I just did a new post on my blog about my bird dogs. It is here: http://huntingandcooking.com/when-that-dogs-too-old-to-hunt/. After writing it, I have become interested in hearing what other people's experiences are with their bird dogs. Anybody want to share about their bonds or relationships with their bird dogs? I just was curious.


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## AF CYN (Mar 19, 2009)

I enjoyed your story. I don't have a bird dog, but I want one really badly and your story just stoked the flame. Thanks for sharing.


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## Ali-MAc (Jul 12, 2013)

Mine is curled up asleep, love training her and then seeing it pay off in the field


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## SX3 (Jun 3, 2014)

I wrote this story a few years ago after my dog passed. It still puts a lump in my throat.

Back in the fall of 2000 my son Nate was 12 years old and wanted a Labrador retriever. I had always been a dog owner and an outdoorsman but had never combined the two into owning and training hunting dogs. One of Nate's teachers was going to be having a litter in February and offered him a good price on one of the pups. Little Annie came to live with us 7 weeks after her February birth. 
What a whirl wind, aren't puppies supposed to sleep at night? A very good friend of mine had been training labs for years and offered me a book to read that he said was a step by step plan on how to train a water dog. Nate and I both read the book and went to work training. We are both pretty stubborn and so we often butted heads as we interpreted things differently on how we should be training. 
All in all things turned out well and over the years Annie became an excellent hunting dog. I started guiding at a duck hunting club and Annie was my partner. I have to be honest and admit that she was never the best trained dog, she would often break at the shot and have to be called back on the rare occasion (ha ha) that I or my client missed. She was never patient enough to sit in the boat while I put out or retrieved decoys, instead she would swim around and drive me crazy. She also earned an unprintable nickname out at the club for leaving the occasion deposit in the boat on the ride out to the blind. Annie lived to retrieve birds. I can recall a couple of times when motoring in or out that she actually jumped out of the boat to go retrieve a duck that some other hunter had shot when she just happened to hear the shot and see a splash. 
Annie was never just a hunting dog, she was a part of our family, and she was my friend. There is an old joke that says lock your wife and your dog in the trunk for an hour and when you let them out see which one is happy to see you.  Annie loved everyone and would have come out with her tail wagging.
Dog ownership also comes with it pitfalls. This past February Annie stopped eating, this was not initially a concern as over the years she would have times that she would not want to eat or would eat very little. After about three days we became pretty concerned so my wife took her to the vet. My world kind of crashed around me when Colleen called with the news. Annie had developed a very bad infection. The vet said he could do surgery but it was very expensive and her chances were not good. I had to make one of the most difficult decisions of my life but ultimately took the advice of the vet and Annie was put to sleep while I held her in my arms and cried like a baby. I got permission from the manager of the duck club where I guide and was able to bury Annie out there.  She is overlooking one of the ponds where she can forever watch the birds come in.
I have been told by many that pets just don't live long enough and the pain of one passing is just too great so they choose not to go through it again. I am not of that mind set, while it still brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye to even write this down I have already jumped back in. 
As I thought about what I would do for a dog this fall I really was torn but felt the need to start training and building that relationship once again. I began a list of possible names and one I thought of was Abby. 
I noticed an advertisement for the last of a litter and contacted the breeder. He told me the cost (more than I felt I could afford) and I politely told him thanks and wished him well. I told my wife about this pup and while she too was concerned about the cost she encouraged me to go for it. I got back in touch with the breeder and was told I was third on the list. Looking at the pedigree and with the reputation this breeder has, I just felt there was no way I would get this pup. Well maybe Annie pulled some strings but a few days later I got a call saying the other buyers had backed out and Abby was mine if I wanted her.
 Abby was what the breeders daughter had been calling this pup and because it was on my list I felt again that maybe Annie had pulled some strings and so kept the name. 
The cycle has started again. I went for a couple of weeks with very little sleep, a couple of nights I actually "slept" on the laundry room floor trying to get Abby to be quiet so the rest of the family could sleep. Potty training came pretty quickly, a good thing because we are in a new home and my wife's patience was wearing thin. 
It will be an interesting hunting season this fall, sad without Annie but full of new promise and adventure with my new best friend Abby.
I can't imagine life without a dog.


