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I replied to another posters question regarding hunting pheasants with or without a dog. In responding to him it brought back so many memories I made while hunting my dog, Chess.

I thought I would share one of those with everyone. I encourage you to share a memory of your own.

Here goes.... the day began by leaving my home in the foothills west of Denver around 3 am and driving to Western Nebraska. I had planned on beginning my hunt on some public land. Having not been there before I didn't know what to expect. Unfortunately, after 3-4 hours of hunting without any sign of pheasants I put Chess back into the kennel to look for some better fields. After being turned down by more than 5 farmers for permission to hunt I was starting to get discouraged and decided to head home. I was driving down a dirt road when maybe 6-8 roosters flew right over my car. I slammed on the brakes to see where they had come from. I looked to my left and I saw a metal Pheasants Forever sign nailed to tree where the roosters had come from. I backed my car up to the nearby farmer's place and thought I would give it one more shot at getting permission to hunt. I knocked on the door and asked if I could hunt on their property. Much to my surprise the answer was yes if you have a dog.

I quickly drove back to the end of the driveway near where I had seen the pheasants earlier and loaded up my Red Label and let Chess out of the kennel. We walked maybe 20 yards and Chess flushed a rooster for me! One shot and a quick retrieve by Chess and the bird was in my vest. I sent Chess out again and after a couple minutes of walking he went diving into some deep brush and much to my surprise he comes back out with a very much alive rooster in his mouth. One shot, two birds' good dog. It only took a few more minutes to bag my 3rd rooster of the day.

What started out to be a long unsuccessful day turned into one of my most cherished memories of hunting with my English Springer Chess in a matter of a few minutes.
 

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One of my favorite memories involving bird dogs is from 46 years ago. I was 12 years old and up from Miami visiting at the family place in S. Georgia. There were still decent numbers of wild quail in the brush around the farm fields at that time. My uncle had a couple of well trained bird dogs and a Chevy truck with dog boxes in the back. I hunted for an hour or so with him and my 13 year old cousin. I was kind of disappointed when we pulled up to the farmhouse so soon, but my uncle just got out and told us to have fun and be safe. My cousin drove us around the farm for the next few hours as we worked the dogs and put some quail in our vests. I was shooting my Dad's Remington Mod 31 pump 20ga while my cousin used his own Browning 16ga semi auto. We were two boys having fun and feeling like grown men. He outscored me three to one, but I was a salty deep sea fisherman while he was an experienced wing shooter. I did fall in love with his Sweet 16 though. Boys, dogs, and truck all arrived back safely in time for lunch. I think I smiled for a week.
 

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My Mom used to tell me about quail hunting with a female friend back in the late 1950"s. One time they got permission to hunt a field and a couple guys pulled up to hunt the field across the road with their German Shorthair pointer. My Mom had her .410 auto and Standard Poodle that happened to be in show trim and she heard these guys muttering about "them Babes with their foo-foo dog". Both parties finished their hunts about the same time and the guys bragged about how one of them got 3 quail and the other got 5 but one the dog couldn't find and a couple times the dog flushed the birds early. When the guys asked how Mom and her friend did, Mom's reply was "We both limited out (8 each), my dog pointed and retrieved them all." That kind of quieted the guys bragging somewhat. Boy can I remember the sparkle in Mom's eyes when she recounted the story.
 

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About 34 years ago in the foothills of the Appalachians of eastern Ohia (better known as the woods), I was out grouse hunting w my brother & carrying my Remington 12 ga. 870 Express. We always hit the woods about 20 min before daybreak. His FIL owned about 250 acres in the NW part of the county.

I'm guessing we had been out about 2 hours when we jumped one, that flew out away from me. I raised and took a shot & was a tad high as it dove down over a steep embankment out in front of us.that was too steep to follow. We probably walked around another couple hours, saw nothin & we're headed back to the truck. I normally lead on the path, but this time he was out in front. We were probably 30 yds from his truck walking down a slight slope when one jumped from our right about 7 to 10 yards to fly behind us. I turned & at about that 4 o'clock position let a thunder-boomer loose and all I saw was a confetti of feathers.

I almost couldn't believe it. I was hootin n a hollerin, jumpin up n down. He had to yell at me to settle me down then we had to look for it. Well a tan and brown bird that isn't moving is hard to find laying on tan n brown leaves.

Well long story short, we probably found it in less than 2 minutes, but it seemed like a lot more. A never forget moment. Need to get back in the woods before I wake up one day and regret not going. I'm assuming the coyotes have killed all the fun days of small game hunting???
 

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Sherman’s last duck hunt.

I was given a yellow lab pup in the early 80’s. He came obedience trained, but was a house dog. I lived in the country and moved him outdoors. I “sort of” trained him to retrieve ducks; however, I am no trainer and Sherman was a knucklehead. I eventually got him to about a C- duck dog.

