Quail Hunting: a Dangerous Sport (From the "Riley" Series)
Posted: Friday, August 12, 2011
by Jack H. Schick
My Brittany, Riley, hunted with a couple of hundred different people over his lifetime. During his career as a guide dog at hunting preserves he regularly provided his services (for a fee), to strangers. Some of them were experienced gunners; some probably should not have been permitted to carry a firearm. There was not much choice. It was his job. He was never wounded in the line of duty, but came close several times.
Quail often do not fly high above the ground or a far distance. Riley, like many preserve guide dogs, was not trained to remain on point “through wing and shot.” When the bird flushed he was after it immediately. Clients payed a substantial amount of money for the pleasure of hunting at the preserves, and paid additional fees for the guide dog. They often were not experienced shots. When they missed, or when a wounded bird got away by running off through the brush, many of them saw dollar signs on its back. Scores of times Riley’s tenacity at retrieval allowed them to bag a bird that otherwise would have been lost. He often was very close to a low flying quail, or was quickly on it when it landed, risking being shot himself by anxious gunners.
Before we started a hunt, I always gave a safety speech to the group, even if we’d hunted together before. As an NRA rifle and shotgun instructor, and a Shooting Sports Director for the Boy Scouts, I’d dealt with some young and inexperienced gunners over the years. I'd witnessed some dumb mistakes, though no one was ever hurt. My speech became rote and went something like this:
“There are three main rules of firearm safety. 1. Keep your gun unloaded until you’re ready to shoot; 2. Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot; and 3. Keep your muzzle in a safe direction at all times. Number 3 is the most important. If you screw up, even to the point of having an accidental discharge, if your muzzle is in a safe direction, no one will be hurt. Be aware of where your gun is pointed at all times. Another important thing to remember is that we are hunting with a dog. If the bird is running, is flying low or is landing, the dog will be close to it. I will get down and out of your way. Don’t worry so much about me, but don’t shoot my dog!”
The message didn’t always sink in. I frequently had to yell at gunners who didn't watch where they pointed their muzzles. Even experienced hunters and shooters often had not hunted with a dog before, so I was constantly on the alert and announced unsafe circumstances when I saw them. Greenhorns or kids sometimes got so excited when a bird flushed that any instructions were forgotten. There were three specific incidents I’ll never forget. In each case I was sure Riley had been shot.
An industrial company from Reading brought customers from Portugal to the preserve to do some skeet shooting and quail hunting. Private gun ownership in Europe is not nearly as common as in America, so the ‘visitors’ were extreme novices. It made me a little nervous when I was repeatedly interrupted during my safety speech to be translated into Portuguese. The hunt was a little stressful, as quail hunts always were. I was frustrated at not being able to give on-the-spot instructions to the foreigners. One incident scared me and made me angry.
We were hunting in tall grass on a rather steep side slope. A quail flushed up and headed down hill. Riley was after it immediately. The Portuguese shooter directly behind me, who had already proved himself to be a poor shot and a bit arrogant, discharged his shotgun with the muzzle right next to my ear. It hurt. My ear was ringing for the rest of the day. He fired at the quail just as Riley made a jump to grab it out of the air before it got away. I yelled at the shooter for both actions. The company manager took me aside to scold me. He was correct; I was just his hired help for the afternoon. Yes; I understood that they were important customers, but…. It was my ear and my dog. I accepted his mediocre tip at the end of the hunt but told the preserve owner that Riley would not be hunting with them, ever again.
The other two frightening incidents involved my frequent hunting partner Joe. Early in Riley’s training Joe was always my gunner. He’s an excellent shot. We both were learning how to hunt with a dog for the first time, so I’m partly to blame. It is one of the reasons that I developed my safety speech and always watched carefully for Riley’s safety.
We were shooting pheasants, but there were a few quail in our field. We flushed one up and it flew directly away from us angling down to land not twenty-five yards out. Riley was after it as soon as it flew. Joe drew up and fired, knocking the bird out of the air not two feet over Riley’s head. Joe was more upset than I was at the close call. We both learned to be much more alert for the dog.
With the worst near miss Riley ever had, there is no explanation for why he wasn't shot, except by a miracle, or by the improbability that the gun that had a dog shaped gap in its shot pattern. Joe took his dad on a pheasant hunt for his birthday. Naturally, he wanted Riley to guide-nothing but the best for Pop. Pop hadn’t been out with his double barrel in years. He showed up at the field in street cloths and penny loafers. Joe and I got him decked out in the required blaze orange vest and hat while the stocker was placing our birds.
Pop and I were up a slight rise on one side of creek gully that was thick with brush and wild roses. Joe was on the other side at a lower elevation in tall grass. Riley was in the middle working his way along on a scent trail. Joe hollered that the pheasant Riley was tracking had run out of the gully into the grass. At about that time, Riley came charging out of the thicket and accidently flushed the bird. As it struggled to get up out of the thick grass, Riley darted in and mouth open, leaped for it as it took off.
Joe brought up his gun but held his fire because the dog was too close. His leap brought Riley within a foot of grabbing the pheasant’s legs as it cleared the grass and began to fly away. At that instant Pop fired from across the gully. He was at least thirty yards away. The pheasant was hit hard, flew backwards and dropped to the ground dead. Joe and I simultaneous yelled, “Watch the dog!” We both knew there was no way Riley could not have been hit, too.
As I ran over, I couldn’t understand why Riley hadn’t yelped. He'd just pounced on the dead bird. Joe got a hold of him and examined him for wounds. Pop was embarrassing with his groveling apologies, but I was still angry. I assumed I’d be making a speedy trip to the animal hospital. At that range the pattern would have been over three feet across. There was no way he could have not been hit by pellets. But, he wasn’t. He wasn't even nicked. We’ve talked and laughed about the shotgun with the dog shaped gap in its pattern ever since, but it was just a miracle, really.
Hunting is a dangerous sport. An accident can be fatal. It is even more dangerous for gun dogs. The most safety conscious person sometimes will forget or overlook something. Riley had many thousands of shotgun shells fired over his head. It was part of his job. He was never hit by even one pellet, mostly because of carefully following safety rules, but many times simply by luck.
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