tddeangelo
Handloader
- May 18, 2011
- 2,019
- 2
Quincy is my 5 year old black lab. Some quick background---- We adopted Quincy on Jan 1 2012 when he was 8 months old. The family who had him had gotten in WAY over their heads, and they wound up crating him 10-12 hours a day. He was not trained nor well-socialized, being severely hyperactive and impossible to control around visitors, etc. After a lot of work on general obedience and then eventually learning an eCollar, he made tons of progress and I started teaching him to look for deer antlers. He wasn't real interested in that, but he did it, lol. I had a chance to hunt at a bird preserve with a buddy and his pointer, and I got to talking to the dog trainer about my lab. She suggested I bring him for an eval.
I did so, and was shocked to find out he had a good nose and good instincts. He was not bred responsibly. The woman who's dogs produced Quincy's litter did no health checks nor any of the proper background work, so I'm going to just assume he's got iffy hips and I am working with him accordingly, as well as giving him glucosamine daily and keeping his weight down. Anyway, he had some gun-shyness, so we worked with him carefully, and after a lot of time of me learning him and him learning me, we were ready to hunt.
I took him out to a local state game land where there had been birds stocked. We went at about 11am yesterday. There were hunters, for sure, but from the feathers all around the parking lot, it seemed like the "pheasant rodeo" had run most of its course. From talking to other hunters, there was quite the circus earlier in the morning. I was bowhunting near home then, and I didn't want to take Quincy into what probably sounded like a firefight out there first thing in the morning.
We headed out from the parking lot and he was super hesitant to work cover. He's never been anywhere to hunt but the farm where we train, so this was new to him. He warmed up to it eventually, but birds weren't easy to come by.
About an hour or so into our time there, I started him on a patch of cover only to see to hunters appear at the opposite end. I decided not to interfere with their hunt and to let them work that particular patch. I cut diagonally uphill out of the weeds and saw the older hunter pointing ahead of him. I came to understand he'd seen a pheasant walk into some cover.
He tried to flush it out to me, but it was in some thick thorny brush. I called over "you want me to send my dog in?" He nodded. He and the other hunter with him set up to shoot if the bird came out to one side of the hedgerow, and I stayed on the other. I approached with Quincy on the downwind side.
Once everyone was in a good spot and I felt ok that no one would shoot my dog, I called to him..."Quincy, c'mon, find the birds, hunt 'em up." He put his nose to the ground and started along the edge of the brush and right on cue, BAM! He turned on a dime and started pushing into the cover, straight into the wind. I heard the pheasant moving a little in the brush. Then Quincy saw it, and man did he dive in there! He was in there bashing into thorn bushes and pushing and shoving till he got in there to get at the bird, which he flushed straight away to the other hunter who dropped it neatly. Quincy was on the downed bird, scooped it up, and brought it back with what was almost a great retrieve...till he stopped 3 feet short to mouth the bird, the booger. He gave on command, though. Here's a picture of him with his first non-preserve hunt bird:
My joy at his performance quickly faded, though. He was clearly not feeling right, and I could tell something was up with him. Then I saw the blood on his face. No...no, please don't let me find birdshot in him!
He vomited up the food my wife fed him a little later than she should have (I was bowhunting and he didn't get his breakfast until not long before we left for pheasants). He was rubbing his face on the ground. I calmed him and got a look....he'd smashed into thorns and had some small cuts near, but thank God not IN, his eyes, and a piece of thorn stuck near one eye. I got that out, calmed him a bit more, and he perked up. In about 5 minutes he was his normal self again. Whew!
But I'm really proud of him. He has a lot to learn about hunting on less "optimal" terrain than the preserve, but he's a quick learner. He slept quite well last night.
I did so, and was shocked to find out he had a good nose and good instincts. He was not bred responsibly. The woman who's dogs produced Quincy's litter did no health checks nor any of the proper background work, so I'm going to just assume he's got iffy hips and I am working with him accordingly, as well as giving him glucosamine daily and keeping his weight down. Anyway, he had some gun-shyness, so we worked with him carefully, and after a lot of time of me learning him and him learning me, we were ready to hunt.
I took him out to a local state game land where there had been birds stocked. We went at about 11am yesterday. There were hunters, for sure, but from the feathers all around the parking lot, it seemed like the "pheasant rodeo" had run most of its course. From talking to other hunters, there was quite the circus earlier in the morning. I was bowhunting near home then, and I didn't want to take Quincy into what probably sounded like a firefight out there first thing in the morning.
We headed out from the parking lot and he was super hesitant to work cover. He's never been anywhere to hunt but the farm where we train, so this was new to him. He warmed up to it eventually, but birds weren't easy to come by.
About an hour or so into our time there, I started him on a patch of cover only to see to hunters appear at the opposite end. I decided not to interfere with their hunt and to let them work that particular patch. I cut diagonally uphill out of the weeds and saw the older hunter pointing ahead of him. I came to understand he'd seen a pheasant walk into some cover.
He tried to flush it out to me, but it was in some thick thorny brush. I called over "you want me to send my dog in?" He nodded. He and the other hunter with him set up to shoot if the bird came out to one side of the hedgerow, and I stayed on the other. I approached with Quincy on the downwind side.
Once everyone was in a good spot and I felt ok that no one would shoot my dog, I called to him..."Quincy, c'mon, find the birds, hunt 'em up." He put his nose to the ground and started along the edge of the brush and right on cue, BAM! He turned on a dime and started pushing into the cover, straight into the wind. I heard the pheasant moving a little in the brush. Then Quincy saw it, and man did he dive in there! He was in there bashing into thorn bushes and pushing and shoving till he got in there to get at the bird, which he flushed straight away to the other hunter who dropped it neatly. Quincy was on the downed bird, scooped it up, and brought it back with what was almost a great retrieve...till he stopped 3 feet short to mouth the bird, the booger. He gave on command, though. Here's a picture of him with his first non-preserve hunt bird:
My joy at his performance quickly faded, though. He was clearly not feeling right, and I could tell something was up with him. Then I saw the blood on his face. No...no, please don't let me find birdshot in him!
He vomited up the food my wife fed him a little later than she should have (I was bowhunting and he didn't get his breakfast until not long before we left for pheasants). He was rubbing his face on the ground. I calmed him and got a look....he'd smashed into thorns and had some small cuts near, but thank God not IN, his eyes, and a piece of thorn stuck near one eye. I got that out, calmed him a bit more, and he perked up. In about 5 minutes he was his normal self again. Whew!
But I'm really proud of him. He has a lot to learn about hunting on less "optimal" terrain than the preserve, but he's a quick learner. He slept quite well last night.
