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Favorite Stories

Beloved Dogs

REBEL

Rebel was a white and liver pointer out of my great dog Doc. From the moment I saw him, Rebel was my dog. We lived in Arizona then and I had the little guy retrieving at 8 weeks old, I grew so attached to this dog that it indirectly led to my divorce from my 1st wife Eunok - but that is another story.

I only really hunted with Rebel for one season - my greatest memories of Rebel are those of him in the field. Our greatest hunt was in the fall of 94.

We traveled to the Snake and Grand Ronde river breaks in southeastern Washington and although my new little Brittany Misty was along this was Rebel's hunt.

We started in a canyon off the Tucannon River with a feeder creek running in the bottom of the canyon. Rebel was covering the ground in his typical ground eating run. Misty was working well out front too but had neither the speed or stamina to keep up with Rebel.

About 30 minutes into the hunt Rebel locked up in a point, the breeze was brisk and in his face but the intensity of the point showed that the birds were not too far in front. I grudgingly admired the game little brittany backing my big and musclebound pointer. I wish I had a picture of it. I walked in and a covey of chukar flushed, one crossing left in front of me offering an easy shot - the familiar weight of Dad's Winchester 101 came up easily and the bird was centered with shot pattern and went down hard. Another bird crossed left and I fired - that time I was a little behind and the bird sailed off unscathed. Rebel retrieved the bird as I reprimanded the little brit for breaking and trying to take the bird from Rebel.

As I admired the beautiful chukar -my mind wandered. Dad had showed me this canyon. The familiar heft of the 101 was comforting - it had been his gun. In the waning years of his life he had let me use it whenever I wanted - Dad had died the September before and the 101 was now my brother's. Joe had let me use the gun on this hunt. Dad had liked shorthairs - Rebel was a dog that Dad would have never owned but somehow I knew that on this hunt with this gun, Dad was smiling.

The little bell on Rebel's collar was silent and the silence brought me back to reality and the windswept ridges of the Tucannon. Rebel was on point near a bunch of willows beside the creek, as I approached I was thinking it was probably a pheasant or quail. Misty was backing again, as I moved in the willows seemed to explode in the activity of the whirling wings of a large covey of valley quail, I fired twice, reloaded quickly and fired again, dropping two quail which Rebel and Misty retrieved to me. We hunted up the Tucannon for another 2 hours killing 4 more chukar. This was my greatest hunt with Rebel for alot of reasons - it was the first hunt together when all the training of this 16 month pointer, and the 7 month old Brit all came together, it was my first chukar season without my father and the last season I would ever have with Rebel. In May 95, Rebel and Misty died in a horrible accident - I miss you big guy. Dad - Wherever you are - you may have liked shorthairs but because of what you taught me I've had good dogs of different breeds.

MISTY

Misty was an orange and white brittany that I bought shortly after my divorce from my first wife. She was a sweet biddable dog out of CedarRidge lines.

Although, she was a great little dog in her own right she often had to play second fiddle to the big going Rebel. Her greatest hunt was in the was in the end of December 94. Rebel had sore pads from hunting hard on the crusted snow we had that year and Misty was healthy. My fiancee - Teresa was in Idaho at school and I had a couple of days before I had to go to Idaho to bring her back for the wedding.

It was a cold clear morning and the geese and ducks were making a racket flying overhead. I decided to get one last pheasant hunt in with Misty this year. I grabbed my little Beretta BL-3 and some shells threw on my Dad's old Filson hunting coat and went out the door. We were headed for a little area not far from my house that often held birds in the fall. As we were walking along the irrigation ditch I noticed that Misty was getting very birdy - Misty was almost a year old and had some training but wasn't totally broke. I watched her get birdy and I was pleasantly surprised when she locked up on point. I had never seen quail in that area, so I was pretty sure it was a pheasant. Rain had turned to freezing rain last night and there was a coating of ice on the ground as I moved it. From a rather large tumbleweed flushed a rooster and I folded it with one shot as Misty broke and retrieved the rooster to hand - God, I love this brittany! I remember thinking as she proudly delivered the bird to hand - the rooster was holding so tightly because there was still ice on his feathers!

