Many years later, especially in dog years, we moved from the western suburbs of Chicago to north central Montana, near Malta. At the time, my three year old daughter, Lauren, who was actually born in the Big Sky state, was fascinated by all animals. In fact, during a trip with her when she was only one was the first time she ever spoke. And it came as no surprise that her first word was the name of an animal!
It was December, and we were driving back to Illinois so she could meet grandma and grandpa. I stood holding her inside a gas station while waiting for her mom. To our left was a large magazine rack filled with hunting magazines. Lauren pointed to a cover displaying a big buck with her left hand and said, “Deer!” She spoke for the first time ever, her dad was holding her, and she said deer! How sad I felt for her mom, who was pretty much with her 24/7, but I got to hear her first word.
From then on, she always wanted to know the name of every animal. Years later, when my company sent me to Zimbabwe for 4 months, my family got to come later on to stay with me for five weeks. While on a car safari trip, Lauren knew the name of every African animal we saw, at the age of only six.
When she was very young, I decided to take her along on a pheasant hunt, right outside the apartment we were renting. I was in the process of doing a “This Old House” on a farm home built in 1900 which we purchased from the city on a sealed bid. So the apartment served as home while I worked evenings and weekends on the major renovation.
Chapter 1: Young & Old Hunters
So Lauren was only three years old at the time, and our Golden Retriever, Fozzie, was around seven, with his nose starting to show gray already. I still felt real young, only being in my late 30’s. Living on the outskirts of a small Montana farm town, right outside the apartment, an irrigation ditch ran across under our road, coming from the east along farmland. With cover, food nearby, and plenty of water, I sometimes saw pheasants in the morning when I left for work, not 100 feet from home.
Late one fall morning, I realized that since moving to Montana several years ago, Fozzie and I had not been bird hunting. And with Lauren so interested in animals, and loving the venison I cooked for us, I thought it would be time to take her and Fozzie...
out for some pheasants. It would be an easy walk for them both, along the irrigation ditch to the east, starting right outside our apartment, and beginning just across the street.
Fozzie excitedly knew what was going on.
Chapter 2: Irrigation Ditch Pheasants
As soon as I got out my Valmet over and under, Fozzie excitedly knew what was going on. On went my brown Carhartt coveralls and orange bird hunting vest. Lauren got dressed up by her mom in more clothes than she really needed, topping it all with a pretty pink winter coat and matching mittens. I put Fozzie’s hunter orange plastic collar on him, and we were all set to go. I only put six of my 12 gauge, once-and-a-half nickel number 4s handloads in my pocket since I really didn’t expect much from this type of hunt. I was mostly doing it for Lauren and Fozzie.
Waving bye to mom, we crossed the small road where the water filled ditch ran underneath, and proceeded to head east, walking just five or ten feet from its southern edge. The ditch was around six feet wide and maybe a foot or two deep. It provided water to the farmland on the south side, outside of Malta. So as we walked, the ditch was to our left, and cropland was to the right. The whole time I was explaining bird hunting facts to little Lauren as we walked a painfully slow pace for Fozzie, who was anxious to really get going. A few hundred yards along, and I opened my gun and dropped in two of my special loads.
We’d hardly gone another few hundred yards when a cock exploded from the brush before us, rose up, and then leveled out and away. As Fozzie was running hard after him, I swung, lead and follow through, dropping the pheasant with one quick shot. The retrieve was made by my hunting buddy, and he slowly gave it up to me after the GIVE command. I showed it to Lauren, who saw the whole thing and was fascinated seeing a pheasant up close for the very first time.
Fortunately, they take off away from us, out over the stubble left from the corn harvest.
About four hundred yards farther down, and Fozzie flushes a hen and a cock from right next to the ditch. Fortunately, they take off away from us, out over the stubble left from the corn harvest. Another quick shot, and down went the large male....
Again Fozzie happily retrieved; only this time when he got back to us, I asked Lauren if she would like Fozzie to give her the bird?
“Yes, Daddy!” So I motioned him to her, and he gently released the pheasant to the young huntress. She oohhed and aahhed over the trophy, saying how pretty the coloration of his multi-colored feathers were. Fozzie kept nipping gently on the bird the whole time, as we had not hunted pheasants in over four years, and I’m sure he has missed it as much as I have.
He was very gentle with his mouth, and seemed like a puppy again on his very first retrieve.
Less than a half mile farther east, and Fozzie went running off into the harvested field, with his nose down and tail wagging. A cock could be seen running fast away from him, but couldn’t take the dog’s pressing on any more. He cackled as he launched into the sky, and beat his wings hard to carry him off across the field. A long shot was attempted, and was successful. The old hunter grabbed the downed bird, and came running with it in his mouth at my COME command. Lauren was so excited seeing her furry friend working so hard and was so proud at what he was born to do.
Fozzie was wagging his tail so hard; his whole rear end was oscillating back and forth. In barely fifteen minutes from home, Lauren, Fozzie and I had harvested three nice pheasants. Knowing it may be his last bird, I let my happy hunting buddy carry the pheasant all the way home in his mouth. He was very gentle with his mouth, and seemed like a puppy again on his very first retrieve.
My wife could hardly believe it when we were all back within a half hour, thinking we might’ve had no luck. Lauren bubbled over with excitement, as she told Mom of our success, and pointed to a proud Golden. She excitedly told Mom that Fozzie carried the pheasant all the way home since dad already had two birds in his vest rear game pouch. A quick photo was taken, and then we all went to the back porch so the harvest could be cleaned for dinner.
Thinking Lauren might not want to see this yet, I suggested she go in with Mom and get things ready for dinner. But she would have no way of it; she wanted to see me clean the birds. As I opened each one, I pointed out the many organs, cut open the gizzard, and showed her that they’d been eating corn....
She was fascinated by it all. She then asked if Fozzie would get to eat some since he did all the hard work.
“You bet!” I said. “He’ll get to have all the legs, hearts, and livers!”
“I bet Fozzie will like that a lot dad!” replied Lauren. And, he sure did…