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<  16ga. General Discussion  ~  An Indiana Story: Chapter VII--"A Bird in the Hand&quo
Wolfchief
PostPosted: Sun Dec 11, 2005 4:33 pm  Reply with quote



Joined: 15 Oct 2004
Posts: 782
Location: Indiana

It was way late when I got out today; Sunday, December 11. I was tired from the long hunt with my son yesterday (see Chapter VI) so slept uncharacteristically late. And we had a Young Farmers' (though none of us are under 40 now) Christmas Dinner that lasted from 11:30 until 1:45. But the season is only open until 12/18, and I want to put my dog on as many birds as possible. So we left the house about 2:20 this afternoon, and I remarked to my wife, "We'll be home after I shoot just one rooster."

When we pulled up to the farm I had selected to hunt, I was dismayed to find tire tracks in the lane, with boot and dog tracks in the snow leading to the cover. There was not a whole lot of daylight left, so I decided that we would either find a bird here, or we wouldn't find one at all. I had dressed lightly in a Carhartt flannel shirt, Carhartt bibs and a mesh hunting vest, and the wind was a shock at first. But as the dog and I loosened up, I began to feel better. The tracks in the snow told me that my predecessor and his dog had not worked this parcel very thoroughly.

I slipped a pair of Remington Heavy Game Load 6's into the 16 gauge Citori and we approached a heavy growth of horseweeds. We had not gone 30 yards before Pal's pace quickened, and, nose to the ground, his every action signaled, "Boss, there's one in here somewhere !"

You experienced pheasant hunters know that when the dog hurries ahead through the cover, tail thrashing and nose down, he's probably on a running rooster. The end of this cover was just ahead, and as the dog quartered through the last ten yards of it, the bird flushed ahead, moving low and straight away, my toughest shot. The first shot missed and as he curved left, my second shot caught him in front and he stiffened, falling limply to the snow. The dog pounced on him, shaking and worrying the dead bird briefly, then bringing him to hand.

I dressed the bird on a country backroad on the bank of the Robbins Ditch, cleaning my hands and game shears in the snow. I drove a short distance to a small hamlet where I bought a steaming cup of coffee, talking to a couple of friends I met in the convenience store who asked me how the hunting has been. I was back home, toweling off the dog and stowing my gear, by 4:15 this afternoon. The next season is a year off, and I have one more week to make the most of this one.

_________________
One Man with Courage is a Majority
---Andrew Jackson
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