Pointin' Dogs & Cool October Days

Yes they are nearing again, the bird hunters fountain of youth. After some reflecting on so many seasons chasing the woodcock and the timberland chickens I seem to be a little confused. We could barely keep track of our Shorthairs and we each had only one dog. Now that we have reached the 50 mark we have decided the only smart thing to do is, each of us ought to have 2 dogs in the pecker pole popple. The only thing I can think of this deal is, all of the reconstructive surgeries we have had to our knees, shoulders ect. must have been successful. And I can't believe Scooter would bash my FILSONS again! If I shot at low flying Woodcock such as he does, I'm quite sure he would have bought the "Double Tin" variety too! Yes, the Hills are partially responsible for the fix I'm in.
Signed
The Judge

The Dogs go Shopping

The Day the Dogs Went Shopping

For a while the Judge and I hunted with the Hippie Van. Picture three high energy pointers roaming free in a van, they all want to look out every window at once and they all think they can drive better than you. If you were riding in the front passenger seat you were constantly pushing them in the back because they just don’t respect who calls shotgun. Put a little bounce in the ride because the shocks weren’t all that new and it made for some fun times. When you finally get to where you are going to hunt they all pile out the first door open like a jail break.

We had Hazel Nate riding with us when he was 10 or so and he was going to stay in the Van while we went into the Athelstane General Store. He wanted to come in and he couldn’t contain the pointers. Next thing you know we have one dog running down each aisle headed for the meat counter. Fortunately the owner had a good sense of humor and the store wasn’t full of customers. We always used to buy frankfurters for the dogs there so naturally the Judge figured they were worried we would forget. By the way we asked the owner one time what the difference was between franks and hot dogs. She explained ‘Franks ain’t got lips and assholes in them’. The dogs got their franks, we got what we needed, and Nate scored a candy bar and everyone was happy.

Hazel Nate

We called him Hazel Nate because he was always getting stuck in the hazel tangles

The Dead Salmon Incident

One trip in the hippie van was to a local area boat landing. A duck hunter had alerted us to the cackling of rooster pheasants he had heard when launching his duck skiff. We put the pointers in the van and headed for the public hunting grounds surrounding the landing. We pushed through the entire area and came up empty handed on the swing back towards the parking lot the dogs got a little rangy. We heard the bells stop. Unfortunately the Judge’s pointer had found a week old dead salmon that some fisherman had left in the brush and was rolling in it. I was lucky enough to keep my dog from joining in on the smelly fun.

As I said we were in a van and the little rinse that the river gave the dog was not quite enough to cut the rancid odor. We headed down the road with our heads out the windows, gagging, choking, and retching. I had tears in my eyes. We left the smelly dog at the Judge’s place and took the non smelly pointer in my truck out to chase some birds around Harmony. Our hearts weren’t in it and we ended up visiting Breezy at the corner of D and 64 it was Frieda’s first time in a tavern and she was really well behaved.

Filson Man
This is the Judge lovin’ up Frieda on the left and Belle on the right after a long day in the grouse woods. The Judge was a hunting fashionista for a while. Every opportunity he had he was praising his Filson double tin pants. They stood up in the corner on those cold mornings and looked kind of uncomfortable to me and it did look like it took him a while to get them warm and limber. I often thoughtfully suggested we drag them behind the truck for a while to loosen them up. When my old vest was finally shredded I purchased a non-Filson vest and the Judge was constantly tolling the virtues of his vest over mine. He would occasionally pose on the deer paths he likes to walk as if he was auditioning for the cover of the LL. Bean catalog. I started calling him Filson Man.
I finally decided to join the club and purchased my own set of single tin brush pants. I have to tell you these things are the bomb. They keep my legs scar free and warm. So if you have to walk down in the tangles all the time like I do or even if you run into the occasional clump of berry brush on the deer paths or abandoned logging roads you walk on get a pair of Filsons. They are a little costly but they stand up to the wear and tear you get following a couple of shorthairs through the habitat. And remember, a little bacon grease on the cuff keeps your dogs close working.

Scooter