At the time, I lived in the extreme western-most suburb of Chicago. In fact, it was the very last town. Beyond me, only farmland existed and corn grew for as far as you could see. About five miles west of my home was a hunting club with natural and stocked pheasants. My poor brother, living much further south, had to drive a hour southwest to go bird hunting, so I considered myself blessed to pay a little bit more, but be on a few hundred acres pretty much all by myself every time.
Dogs are pretty smart, especially hunting dogs, I do believe. The first time Fozzie and I went hunting, he watched intently as I gathered up my hunting gear, got dressed, then grabbed my over and under from the safe along with some 12 gauge shells I had loaded up myself. Though I did not have any experience pheasant hunting, but reading all I could, a larger shot size like number 4s seemed the way to go. I didn’t want to hit the bird with too small a shot size which might glance off, nor did I want many small shot to pepper the game and have to worry about biting down on one with my teeth when later dining on them. I’d read that 4s should go right through, and also dig in, even on a hard going away shot. I used a healthy dose of Blue Dot under an ounce-and-a-half of nickel 4s in my reloads, and I felt well-armed for my first adventure with Fozzie.
Chapter 1: First Hunt
I called ahead to let the landowners know I would be out first light Saturday morning, and they confirmed many birds had been released the day before and had not been taken, so there should be no problem kicking a few up. Fozzie had no idea what was going on, but something was different for sure. Morning came, and Fozzie jumped up into my truck. “Bye-Bye Truck” was a command he knew well, and he loved to go for rides, safe inside the aluminum topper on the back of my Mazda with all windows slid open so he could enjoy the fresh air.
The sun was barely up as we pulled onto the farm, and as I got out and first opened the topper back widow, my happy buddy inside greeted me, unaware of what all his training has prepared him for. He was whining and crying, and as I threw open the tailgate, he boiled out and ran like a child in the tall grass. He was running here and there, mostly using just his eyes to examine this wonderful new world. He stayed close to me, wondered off just a bit, but came back immediately when I called...
“Fozzie COME!” I loaded up my Finnish Valmet shotgun with my special reloads, and began to walk east in the tall grass. I really didn’t know what I was doing, nor did Fozzie, but we both enjoyed our walk in the crisp fall morning air.
I didn’t even think to say “Where’s the Bird?” – intended as a new command for him to start looking for birds, as we both walked easterly into the sun. Fozzie was running to and fro, always staying within 15 yards or less of me. Again, the obedience training has paid off, as though he is frittering here and there, looking with his eyes everywhere, he is always aware of exactly where is dad is in this new and exciting place. And every time I called to him, he came back to within feet of me, and then wandered slightly off again. He is such a good boy.
My little golden buddy saw the whole thing, but was not too sure what to do.
After about 15 minutes, a bird kicked up 20 yards in front of me, I fired a shot, and was surprised to see the cock fall about 30 yards out. My little golden buddy saw the whole thing, but was not too sure what to do. I gave the “Where’s the Bird?”command, but he was hanging tight to me as I walked in the general direction, obviously fired up about what just happened. I kept saying “Where’s the Bird?” but it didn’t register in his excited mind.
Finally getting to where I can see my dropped pheasant, he looked at me anxiously as I pointed, but now was saying “Get the Bird!”–the command I had always used when wanting him to pick up a bird. Finally, his dad was talking in words he understands… “Where’s the Bird?”…is not the same as “Get the Bird!”
Finally getting to where I can see my dropped pheasant, he looked at me anxiously as I pointed, but now was saying “Get the Bird!”
He dashed to the pheasant, gently picked it up in his mouth, and then proudly pranced back to me when I gave the COME command. He sat immediately in front of me, looking up with his first bird in his mouth, feeling much different than the canvas dummy, but smelling just the same. I let him hold it for a while to enjoy this new experience, and had to state the GIVE command several times...
before he placed it in my hand. He gently nipped at the feathers as I held it for down for him to sniff. The joy in his eyes was obvious. Buddy time doesn’t get any better than this!
Chapter 2: Not Quite There, But Close
By now Fozzie was learning that when his dad started putting on all those outdoor clothes, something was going on. Seeing the shotgun pushed him over the wall. He started whining and crying, going in circles, and coming up to me to bump my hand with his nose. Now he knew what we were going to be doing after “Bye-Bye Truck!”
The next two times Fozzie and I went hunting, he continued to just run around here and there, always staying very near me out front, coming in closer when I called. But he always was just enjoying being out in the field. Every time I dropped a bird, I’d have to walk up to the area where it fell, and coax him to find it. He did not use his nose until he was almost on top of it. Then it occurred to me!
He didn’t know he could find the bird before I ever shot, using his nose. He just knew to use it when we were right on top, and I pointed to it. It was his dad’s fault with the training… not his. What was I to do?
The next time when I called ahead to say I was coming out to hunt, I asked if I could please have a few birds to release in front of Fozzie. That might help him to make the connection.
Chapter 3: The Light Goes On!
Arriving at 7:00 a.m. as promised, the owner met me at the gate and handed me a jiggling burlap bag! “Three pheasants inside” he said, and then got back in his truck and drove off. As we were just inside the property, I opened the topper rear window and was greeted by a lick to my face from my excited hunting buddy. Pushing him back, I placed the tied, moving, pulsating burlap back on the bed of the truck, so I could drive in a ways onto the farm. Fozzie was riveted at the “live” brown bag that smells of pheasant!
I closed the rear window, and drove about a half mile, then stopped and got out. As I opened the back window, I saw Fozzie’s nose buried against the bag, sniffing hard at the familiar smell, which is actually moving. Dropping the tailgate, he didn’t move until I lifted out the burlap bag, but then he’s out of the truck in a heartbeat. I grabbed the bag and shotgun and walked to the front with my dog at my...
heels. Something new was going on.
I thought the three birds would all flush out at once, but the perfect thing happened instead.
Setting the bag down, I loaded my Valmet and pondered what to do. I gave the STAY command, and he obeyed as I untied the bag that was now pointed away from us both. I thought the three birds would all flush out at once, but the perfect thing happened instead. One poked his head out and then slowly walked away, Fozzie’s eyes riveted on it the whole time. It slipped into the brush about 20 yards out and disappeared. Then, one by one the last two sneaked out of the bag… and did the exact same thing, while my buddy held fast to the STAY command. I was so proud of him. He did not moved, or make a sound at all.
With my shotgun ready, I leaned down slightly, pointed and said, “Where’s the Bird?” Instantly, his nose went down for the first time ever, as he zig-zagged and followed the irregular path the pheasants took to the brush up ahead. He moved fast, but did not run. For the first time ever, he was using his nose to track a bird. “Where’s the Bird?” now had meaning to him. He had realized that he can FIND a bird with his nose... a light goes on in his head!
A cock flushed as Fozzie reached the brush. I purposefully did not shoot right away. I wanted him to track the bird in the sky as he lifted off. The pheasant got out about 10 yards when I fired. The nickel 4s turned out his lights in the air. He crumpled and fell into the tall grass, disappearing from sight. Fozzie had been after him the whole time, running to catch up, then saw the bird fall. He got to the area, and then down again his nose went. He found and recovered the cock in just seconds.
“Fozzie COME” and back trotted my Golden Retriever hunting buddy, proudly carrying his first flushed pheasant. I got down on my knees and praised him again and again for being such a good boy. He had truly become a hunting dog.
From that point forward, each time we went hunting, the moment I opened the tailgate, Fozzie knew that he could find birds with his nose, and not just wait until his dad shot one. A light had come on in his head. Hunting with my best friend would never be the same. Now, we were both hunters…