The Squirrel Hunter (From the "Riley" Series)
Posted: Friday, August 05, 2011
by Jack H. Schick
Riley wasn’t just a bird dog. He was a superlative all round gun dog. No matter what game species season was open, Riley was out in front and always did a great job. He was phenomenal on upland game bird hunts. He was a competent water foul retriever. He was pretty good on rabbits. He was a fanatically possessed and merciless ground hog killer. And, one of his favorite sports, especially since he’d developed an intense dislike for them as a puppy, was squirrel hunting.
Riley had a ‘thing’ for squirrels ever since he moved in with us. Our yard, with half a dozen large pin oak trees, was full of them. He’d stand on a foot stool with his front feet on the picture window sill, his nose against the glass. He’d watch them for hours as the rascals scampered around in the yard and chased each other up and down the trees. When he was out front on his rope run, they seemed to know exactly what its limit was and stayed just out of his reach. He’d sit there tormented, waiting for his chance. If he was let out off a leash he would sometimes burst out the door. They always got to the tree ahead of him. Sometimes he’d slowly creep out and try to sneak up on them. It never worked either.
He was so frustrated and disappointed at his failure to ever catch one that I figured it was only fair to take him out and shoot a few for him, no matter what the breeders thought. As he was with almost all of his “outdoor activities,” Riley was enthusiastic about it and became an expert squirrel hunter. Over the years I helped satisfy his insatiable “need to get one,” scores of times; with his help, of course. The fact that I think squirrels are the best eating of all small game meat encouraged me to take him out after them as often as possible.
When that was our endeavor, I’d simply tell Riley to “Get the squirrels.” He understood, knew exactly what we were after and completely changed his style of hunting. He used three different methods when he hunted squirrels. Instead of ranging out and covering a lot of ground rapidly, Riley would slowly walk along through the woods. I’d quietly follow about twenty yards behind him. Periodically he’d stop, sometimes for five minutes or more, and carefully listen and watch, both on the ground and in the trees. Occasionally I spotted one up a tree between us that was too busy watching him to notice me, but usually he’d see one first, dart over to the tree it was in or chase it up one. From there, it was my job.
Sometimes we’d sit for them. I’d find what looked like a good spot, wit nests or holes in the trees, and tell Riley to “stay.” I‘d then walk off twenty or thirty yards through the woods and set up my stool where we could see each other. We both watched and listened, up to 45 minutes sometimes. He was extremely patient and obedient. If he got fidgety, I gave him the victory sign (a “V” with my two fingers), which meant “stay” and he would settle down. Once, a big buck whitetail deer came walking through while we were waiting out a squirrel that had gone into a hole. The deer saw Riley, but never spotted me. They just looked at each other for more than five minutes. The deer paced a little, pawed the ground a few times and snorted once or twice, but Riley never moved. Finally the buck casually wandered off. A few minutes later the squirrel came out of his hole and I shot it.
We mostly used the third method when we weren’t hunting just squirrels. I’d tell Riley to “get up,” which meant he should range out a little further and cover the ground in front of us. He loved bounding through the woods, jumping over logs in ballet like leaps. He could thoroughly cover an acre with his nose in a few minutes. I stayed back as he did his runs. I’d watch the trees and often spotted a squirrel scurry along a branch or pop his head out to see what was going on. Many times they were so fixated on the dog that they never noticed me creeping into gun range.
When Riley knew there was squirrel in a tree, he would go up to it and stand on his hind legs, his front paws on the trunk, so I would know which tree it was in. When I got over there, I’d have him “stay” a half dozen yards back from it and walk to the other side of the tree and wait a few minutes. I’d watch Riley’s eyes and facial expression. I could tell when he saw the squirrel sidled around the trunk. I’d then hand signal him to come “here.” He’d rush up to the tree, spook the squirrel around to my side of the trunk, and I’d shoot it.
We got dozens and dozens of them that way over the years. He loved retrieving them, loved picking them up, carrying them back to me and chewing them a little before I told him to “give” and put them in the game bag. I always gave him a heart or two to eat while I was cleaning them. I often gave him a tail which he cherished as a furry toy for a day or two.
Many dog trainers and owners thought I was crazy for taking my Brittany squirrel hunting. But, many also though I was nuts for letting him fight and kill ground hogs, or retrieve geese that were half his size and still flapping in deep water. Many thought I should scold him for being distracted from birds to get a rabbit. Everyone was sure it would destroy him as a bird dog. Everyone, that is, except the dozens of regular clients who paid him thousands of dollars over the years for the pure pleasure of hunting pheasants and chukars and quail with the best bird dog they’d ever seen.
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