We hunted together out of my boat for years. His one quality you could always count on was he would not get out of the boat (or bed of my truck) unless told to. He was so good, I would put him in the boat and let him ride there to the hunt. Once he was wet, he would go in the truck. I won bets with my buddies that they could not get him to leave the boat (or truck bed) unless I told him too. Not for food, nor thrown objects would he budge.

His last season ended with the onset of hip dysplasia. It was mild, but you could tell. I had started to wrap my head around retiring him and my buddy had a younger dog. I was leaving to hunt one dark morning and he was at the fence with a sad look on his face. I called my buddy and asked him to leave his dog at home. It was gonna be Sherman’s last duck hunt.

The day was cold and drizzling. When we got to the river, it was running pretty strong and I regretted bringing him. Sherman didn’t care, he had typical dog enthusiasm. We decided it was not a day to put Sherman in the river. His last day was spent sharing stories and breakfast with us. We picked our birds up using the boat. The first Mallard we gave to Sherman to hold it. We shot a few more and every time a gun went off, he picked his duck up. Sherman stayed dry that day.

It was his last hunt.
 

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@Corndog thanks for sharing. I love the part about not moving unless his master gave the command, no matter the temptation, awesome.

Reminds me of Jimmy Stewart reading the poem / story of Beau on the Johnny Carson show. I tear up everytime.
 

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Sometime in the 80's in Norfolk Engkland, (I cant remember exactly when) , a bloke that lived in the next village to me asked me if I would take him out hawking, he had never seen any falconry before, and his name was Kevin.... At the time I was flying a male Harris Hawk called Gonzo, and regularly met with other falconers in the area who were also flying Harrises.. Harris Hawks are the only species of hawk I know of that are gregarious, any number of them can be flown together and they all get along fine. Flying them together is real rough and tumble hawking and great fun, I thought it would be a perfect hawking introduction for Kevin.

A week later on a scorching hot Sunday with record temparatures for England, we were driving to Thetford in my mini van with my dog Alec and Gonzo to meet up with my friend Harry and others. The plan was to go to the army training area, which was basically scrub land with rabbits and the occasional pheasant, and as it was a Sunday it was likely we would not get thrown out by the military. Harry ended up coming in my mini van and sat in the front with his Harris on his fist and Kevin went in the back with Alec and Gonzo.

The day started well, there were five Harrises being flown, Gonzo and another male, and three females. There were pleanty of rabbits in the gorse bush cover and Alec pointed countless times. Everyone including Kevin joined in to help Alec with the flushing, the gorse was very dense and thorny. Rabbits and Harrises were soon going in all directions , and in an hour the Hawks must have caught at least fifteen. All of a sudden the biggest feral cat I have ever seen flushed and went straight up to the top of a small pine tree. Everyone called their Harrises back as they did not want them fighting with the cat. Alec started jumping up at the tree trying to get to the cat but to no avail, then Harry gave his Harris to his son to hold and started shaking the tree. The cat fell out of the tree and Alec grabbed the cat, he ended up on top of the cat with the cat diging it's claws into his face and kicking out with it's back legs. Alec was yelping with pain but would not let go, and the cat started pissing all over Alec, it looked like a high pressure hose being turned on.

I did not know what to do for the best. I ended up stamping on the cats head and crushed its scull, and that was the end of the cat. The falconers gathered around to marvel at the cat, it was huge and Alec despite being covered in cat pee was very pleased with himself. I looked around for Kevin but he was nowhere to be seen, I asked Harry where he was, he said he is behind that gorse bush puking up. I walked over to him and noticed he did not look good, I asked if he was OK, he said ... that is the most violent thing I have ever seen.

Alec did not want to leave his prize cat behind and it was much too big for him to carry. Harry cut it's tail off and gave it to Alec and he was happy with that. We decided to call it a day and made our way back to the vehicles. On the way back I was desperate for a dump and used the cover of a thicket for the purpose. A couple of minutes later I noticed Alec was missing and shouted for him, he came out of the thicket where I took a dump licking his lips, he had eaten it.

Kevin got in the back of the van with Alec and Gonzo, and Harry and his hawk in the front with me... Kevin was not happy as it was incredibly hot , and Alec would not leave him alone, his coat stunk of cat pee and his breath smelt of what was previously up my bum.

I asked Kevin if he wanted to come hawking the next Sunday, but he already had an appointment... I never saw Kevin again.
 

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I replied to another posters question regarding hunting pheasants with or without a dog. In responding to him it brought back so many memories I made while hunting my dog, Chess.

I thought I would share one of those with everyone. I encourage you to share a memory of your own.

Here goes.... the day began by leaving my home in the foothills west of Denver around 3 am and driving to Western Nebraska. I had planned on beginning my hunt on some public land. Having not been there before I didn't know what to expect. Unfortunately, after 3-4 hours of hunting without any sign of pheasants I put Chess back into the kennel to look for some better fields. After being turned down by more than 5 farmers for permission to hunt I was starting to get discouraged and decided to head home. I was driving down a dirt road when maybe 6-8 roosters flew right over my car. I slammed on the brakes to see where they had come from. I looked to my left and I saw a metal Pheasants Forever sign nailed to tree where the roosters had come from. I backed my car up to the nearby farmer's place and thought I would give it one more shot at getting permission to hunt. I knocked on the door and asked if I could hunt on their property. Much to my surprise the answer was yes if you have a dog.

