The Old Man and Jake- Part 10

Tom’s truck rolled up to the open fence border and came to a stop behind another pick-up. Through the windshield he could see a man dressed in orange cap and shirt getting out of the driver’s side. The bed of the truck had a dog box with a dog obviously in it, but the old man could not make out the breed.

“That’s Dan, my buddy I was telling you about on the way over.” Jim said as he opened up the passenger door.

Tom got out of the driver’s side and approached the two men already shaking hands and discussing the wind direction. Dan was shorter than Jim about Tom’s height and about the same age as well. His deep mid-western, almost Canadian, accent made Tom smile on the inside.

“So this is the guy with that bird dog you were telling me about, eh?” Dan said, first glancing at Tom then over to Jim.

“This is the one. One of the nicest dogs I’ve seen in a while. His owner is barely tolerable though.” Jim said with a chuckle. Dan and the old man both smiled, too.

“The name is Tom,” Tom said, extending his hand to Dan

Jim and Dan went back to discussing the wind and where they wanted to start the hunt. Tom drifted back over to his truck and began getting his gear together. After a few encouraging words reminding Jake to behave, Tom let the bird dog out of the truck. When Tom made it back around he saw the setter that had been in Dan’s dog box standing up on the tailgate waiting for his GPS collar.

“This is Pete.” Dan said to the old man, looking up from his handheld.

“He’s a good looking dog. That is Jake over there.” Tom replied.

“Alright Tom, we are gonna work our way down this hedge row here and then up into those hills over there. We may pick up a few pheasant along this wind break but the sharptails should be in that short grass around those hill tops.” Jim announced.

“Sounds good to me.”

With a release, both bird dogs took off into the open field. At first, they ran together, each dog trying to outrun the other across the field. But the race ended after the first 200 yards and they began to spread out, ranging on their own. The men followed, shotguns slung over there shoulders. The old man was glad to be among the age group of men that had long stopped the same running game to get to the good cover. He preferred to walk at a casual pace for two reasons, the first was that it allowed him to log more hours afield. His days of hunting hard all day long were over now and he had figured out that he could either hunt hard or all day long, but not both. He always chose the latter. The second reason was that his casual pace let him take in all the sights and smells and musings that a walk in the field allowed. When he was younger, he would have run right past most of the little oddities of God’s creation, too bird hungry to notice the tiny little fascinations along the way. The old man still liked shooting birds and he was there to do just that, but in these later years each moment of life had become precious not just the times with wings in the air.

It was a typical autumn day, the warm sunshine competed with the nip of the ever present prairie wind, each gust carrying the scents of fall ever closer, flushing out any lingering hope of summer. The sun scorched grasses were now bleached to a pale yellow, bending and swaying in the breeze as if waving good bye until spring returns and the new growth with it. The old man watched as a large grasshopper leapt in front of him, every flight taking him a few more feet in front of the old man’s path, and then finally, hopping in a different direction entirely.

The old man set his eyes to the horizon ahead of him. He was taking it all in: the prairie grass along the hedgerow swaying in the breeze, the buzzing flight of grasshoppers desperately seeking out the last rays of warmth, the brisk, clean air that seemed to reach down to the deepest depths of his lungs, the gentle roll of hills and farm fields bordered by the native big blue stem and blue grama prairie. It was enough to satisfy his soul.

“We got a point! Looks like Pete found us a bird.” Dan said. Tom fixed his eyes out towards the dogs.

“Looks like Jake is a gentleman after all, look at that honor.” Jim replied.

The men approached the dogs at an eager pace, knowing that if it was pheasant the dogs were pointing, the birds would be moving. As they got closer, Dan’s setter started creeping forward and Jake followed suit. Twenty more yards and the dog’s settled back into their staunch positions. The men hurried up behind them.

Tom kept his eye on Jake, on the one hand because he enjoyed it, but at the same time he wanted to make sure Jake stayed honest and didn’t steal a point from the other dog. He and Jake hadn’t hunted a lot with other people and dogs, Tom wanted him to do it right. The old man kept pushing forward when suddenly the ground erupted in front of him. The cackle of the rooster gave way to the sounds of wings forcing the bird upward.

“Rooster!”, the old man hollered as he began to level his gun towards the bird.

At the report of his shot, another bird leapt up, this time just off the nose of the english setter, then another 5 yards ahead of that one.

“Hen! Rooster!” shouted Dan.

The birds rolled to the left not giving the old man a clear shot but he watched as Jim, who was on the end, raised his gun and fire a shot. The bird had the wind behind him now and was taking full advantage. Jim’s gun rang out again but the bird kept his stride well into the horizon, out of sight.

“Hah! Get your camera out, Tom! Jim just missed a bird and I need a photo of it for my wall.” Dan said laughing.

“You better make it a good one because it won’t happen again.” Jim retorted quickly, grinning back at Dan.

“Did you get your bird, Tom?” Dan asked.

“I think so. Yea, Jake is coming back with him now.” Tom took the bird from Jake and put it in his vest.

Dan looked back at Jim, “Good, glad those dogs didn’t do all the work for both of you to miss.”

Jim looked at Dan and shook his head, “I thought you were gonna shoot him, Dan. I wasn’t even ready.”

“Oh, it’s my fault now is it?” Dan shot back.

The old man scanned across the field, his eyes tracking the movement of the setter and GSP working back and forth in tandem. He admired the setter for its grace in the field. The light, athletically built dog seemed to glide through the grass, the long, flag-like tail waving in the breeze. It was a contrast to Jake’s more aggressive manner of hunting. The german’s approach was more like an attack on the brush ahead of him, seeking and hunting out the game like it was a critical mission. Jake’s stubby tail began wagging furiously, his pace starting to slow, then he froze.

“Jake’s got a point.” Tom said casually.

The two men, still teasing each other, looked that way.