Get the Birds!

The back porch talk had drifted to the subject of dogs.  Good dogs, bad dogs, neurotic dogs (mine), heroic dogs (theirs) and unique dogs.  In a pause in the conversation my son interjected, "The dog I think I will never forget, wasn't even mine, but he sure was unforgettable!"

It seems that during the time he was living in Kansas he had helped a neighboring farmer during harvest time.  Mostly, I suspect, to play with the big equipment.  During their days together the subject of hunting came up.  The farmer expounded on the qualities of his fine hunting dog.  According to the farmer he was about the best thing that ever happened.  He would go on and on about his ability to find the best birds and flush them out.  Hunting season rolled around and Son mentioned that he was going to go try for a few birds.  "Take my dog!" the farmer offered.  "You'll be sure to come back with birds.  He's the best!"  Son was delighted and was about to mention that he really didn't know a lot about hunting with a dog, when the farmer continued.  "In fact, why don't you take my boys with you to help you with the dog?"  That seemed sensible, so a time was set up for the hunt.

Early the next morning the two boys, aged 11 and 16, showed up with the dog.  A big, muscular animal, the dog was fairly quivering with eagerness to be off on the hunt.  In fact, so were the boys.

The three of them started off and in no time the dog froze to a point.  At a signal from the boys he flushed a big pheasant.  Shots rang out and the pheasant flew away.  "That's OK", Son consoled.  There will be more."  The process was repeated several times with a couple of pheasants being shot.  Each time the dog retrieved the birds and proudly brought them to the hunters. 

They were continuing their walk with the dog ranging out ahead when suddenly he froze into a point in front of a pile of junk metal and weeds that was in the corner of the field.  The hunters approached and a huge covey of quail exploded in all directions. Since quail and pheasant season overlapped by a few days, both were in season, so the hunters banged away happily.  Seven birds plummeted from the sky. 

As soon as the last shot was fired both boys dropped their guns and made a dash for the dog.  Each grabbing whatever part they could hang on to they began screaming, "GET THE BIRDS!!  GET THE BIRDS!!"  Son stood there transfixed by the sight of the wriggling mass of legs, arms, heads, tail and snout as the boys attempted to hold the excited dog.  "GET THE BIRDS!!" they screeched again.  Startled out of his daze, son took off at a gallop to retrieve the fallen birds.  Hunting through the weeds as quickly as he could, he found the birds and stuffed them into his jacket.  Counting to himself as he went, one, two , three, four, five, six.  Where was seven?  He searched some more as the wail went up again. "GET THE BIRDS!"  Finally spotting it he snatched it up and returned to the boys. 

In bemusement he watched as the mass untangled itself into the identifiable forms of boys and dog.  Dusting themselves off the boys approached , with the happy dog following.  "What the hell was that about?!" Son demanded to the group.  "What happened to the dog?   Why did you tackle him?  He was perfect retrieving the pheasants."

Grinning the boys looked up.  "He doesn't like pheasant, but he loves quail!"

The boys went on to explain that he would have eaten every one of the quail before you could stop him.  "So we tackle him to keep him from eating them!"  Bursting into laughter Son looked from disheveled kids to hopeful dog, shaking his head in wonder.

It seems the perfect dog had one little flaw.  He really liked quail.

Chuckling to himself he couldn't help but wonder if he had actually been invited on the hunt to be the "retriever"!