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## CPAjeff (Dec 20, 2014)

I grew up in a small farm town in Northern Utah where they were still a few pheasants and my father was/still is an avid pheasant hunter, just like his father; so naturally, the pheasant season was looked forward to in our house. I was presented an opportunity to buy a german shorthair from my oldest brother when he moved out of the house. I jumped at the opportunity to have my own hunting dog and envisioned Pepper and I hitting the fields together. The night before my first pheasant opener, that I could carry a gun, I couldn't sleep. I envisioned the dog going on point, the rooster flushing, my 20 ga 870 coming to my shoulder, and the rooster falling when I pulled the trigger. Morning finally arrived and we hit the fields. After a bit of walking, Pepper went on point. I moved in behind her, and a rooster exploded from the ditch... boom, boom, boom went my 20, and the rooster sailed off unharmed. Unfortunately, this same situation happened a couple more times that day, with the same result. 

Sunday was a NO HUNTING day in my family, and so I was waited until after school on Monday to go out again. About 10 minutes into our Monday evening hunt, Pepper locked up. I stepped in behind her, and a young rooster flushed. This time, he crumbled when I pulled the trigger and Pepper ran over to get him. I can still remember it like yesterday, even though it has been nearly 16 years since that moment. I've had the wonderful opportunity to hunt pheasants for many years in South Dakota, but nothing can compare to my first rooster with Pepper. 

Later that year, I decided to get Pepper bred. While whelping, she passed away. I remember how devastating that was at the time and I still get a lump in my throat when I think about it.

Since Pepper, I have never owned another pointer, but I have a soft spot in my heart for them. When my son gets a little older, I will pick one up and start the heartbreak train all over. :sad:

Whenever my wife wants to watch one of those chick flicks, I always ask her why on earth she would want to watch a movie that is going to make her cry. She responds with something like how its beautiful and sad all at the same time. I am beginning to understand that owning a good dog, regardless if it is a hunting dog or not, is a lot like a chick flick. The memories made are beautiful, but the ending is always sad.


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## A12GaugeGirl (Jan 10, 2015)

SX3 said:


> I wrote this story a few years ago after my dog passed. It still puts a lump in my throat.
> 
> Back in the fall of 2000 my son Nate was 12 years old and wanted a Labrador retriever. I had always been a dog owner and an outdoorsman but had never combined the two into owning and training hunting dogs. One of Nate's teachers was going to be having a litter in February and offered him a good price on one of the pups. Little Annie came to live with us 7 weeks after her February birth.
> What a whirl wind, aren't puppies supposed to sleep at night? A very good friend of mine had been training labs for years and offered me a book to read that he said was a step by step plan on how to train a water dog. Nate and I both read the book and went to work training. We are both pretty stubborn and so we often butted heads as we interpreted things differently on how we should be training.
> ...


I loved that story! It hit so close to home. I too have slept on the floor of somewhere uncomfortable so everyone else can sleep, cursing my poor decision making on getting a new puppy. But by morning the story is always different. Again, such a great story!


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## A12GaugeGirl (Jan 10, 2015)

CPAjeff said:


> I grew up in a small farm town in Northern Utah where they were still a few pheasants and my father was/still is an avid pheasant hunter, just like his father; so naturally, the pheasant season was looked forward to in our house. I was presented an opportunity to buy a german shorthair from my oldest brother when he moved out of the house. I jumped at the opportunity to have my own hunting dog and envisioned Pepper and I hitting the fields together. The night before my first pheasant opener, that I could carry a gun, I couldn't sleep. I envisioned the dog going on point, the rooster flushing, my 20 ga 870 coming to my shoulder, and the rooster falling when I pulled the trigger. Morning finally arrived and we hit the fields. After a bit of walking, Pepper went on point. I moved in behind her, and a rooster exploded from the ditch... boom, boom, boom went my 20, and the rooster sailed off unharmed. Unfortunately, this same situation happened a couple more times that day, with the same result.
> 
> Sunday was a NO HUNTING day in my family, and so I was waited until after school on Monday to go out again. About 10 minutes into our Monday evening hunt, Pepper locked up. I stepped in behind her, and a young rooster flushed. This time, he crumbled when I pulled the trigger and Pepper ran over to get him. I can still remember it like yesterday, even though it has been nearly 16 years since that moment. I've had the wonderful opportunity to hunt pheasants for many years in South Dakota, but nothing can compare to my first rooster with Pepper.
> 
> ...


I have always wanted a german shorthair. They are so good looking, and of course a great bird dog. For some reason, I always end up with Labradors, but I shouldn't complain, they have been great too. I love that comparison to chick flicks. It is spot on!