We continued up the ditch and near a cattail choked pothole - Misty slammed into a point- I mean slammed she locked up so fast she lost her footing on the ice!! Once she regained her footing she remained motionless as I worked in and kicked around the cattails - well a nice rooster rocketed out of the middle of the cattails climbing like a missile - I fired as he reached the pinnacle of the climb and folded him cleanly - after a short hunt Misty delivered the nice - I mean NICE rooster to hand. We continued to hunt for some time - working North to south along Giffen Lake, near some russian olives after working the fields hot and heavy - Misty locked up again. I kicked around and a rooster exploded from the opposite side of the tree, I fired through the trees and missed - I ran to the other side and fired a departing shot at the bird, he flew on without missing a wingbeat - Misty looked up at me - looked at the departing bird and turned away to hunt some more. About an hour later near a cornfield Misty locked up again, the hen flushed and it would have been an easy shot, we continued on - Misty pointed at least 5 more hens before we hit paydirt!

We had been working a cut corn field and Misty was showing that there were birds in there - lots of them! We worked and I saw about 15 pheasants fly out the opposite end - Misty was diligently working a trail and it paid off - she locked up near a small area of standing corn about 5'X 10', I moved in hoping to was a rooster not a hen. The bird flushed into the sun blinding me I could not make out the colors, I tracked the bird and after what seemed an eternity - actually only a few seconds the cackle of rooster greeted my ears, I slapped the trigger and the bird went down wing tipped into some willows. Misty - bolted and hunted the bird for quite a while, she finally pinned the bird up against an irrigation ditch and retrieved him - alive to me. Three roosters in three hours, over a young and enthusiastic brittany.

Misty died in a terrible accident in May 95, so I only had one short season with her. I still buy brits - hoping to capture some of that magic again. Maybe someday.

DOC!!!!!

My greatest hunt with Doc was actually a three day hunt. We started on a Friday - in the fall of 95, I was driving home from Texas via Arizona. We stopped at a nice looking spot not far from the border between Sonoita and Patagonia, Gene and Jerry Kindred had directed me to spot that I could get all three species of desert quail. Arizona being Doc's home stomping grounds and Gambel's his main quarry before I acquired him from Don Waller. I figured that he could show me how to hunt desert quail. We were working a wash with grass and small trees, Doc was working in a methodical manner that I had seldom seen in him and all of a sudden he locked up in a nice point.

I was carrying my Ugie 12 ga SxS choked way too tight for close in work, I walked in on the point and quail were everywhere. I waited til one got a ways out and centered it with 1 oz of 8s in a AA Trap load. Doc retrieved to hand - my first MEARNS!!! And we just kept finding the birds. It seemed they were everywhere! By the end of the day we had a handful of Gambel's and Mearns. There were so many points and so many misses I can't count them all.

What impressed me about this hunt was the radical departure from Doc's normal wide open style of hunting, he was working like a damned shorthair!!! The next day found us further east hoping to run into some scalies. We were working a flat that was bordered by Ocotilla and cholla. God, was I glad I was wearing heavy canvas faced hunting pants, especially when no matter how careful I was I kept getting into cactus! Doc was hunting so hard he was beating his tail raw! Doc had returned to his normal wide open style of hunting that I love - go figure. We had some contacts but the points seemed unproductive - boy those buggers can run!

I was watching the quail run and peel off ahead of me and Doc - when all of a sudden Doc ran hell bent for leather ahead and looped back - a tactic he would use to good effect in Washington hunting pheasants - anyway he pinned a covey of birds. I walked in and they flushed in all directions - I fired twice and folded two - Doc retrieved to hand a nice Gambel's I took the bird patted him and he picked up the other one and returned - A SCALIE!! Wow, I had killed all three species in two days. God, was Doc good at hunting desert quail. I figured after 9 yrs of hunting them he knew more than I did and I just followed his lead and he found the birds. I loved Doc more than any dog I've ever owned.

