Christie was a beautiful dog, Eugene.
As I recall a lifetime of dove shoots, duck hunts, bobwhite quail hunting at it's best and days in the woodcock cover, I have so many fine memories of hunts, alone and with friends, and with family. There have been days in Córdoba, Agentina that I took over 1000 doves in 6 hours shooting with my 20 ga. 687 SP II Sporting, mornings in the Bayou Meto that as many as 8 of us all limited out, morning hunts on the L' Anguille River when 4 of us limited so quickly that we had left the blind, trailered the boat, and we're eating a hot breakfast at the Pancake House by 8:30 a.m. There are memories of dove shoots with Grandaddy after school, as a kid, that seem to mark the passing of my childhood into adolescence, and on into manhood. He made the greatest impressions upon me of any man in my life, especially on the water and in the field. I miss him greatly, even after 41 years.
Maybe because the relationship between my Grandad and me was so special, as I have tried to think of my most memorable day afield I keep recalling days with my oldest Grandson, Jackson. He lives pretty near me, so I have been blessed to be able to include him on many shoots and hunts, since he was very young. His very first time with me on a dove field was most uneventful, until the very last moment. Jackson was 5 years old, as I recall, and it was a blustery, cloudy, cold January day. The wind was just knifelike, cutting through your clothing. I knew there weren't many doves feeding in this particular peanut field, but I hoped to take a few for Jackson to see, and also for my yellow Lab pup, Fowler, to experience. I set a little blind up, under the pivot, and the two of us sat down inside, with Fowler at heel on my left, just outside the blind. We sat, and sat, and sat ..... seeing nothing. The wind was playing havoc with Jackson, but he braved it well, not wanting to complain. Gunner began to grow impatient, too, as puppies will. I wanted so badly for Jackson's, and Fowler's first time out to amount to something, but it was looking like it was going to be a bust. I looked over at Jackson, and his lips were blue and trembling from the cold. It was getting pretty late in the afternoon, and I was beginning to feel guilty about keeping Jackson out in such cold. I bowed my head, closed my eyes, and prayed ........ "Lord, I know You have a lot more important things to tend to, and I know this is an infinitely small thing in Your great plan, but if You would look down and have mercy on this ragged bunch huddled here, please send us just one bird so these two pups can see what this is supposed to be all about. Thank you, in Jesus' name."
As I opened my eyes, right out front was an incoming dove at 12 o'clock, about 8 ft. off the ground and closing. I whispered to Jackson, "Sit still, here he comes". He saw the dove, Fowler saw the dove, and I raised the gun and folded it cleanly. It fell about 15 yards out front, and slightly to Fowler's side of the blind. Perfect! Fowler had marked it down, and I sent him for his first dove. He ran to it, started to pick it up, but stopped and looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "What the heck is this?". I said "Fetch", he picked it up and ran straight to me with it.
Both Jackson and Fowler soon developed into real fine partners on the dove field. Jackson began shooting for himself at age 8, and Fowler was hit by a vehicle one night and I lost him way too soon. But, that one dove taken, and that bitter cold afternoon with two "pups", stands out in my memory as one of the finest afternoons I have ever spent.
All my best, SRH