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## Bret (Sep 7, 2007)

I loved your story. I write about mine all the time.
please check out mine at http://settertalesandmallardcurls.blogspot.com/

this one is my favorite.

My dog was working a large island of uncultivated cover out in the middle of a plowed field that consisted of some large trees, sage brush, vines and every other sort of nasty entangled brush one can imagine. Out of sight I could only hear his struggle through the thick brush. Suddenly the sound of motion fell to silence. I waited with anticipation knowing he had to be standing point close by. Suddenly the brush erupted and a large cackling rooster pheasant exploded toward me. The old bird shot over my right shoulder like a rocket. I spun one hundred and eighty degrees shouldering my gun, and sliding my thumb safety forward in a sort of controlled panic. I drew on the bird and let the first barrel go before it had caught up to the bird. ugh! Don't blow it I thought as I caught my calm, followed the bird, and confidently let the second barrel go. The old rooster crashed to the ground with a thud. He quickly gathered himself, and started into his best roadrunner impersonation sprinting across the plowed field toward the nearest cover. Without thought I gave chase with my gun now broke in one hand, I yelled "Dead Bird ! Dead Bird! Come on Rocks!" Expecting my old faithful Brittany to pass me at any time and run that rooster down like he had always done. As the words left my mouth I realized what a senseless thing I was doing. My old reliable and ever present pal had passed on the year before. I guess I just yelled out of habit, or maybe the rush of adrenalin had pushed me beyond my senses for a moment, but this really troubled me as I ran. My old dog's successor a young setter I called Jimmy joined me in my pursuit Just as the rooster ducked into some thin CRP grass to be gone forever. I slowed to a stop and stood gasping for air at the edge of the field. Jim had not been around long enough to understand what was going on, and had a confused look on his face trying to figure out what all the commotion was about. I gave Jim the dead bird command, and he searched but that old bird was in the next county by then. I sat down in that thin grass on the hill with Jim by my side, and tried to fight back the tears, but somehow one got out of my eye and rolled down my face. With blurred vision I looked out over the valley that I had hunted all 13 seasons of my old friend Bo's life with him by my side. Every fence row, tree line, brush pile, slough, and ravine held memories only he and I shared. It was the place where 12 years earlier I had given him the nickname "Rocks" because as a young dog he convinced me that rocks were the only matter between his ears. Over the years it became a term of endearment that I only used when we were hunting. This was my first season without him. It was difficult, but I realized he would always be there with me in some way. As one hundred memories popped up like a slide show in my head I gathered myself, set Jim to hunting, and walked on with a stone face daydreaming about my old friend.

Because I often hunt alone, I find myself with only a dog, my thoughts, and observations of the alternate reality that the field is to me. I often get so lost in what I am doing every stress of reality floats away on the breeze and I am left with the blissful sounds of nature interrupted only by the jingle of the tags on the dogs collar, and the sound of my footsteps.
*
you can read the rest of this story here.*A Changing of the Seasons.

http://settertalesandmallardcurls.blogspot.com/2015/03/a-changing-of-seasons.html


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## Clarq (Jul 21, 2011)

My lab is as stubborn as they come. She is also incredibly driven to hunt. One cold wintry day, soon after we began a pheasant hunt, she quickly hopped through a barbed wire fence and scared up a rooster pheasant. My dad brought it down with a single shot, and she retrieved it.

We continued our hunt. After 20 or 30 minutes, I noticed a drop of blood in the snow. Then another, and another. I soon came to the conclusion that it was probably coming from my dog. We called her in for an inspection, and discovered that she had managed to slice a 5-inch long cut into her underbelly (which ended up giving us a ~$400 vet bill). As we made our way back to the car, we discovered that the injury had occurred at the place where she found our first bird of the day, 20 or 30 minutes before.

What impressed me about this whole situation was the fact that she didn't give any external indication of being injured. She was so excited to hunt that she didn't slow down at all. In fact, as I put her in my arms and carried her back to the car, she made it clear that she wasn't happy to be leaving so soon.

She's almost 10 now, but in her mind, she's still young, and she's still the same hunter she's always been. We have to be careful with how much we let her hunt, because she doesn't know when to stop. For years, her stubborn attitude and strong will drove me crazy. I'm ok with it now, though. If it keeps her capable enough to hunt for a few more years, I can put up with it.


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## bekins24 (Sep 22, 2015)

I've been trying to talk my wife into getting a dog for a couple of months now and reading all these stories makes me want one even more. Thanks a lot everyone....8)


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