I quickly drove back to the end of the driveway near where I had seen the pheasants earlier and loaded up my Red Label and let Chess out of the kennel. We walked maybe 20 yards and Chess flushed a rooster for me! One shot and a quick retrieve by Chess and the bird was in my vest. I sent Chess out again and after a couple minutes of walking he went diving into some deep brush and much to my surprise he comes back out with a very much alive rooster in his mouth. One shot, two birds' good dog. It only took a few more minutes to bag my 3rd rooster of the day.

What started out to be a long unsuccessful day turned into one of my most cherished memories of hunting with my English Springer Chess in a matter of a few minutes.

Thanks for sharing your story. I love the part where you didn't give up and give it a second trial.. Good to hear you had a successful hunt at the end of the day.....
 

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My wife and I did it a few times. Including at a gun club that grew them where you could buy some and they would hide them in some parts of the property. Always told her to shoot first. I think I had to hit every one!!

She can trap shoot, never figured out the lead on real birds...
 

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I could write pages of great hunting stories from my childhood and teen years hunting with my family. But it's kind of funny that the two that stand out in my memories are two bad ones.

I remember going rabbit hunting with my dad, grandpa and an uncle ... I was about 10 or so. My grandpa was tracking a running cotton tail when he accidently shot my uncle with his 12 ga. My uncle was just far enough away, and just behind a rise, so he wasn't hurt too bad. We had more trouble getting grandpa back to house than my uncle. I have the Winchester auto 12 ga that my uncle was carrying, and it still has lead shot stuck in the wood stock and forearm.

And ... on one of my first ever deer hunting trips where hunting with a handgun was legal. I was in my late 20s and hunting with a S&W 629 44mag. Sitting in a ground blind, just off a small meadow, known as a buck grazing and fighting area, just after daybreak .... a BIG buck trots into the meadow and crosses about 75 yrds from my stand. He stops, I shoot ...he goes down hard but gets up and runs up to the ridge and down into the next hollow.

I knew I hit him hard ... I decide to wait and let him go lay down. After about ten minutes or so I walk to where I had shot him ... big blood spot and trail. I start to follow the trail and just as I top the ridge, I hear a shot down in the hollow. I follow my blood trail right to where another hunter is already field dressing "my" buck. He says, "Yeah it was walking really slow and staggering down the bank when I shot him". What are you going to do? All I could do was walk back to my stand. A few days later the guy's picture and "my" buck were in the local newspaper ..."17 Point Buck Killed in Wood County". Yeah, he was a monster buck, I never saw or shot at another buck that size in my life. The one that got away, I guess.
 

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Back in the "olden days", when I was 10 or 11, I was squirrel hunting after school. In those days, I would rather hunt squirrels than eat. It was early season, leaves on the trees, & after gettin 3, I was hearing another cutting in a tree close by, & decided to sit against a tree until he started moving so I could spot him for a shot. As I sat down, the back of my hunting vest moved, which I thought was the load of 3 squirrels shifting. All of a sudden it was like a fish flopping in my vest, & loud chattering, & it scared the mortal hell out of me. I stood up & ripped my vest off, threw it down, & when I did, one of my prey came out of the vest, & hauled ass, never to be seen again. I hunted with a 410 back then, & evidently, had only "grazed" one of em. I will always remember the one that got away.
 

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During fall turkey season, I had patterned a flock to their roosting tree and decided to set up a blind to ambush them the next morning when they flew down. It was mid afternoon while they were away and I had my 4 wheeler parked in the open field while I raked a pathway clear of leaves and brush to my hiding spot. After that chore completed I put the rake on the machine and noticed a flock of over 50 birds coming my way across the open field. I sat on the 4 wheeler and grabbed my shotgun, chambered a round and waited without moving around. Darned if those birds didn't come up and mill about all around me. After a couple minutes a pair of nice sized ones lined their heads up, I quickly shouldered the shotgun and both went down with a single shot. Never did get to use the hide as both fall tags got filled. Now I know what "bird brained" truly means.
 

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Moose hunting trip with a couple buddies and my dad. Eventlful trip into camp (4mi by boat). Almost sunk the ATV.

Got a moose the next day. I don't think my liver ever returned to normal, bunch of beer and single malts to celebrate. Ended up being the last trip to the camp my dad and I made together.

Water Boat Water resources Vehicle Watercraft
Water Plant Water resources Working animal Lake


We've since upgraded the bike and boat.
Tire Wheel Boat trailer Boat Watercraft

Water Sky Boat Watercraft Vehicle

Water Sky Tree Vehicle Watercraft
 
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