Doc - Died in May 97, I put him down after his shoulder got so bad that he was in pain the majority of the time - maybe I should have kept him for just another year. This dog was the epitomy that all my dogs will be judged by. Doc and I got all species of quail, plus huns/chukar, 4 species of grouse and pheasant. No dog ever did it with more style, he even retrieved ducks - as long as the water wasn't over his chest!!!Doc - I miss you more and more each year - but this dog Dancer - well I think even you would accept him. Thanks for the memories.

TESCHA 1

Tescha was a black and white lab/griffon crossbreed. She was with me for over 6 yrs and was the first dog I ever trained - I spent the entire summer of my 15th year training her. There were many memories and great hunts - so many that I really can't choose. One of the most memorable hunts was our first together. I was just 15 then. Opening day was the 15th of October and started at noon - I was hunting with my good friend Ralph - he was much older than me - had children my age and I thought of him as more a father than a friend, my dad by this time was nearing 60 and couldn't hunt much anymore.

I had been scouting this area for weeks anticipating that Tescha would get her first chance at real birds, we had been training on dummies and running her and Boozer (Dad's shorthair) on wild birds in preparation.

Well, we got to the pothole about 11:15 and waited somewhat impatiently for the next 45 minutes for legal shooting time. We sneaked up over the edge of the pothole and the wood ducks exploded off the pond - I fired three times in rapid succession from my dad's 1100 the 1 1/8 oz of 7.5s ripped into the birds, I was vaguely aware of Ralph firing his Mossberg 500. Birds were still coming so I stood there firing shot after shot - reloading as I went for what seemed an eternity. When the smoke cleared - I had 4 woodies on the pond and Ralph had 3. Tescha busied herself retrieving the ducks. As hunters moved up the series of sloughs below us, ducks continued to fly over and we kept knocking them down until we had the limit of 6 ducks. We bagged them, and went pheasant hunting, just to the south of the slough was the Yakima River and at a place called the corral (old horse corral) Tescha flushed a pheasant - which Ralph proceeded to fold with one shot. In those days, the DFW grew corn near the river and we worked that, Tescha flushed about 6 pheasants out of the end of a standing corn field and Ralph shot another pheasant. I managed to get one bird myself. We returned home with 3 pheasants and 12 wood ducks between us.

This was the start of a wonderful time in my life - carefree and wonderful. I lived to go hunting after school and we did alot of that. Tescha was killed by a car in 1986 while I was stationed in Spokane. To measure the impact that this dog had on my family is undescribeable. Dad called her Lady, I called her Tescha - there was no doubt whose dog she was when I was around but since I had joined the military 2 yrs earlier she had become my dad's constant companion. Dad let her out to go potty and when she didn't return he looked for her, he found her about 100 yds from the house dead. I was not home, but Dad took her wrapped her in my now too small hunting vest and buried her in the backyard next to Colonel, Boozer 1, and Pepper. My dad loved GSP's, and had buried many dogs in his hunting lifetime, but even with his favorite dogs my mother had never seen him shed a tear. That cold day in November 1986 my Dad cried.

TESCHA 2

Flintlock's Fraulein Tescha (Tescha) Was my first dog after the heartbreak of losing Tescha 1 - I had gotten married, lived in base housing (allowing pets. I had gotten disgusted with the primitive muzzleloading fraternity ( I was heavy into it) so I sold all my muzzleloaders - bought an 870 and decided I wanted to bird hunt again - possibly to recapture the magic and carefree days of my youth with Tescha - an escape if you will from the responsibilities of fatherhood and the military. Tescha was out of DC Flintlock's Medicine Man and Flintlock's Runnin on Empty. She was a GWP. I acquired her in the summer of 1989, she was a gregarious handful of puppy with lots of desire and run. I took her out every day on base for a run, coincidently there were huns where I walked and ran with her. I knew she was special when she locked up on point at the first pair of huns she had ever smelled. I had worked her on the rod and wing and taught her whoa. Anyway, she was much too young to be effective the hunting season of 1989, but I trained her in anticipation of the season of 1990.

September 1st. Grouse season began on a great note. I had taken Tescha north of Spokane near Diamond Lake, I had intentions of scouting the area for deer season but took Tescha and my Beretta with me anyway. My little Beretta had just been restocked - this was my first gun and Dad had cut it off to fit me and added spacers as I grew up until I was about 15 when I had grown enough that I could shoot his guns and the Beretta was retired and collected dust. Well, I absolutely hated my 870 and with 1990's income tax return I convinced my then wife to let me get the Beretta restocked.

