Chasing ditch parrots

For a lot of years growing up it was a tradition to go hunting the morning of Thanksgiving. Some years would be a duck hunt, but most recently we would all go to a local pheasant farm. This year we went to an extended pheasant area and tried chasing wild pheasants ... sort of wild anyway. They do a youth hunt where the DWR releases a bunch of farm raised birds and youth hunters have the opportunity to shoot them, and adults are not allowed to carry a gun. Youth hunters don't kill all the birds, so we went after the leftover birds. We walked a long ways, and were about to turn back when we finally saw a little sign in the snow. I said let's go another 100 yards. Famous last words. We really got to where we were going to turn around and Samantha and Shane went around to the bottom of the draw. Me, my dad, Martin and Joe were going to come down the draw and hopefully push something out. Right before we dropped into the draw I notice that everyone but me has their gun over their shoulder and I think to myself, "if a pheasant flushes up, I'll be the only one who can get a shot". You guessed it, not even two minutes later up comes a rooster. I shot and winged it. Bo took after the bird, but he is definitely not as quick as he once was, and that bird probably ran for miles before he stopped. We made a valiant effort to find the pheasant, but it didn't happen.

I truly have mud in my blood and would rather chase ducks over really anything else, but once or twice a year I have to get my shorthair out and let him run. I thoroughly enjoy watching him work and try to find a pheasant, but he is slowing down and the arthritis is going to make him sore for a couple days. Even though he will be sore, you can tell that Bo loved every minute of the hunt. On the way back I noticed that my 10 year old shorthair was still hunting (not ranging as far as when we first left the truck), and my 18 month old lab was by my side.