The First Hunt (From the "Riley" Series)
Posted: Wednesday, August 03, 2011
by Jack H. Schick
Riley (an orange and white American Brittany), was almost nine months old when I took him on his first “official” bird hunt. I asked my friend Joe to be the gunner since he was a great shot. I went unarmed, planning to handle the dog. I wanted to work on various things the training books and guys from the Brittany Club suggested. I was still considering competing him on the Field Trial circuit and wanted him to behave “professionally.” His performance on that first hunt convinced me that I had something special. After that day, the word began to spread and Riley’s reputation as the best gun dog this side of the Schuylkill River began to grow.
While we were in the field together, he was allowed to pretty much do what he wanted. I encouraged him to stay out in front of me, but otherwise did not inhibit his inclination to snoop around or dig or crawl halfway down a groundhog hole. If he was out of sight in the brush for a few minutes I might call him. He always came back into view to see what I wanted. He soon learned my hand signals to go left or right, to come back or to “go ahead” with what he was doing. We developed a rapport and synchronicity that lasted his entire life. He seemed to know exactly what I wanted him to do, though soon; it became clear that the best way to hunt with Riley was to simply “follow the dog.” He was the expert.
A month or two before Riley’s first hunt; I bought a couple quail for training. I was surprised and proud of his performance. I hid a bird in the middle of a two acre patch of knee high grass across from our house. I’d left him at home so he couldn’t see where I was putting it. I brought him over on a leash and turned him loose after letting him sniff the box I’d carried the bird in, so he knew what he was after. Even at seven months old he covered the ground methodically and quickly. I timed him. It took only 57 seconds for him to find the quail and go onto point.
For Riley’s first real bird hunt, I purchased ten chukars (a grouse type bird from Texas), at a hunting preserve north of Reading. Our assigned fields were about 200 yards long and fifty or sixty yards wide. They were planted with sorghum and grass. It was January so the cover was pretty well beaten down from hunting traffic and snow, but it was still thick enough to offer some difficulty for a beginner dog. The stocker had no problem finding places to hide the birds.
Riley began to build his reputation as an expert bird finder that day. In less than an hour we’d bagged eight of the chukars. I had Riley on a 25 ft leash to keep him on course, though it soon became obvious he didn’t need it. After the first “find” he knew exactly what he was supposed to do. When he smelled a bird his docked tail twitched and his gait got jittery. He got what they call “birdy.” When he knew for sure where the bird was, he locked up on a solid point, not moving an eye lash. I went up to him and held his collar so he wouldn't break when the bird flushed. The gunner moved in, but seldom saw the bird that was usually well hidden in the cover. He kicked the brush and stomped around until the bird flushed. Joe didn’t miss a shot that day.
After the gunfire, I told Riley “fetch” and released him from his leash. He was not good at the “hold through wing and shot” expectation of a Field Trial dog. He wanted the bird badly. He yanked on the lead as soon as the bird flushed. He strained against me, nearly choking himself when the bird was shot and went down. When I released him, he sprinted over and pounced on it. He did not have a “soft mouth.” If the bird wasn’t dead, he killed it. He picked it up and brought it back to me. When I told him to “give,” he dropped it at my feet. He was not text-book perfect, but it was a spectacular performance for his first time out.
We took a break and let Riley swim in the pond to cool off. Joe was pretty proud of his shooting and I was beaming at Riley’s performance. It was almost like he was bred for the hunt (which, of course he was), and knew all about it already. The pointing is instinctive, but the desire and intensity is not. It was like I had a new son and he’d just pitched a perfect little league game and hit a couple home runs. Eight birds out of ten was pretty darned good; but there were still two of them out there.
We didn’t have much hope. With all the tramping around, shooting and retrievals the last two chukars had probably sneaked out of our hunting fields. We decided to give it another try anyway. About a quarter way down the field Riley locked up on point. Joe stomped around, kicking every clump of grass and patch of sorghum. Nothing flushed. I pulled Riley away by his leash; tried to get him to continue hunting. He would not budge. Joe tramped the area again. He was sure the dog just smelled where a bird had been, or where one had landed after it had been shot earlier.
Finally, startling both of us, a chukar flushed up from where it had been hiding under a miniscule tuft of grass. Joe shot it. Riley retrieved it. A few minutes later, a few yards down the field, Riley went on point again. We had trouble finding the bird, again, but finally did flush it. I never doubted him again. If Riley said there was a bird there, there was a bird there.
Riley’s hunting career lasted for another ten years. He soon became known to the owners of the hunting preserves and to his many regular clients as a bird finding machine and a vehement retriever. Because of the intense ardor with which he hunted, because of the fact he always found all the birds that were stocked plus some, and because of his consistantly serious, business-like manner his reputation grew. Most of his clients admitted that he was the best bird dog they had ever had the privilege to hunt with. They tipped him well and requested that he be their guide dog every time he could.
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