We worked a creek along clearcut and Tescha went on point near an old stump with huckleberry bushes around it. I walked in and the grouse (a ruff) flushed straight at me over Tescha's head, I wheeled and fired just before the bird attained the safety of the woods and he folded - Tescha retrieved eagerly. Tescha was one of the best natural retrievers I have ever had the pleasure of owning. It was a red phase cock ruff and was absolutely the most beautiful bird I had shot to that point. We worked up the hill and climbed about 1000 ft in elevation, along the logging road - taking about an hour with Tescha working busily all along. Near the top Tescha went on point at a slash pile, I moved around and there it was a nice cock blue grouse looking right at me - too late he realized he was in trouble and flushed straightaway to be brought down with 7/8 oz of 8s from a AA Target load. Tescha again executed a flawless retrieve.

We neared the top and worked down a draw with an old homestead and a small feeder creek near the bottom. I had scouted this earlier and knew near the bottom was an old apple orchard that held deer and so we continued to the bottom, near a bunch of brush near an apple tree heavy with fruit, Tescha went on point. I moved in and a ruff thundered out of the tree flying in a zigzag pattern trying to put as many trees between me and it as possible, it succeeded as my first pattern smacked into a nearby tree but wasn't so fortunate as I continued to track it an slapped the trigger as it cleared another tree, she ( it was a hen) folded neatly and lodged in a large bush. I'll never forget the frantic work of Tescha trying to find it only to discover it was in the the bush. Tescha stood on her hind legs and plucked the bird from the bush and proudly brought it to me.

Tescha was sold in 1991 as I was leaving to go to the Persian Gulf and a remote assignment to Turkey. She can be seen at High Desert Ranch in Weiser, ID where she became the star dog of the rather large shooting preserve.

Amy


Amy was the most beautiful dog I have owned - she was a white and tan english setter out of Tekoa Mt Sunrise and Birdwell's Hi Avalon. I acquired her upon my return from the Persian Gulf in 1992, she was a lonely looking 4 month old at Gene Mahoney's kennels and I gladly gave the $250 he wanted for her. SinceI arrived back in Sept 1992 and only had a few months to train her before hunting season was upon us. What followed was two months of intensive bonding (she went everywhere with me) and I only had her partially whoa broke but introduced to gunfire when my buddy Oly invited me to hunt a pheasant release site on Ft Lewis. He had his dog Sherlock (lab) and I was at first kinda apprehensive about taking my 6 month old pup out into that kind of environment but the look on Amy's face looking at me as I went out the door leaving her - convinced me to take her. I'm glad I did. We were hunting Area 12 and since it was a Wednesday there were few hunters. Amy was working behind Sherlock at about 30 yds when I watched here slow and finally stop with her tail high pointing a small area of evergreens. She looked at me as I went by as if to say - He's right there! Just then the bird went up and towered out of the trees at the apex of the flight my little Beretta 20 ga barked and folded him clean. Amy at the shot broke and she went to the area. Sherlock of course, beat her there and looked around the area for a few minutes and he was off and running - with Amy following, I had marked the bird down and called Amy back. I sent her in the area and she found the pheasant and tried her best to pick it up but the bird was just too big for her. I walked in picked up the bird and petted and praised her. We trained throughout the fall and spring but this was the hunt. I was forced to sell Amy when a move to AZ forced me too. Amy went on to became a NSTRA CH, and the wife who forced me to sell both her and Tescha 2 because she didn't want to bother with caring for them while I was away - is now my EX-WIFE!!!

Lucky the Wonderdog - Lucky, was a reject from a previous owner. I got the little GSP as a 5 month old puppy I was impressed with his natural ability and gift of bird sense. I started training the little guy as soon as I thought he was ready. He was great from the start - being able to understand instinctively what was expected of him. Lucky - Was steady to wing, shot and fall at 8 months old and will be the hunting companion of my friend Steve Parsons. WHAT A DOG!!!!!

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