William Maynard
11-26-2022, 03:19 PM
Drahthaars and D Grade Lifting.
Been some time since I posted here on the PGCA forum.
About 10 years to be exact. During that time I had to put my Springer Spaniel, "Benny" down last summer due to old age. A tuff day.....to say the least... and for us dog owners I dont need to go into details about a hunter and their bond with their gun dog. A good many pheasants over the years flew into the big grassy field in the sky due to Benny and my trusty VHE.
There is a new chapter now. I have a new hunting buddy "Baron", a Deutsch Drahthaar and a sweet D Grade lifter. This year is Barons first hunting season and we have already filled the fridge with pheasants. Again, this morning we hit the fields but, this time I opened the soft cover and slid out the new to me D Grade Lifter. Excitement raced through my veins as I loaded 2.5 inch, #6 shot Spreader loads into the 12 Ga. chambers and off we went. Headed into the very fields were Benny and I once hunted. This time, Baron leading the way. A rookie who already has proven himself. The bell around his neck ringing in the crisp morning air as he makes his criss cross patterns in front of me. Turning once and awhile to look and to make sure he stays within range. His breath already forming ice crystals on his beard. There is a thin white frost covering the brush and long grass in the fields this morning. Almost making it look like snow. Small birds fluttering from twig to twig. The leaves and grass make a crunching sound with every step I take. While enjoying the walk and taking in my surroundings I suddenly see Baron's tail begin to wag furiously and his body takes on that low profile as he circles and works to pinpoint the location of our game. With much determination Baron locks up on point, waiting patiently as I get into position and ever so slowly and gently cock back the right side hammer till I hear that "clicking" sound locking it into place. With my heart pounding and Barons anticipation, I give the command, "Flush it". As he charges forward a pheasant hen busts out of the brush at an alarming rate of speed. I shoulder my Lifter and for the first time during a hunt looking down this set of damascus barrels, steadying the bead just under the hen and squeezing the front trigger. The right barrel from the D Grade barks with a slight nudge against my shoulder. I see a puff of feathers and the pheasant's flight is cut short as it crumples and crashes to the ground. The slight smell of burnt gun powder hovers in the air as Baron proudly returns with our trophy and sets it down in front of me. I pat him on the head and give him a, "That a boy". I gently pick up our harvested game and place it in the back pouch of my hunting vest and off we go. One more hen pheasant will fall this morning to this ritual and the "Double Ds".
Walking back to the truck after Baron and I's hunt. My hunting vest is slightly weighted down. The Parker broken open and resting on my shoulder. The spent "hulls" jiggling in my pocket. As I walk past the pond to my right I notice a slight mist rising out of the water. A squirrel on the side collecting nuts. The sun is slightly higher now burning off the morning frost. I take a moment to reflect, not only on todays hunt but on my past hunts. The friends and relatives which I shared these events with. Some are no longer here. The good hunts and the bad. As we age hunting buddies will come and go. It's just a cycle we all must go through. I am walking up the final hillside before the dirt parking lot, Baron at my side trying to smell the pheasants through my vest. I am cradling and admiring my new Parker As I take another deep breath of the cool morning air, I wonder who else has carried this shotgun into the fields the last 148 years and what stories could it tell? I have just given it one more.
Been some time since I posted here on the PGCA forum.
About 10 years to be exact. During that time I had to put my Springer Spaniel, "Benny" down last summer due to old age. A tuff day.....to say the least... and for us dog owners I dont need to go into details about a hunter and their bond with their gun dog. A good many pheasants over the years flew into the big grassy field in the sky due to Benny and my trusty VHE.
There is a new chapter now. I have a new hunting buddy "Baron", a Deutsch Drahthaar and a sweet D Grade lifter. This year is Barons first hunting season and we have already filled the fridge with pheasants. Again, this morning we hit the fields but, this time I opened the soft cover and slid out the new to me D Grade Lifter. Excitement raced through my veins as I loaded 2.5 inch, #6 shot Spreader loads into the 12 Ga. chambers and off we went. Headed into the very fields were Benny and I once hunted. This time, Baron leading the way. A rookie who already has proven himself. The bell around his neck ringing in the crisp morning air as he makes his criss cross patterns in front of me. Turning once and awhile to look and to make sure he stays within range. His breath already forming ice crystals on his beard. There is a thin white frost covering the brush and long grass in the fields this morning. Almost making it look like snow. Small birds fluttering from twig to twig. The leaves and grass make a crunching sound with every step I take. While enjoying the walk and taking in my surroundings I suddenly see Baron's tail begin to wag furiously and his body takes on that low profile as he circles and works to pinpoint the location of our game. With much determination Baron locks up on point, waiting patiently as I get into position and ever so slowly and gently cock back the right side hammer till I hear that "clicking" sound locking it into place. With my heart pounding and Barons anticipation, I give the command, "Flush it". As he charges forward a pheasant hen busts out of the brush at an alarming rate of speed. I shoulder my Lifter and for the first time during a hunt looking down this set of damascus barrels, steadying the bead just under the hen and squeezing the front trigger. The right barrel from the D Grade barks with a slight nudge against my shoulder. I see a puff of feathers and the pheasant's flight is cut short as it crumples and crashes to the ground. The slight smell of burnt gun powder hovers in the air as Baron proudly returns with our trophy and sets it down in front of me. I pat him on the head and give him a, "That a boy". I gently pick up our harvested game and place it in the back pouch of my hunting vest and off we go. One more hen pheasant will fall this morning to this ritual and the "Double Ds".
Walking back to the truck after Baron and I's hunt. My hunting vest is slightly weighted down. The Parker broken open and resting on my shoulder. The spent "hulls" jiggling in my pocket. As I walk past the pond to my right I notice a slight mist rising out of the water. A squirrel on the side collecting nuts. The sun is slightly higher now burning off the morning frost. I take a moment to reflect, not only on todays hunt but on my past hunts. The friends and relatives which I shared these events with. Some are no longer here. The good hunts and the bad. As we age hunting buddies will come and go. It's just a cycle we all must go through. I am walking up the final hillside before the dirt parking lot, Baron at my side trying to smell the pheasants through my vest. I am cradling and admiring my new Parker As I take another deep breath of the cool morning air, I wonder who else has carried this shotgun into the fields the last 148 years and what stories could it tell? I have just given it one more.