Her blood is part prairie.
Because she is still only two years old, we still have to work with her distance, but as long as I trust her nose, and she trusts my shooting, we will continue to be successful in the field. The first bird we found on the new property brought us to the far side where my nickel plated 3s brought down the old rooster on a 60 yard crosser. Upon returned back the direction we can, we flushed, dropped, and lost another, all the while encountering a white jackrabbit. I winged that one, chased it for half and hour before losing its track as well. Crippled or not, you cannot outrun a jackrabbit as hard as you may try...
On our last walk out, Lou caught up with one of the birds that outsmarted her the first round in. This time, she played it smart and flushed the bird at my feet. I minced that one unfortunately....
The day we returned home from the hospital I was granted reprieve as we had just spent the last four days in hospital room and even my hair hurt. I wouldn't in a million years have tried to go out had Rachel's parents not been on their way. As soon as they came in the door I was out. I needed to stretch my legs, and thank the lord for my sons recovery.
Hunting the same property, Lou was again a hoot to watch work. A big rooster on our first pass flushed wild to our right and I made a single shot to drop it near Lou. We continued to work the main section of CRP and came up with nothing. As we worked the fenceline to the east, a group of birds materialized from the thin open alfalfa to the west. I was able to get a single shot off at the last rooster and his reaction told me a hit, though not a very good one. Upon the shot, he flew straight up into the air before leveling off and a gliding the quarter mile to the north side of the fenceline in which we just walked. We finished off what was left, biffing on three more roosters, before doubling back for our marked cripple. We blew right past him the first time, but Lou got a little birdy near a section so we doubled back yet again. I was not going to give up until we found this bird. It was enjoyable to watch when Lou finally locked onto the scent. She came to a screeching halt, and pointed. I gave her the command her nose buried in the grass. She was so close to catching her second bird, but this one slipped out ahead of her and was able to slowly get off of the ground. I waited all of one-thousand one, one-thou-
BOOM!
Lou was on it practically before it hit the ground. We walked the rest of the section and part of the next one before the setting sun caught up with us and concluded our hunt.
The landowner was kind enough to even give us a ride back to the car as he heard all of the banging around I was doing, and watched Lou and I pause to take our harvest photos.
Our final pheasant hunt of the season took a fair bit of work, but it produced a South Dakota ditch chicken limit.
The first property we walked we were familiar with and we worked the fenceline as we had done in the past. Towards the backside of the property I got to watch Lou do what takes some dogs a lifetime to figure out. She could tell the bird was running, so she bolted on out ahead getting well over 80 yards before turning straight around and coming right back at me but in the grass of the fenceline. When she caught up with the rooster, it broke with a cackling rise, right back at me. Before it even knew I was there, it was tumbling to the stubble. Because of the long regrowth of the covercrop in the alfalfa field we were on, I had seen birds use the middle of the field numerous times. I figured this was as good of a time as any to watch Lou do her thing. Back and forth she would work close to 50 yards to each side of me. She worked the wind, and waited for a whiff of anything. By the time she found it, I was not prepared as well as I should have been. She pointed, 40 yards out, and another big rooster flushed. I was able to drop it on the second shot, but somehow, Lou lost it when it hit the dirt. I could not act fast enough as the rooster was running full bore away from both of us. The bird was 70 yards out before it was able to gain its composure and fly across the fence into a shelterbelt we did not have permission for.
With this property tapped out we headed to another. I got complacent again as I often get lost in my thoughts these days, and Lou was locked up on point again at a small grass and willow patch between the fields. By the time I figured out what was going on a rooster had flushed out the backside. No shot. Despite the rooster flushing, Lou was still locked up. I could again, not position myself fast enough and two more flushed behind the willows. This dog knew exactly what she was doing.
A loop around the property brought us right back to the cattail marsh in the center of the property. We found a ton of sign in there and in the epicenter, Lou flushed another rooster right in front of me. I managed to hit it with both of my shots, but was unable to drop it. This is where the chaos ensued. I was trying to double back to find the bird and Lou was still hunting. I spent the next twenty minutes trying to reconnect with my pup. When we finally met up, I stopped her, got her some water, and we went back search for the crippled bird. In ten minutes by blind luck we stumbled upon a stone dead rooster face down in the cattails. We pulled one last loop before calling it on the property.
Well, there was still daylight to see if I could pull off my limit and I headed to the last place I would check out before calling it a day. When we rounded the corner and turned on the road, I about drove into three roosters flipping around in the ditch of the public property. I pulled over, shut off the car, and stepped out. I took two pop shots at the 2nd of the three roosters that flushed but didn't even phase him. Then all hell broke loose behind me. About 30 or so pheasants were in the ditch on the other side of the road and my racket flushed all of them across the highway. With three birds roughly marked in the middle of the public section, I drove to the far side, got out with Lou and slowly guided her back to the middle again. I knew as long as I watched her like a hawk, we would find a bird. A little over 150 yards in her wide sloppy loops tightened like snapped rope. She stopped, and nosed her way into the tall grass in which I was walking. She paused at two separate spots before the bird could handle it no more and it flushed before us.
POOF!
Another shot I was not about to miss. When Lou brought it back, I sweat I could see a smile. We were done for the day. Three birds, three properties. We can't say we didn't work for every late season feather.
Slowly but surely, this dog has been roughed into a functioning machine.
Stay Tuned
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