Modern Wild Man ~ A Perfect Saturday ~

Modern Wild Man

Meg in her first season, my 28 gauge, and a mess of quail.

Few things in life can be called perfect. We all strive for it, we search for it, and if we ever find it - we never want to let it go. When I think of perfect, I think of a mother's love, a perfect sports season, or maybe a homecoming of a long awaited loved one. Recently, however, I was fortunate to have a perfect Saturday. We only get a few perfect days, and when it happens, it can change you.

My weekends are cherished, and a balancing act between family, chores and hobbies. With two days between work weeks, it's often so hard to fit it all in. The saying goes: we work to play, and I know that is often the truth. This particular weekend, things fell into place, and it came naturally. I spent the morning in the house with my family, curled up on the living room couch with a warm cup of coffee in my hands. I got to spend time with my sons. Often, I like to remind myself that they are spending their time with me as much as I am with them. We laughed and sat by the fireplace telling jokes and being lazy. I got to be with my wife in our home. We held hands and got to talk to each other like adults, a luxury not overlooked with children in the house. We enjoyed each other's company, and I think if that is all the day had for me it would have been a great Saturday. We had lunch and cleaned up, and my wife suggested that she knew I would like to spend some time in the field, and why don't I go? This invitation was quickly snatched, I changed into some hunting clothes, grabbed a shotgun, and seemed to jump from the house into the pickup with dog in tow.

The weather that afternoon was perfect, cold and clear. The breeze was only slight, just enough to help a dog in the field. I drove to a corn field edge with a thin strip of wooded cover, an ideal place for a covey of quail. Our family labrador Meg is just over a year old. She was a gift from Santa as an eight week old puppy two Christmases ago. Meg has figured out that she truly loves to hunt quail. She aches for it, and when she gets the chance to go she brings an enthusiasm that I think only labrador puppies are capable of. As soon as the pickup stopped Meg was ready to go, whining to begin the hunt, not willing to wait for me to pull on my bird vest and load my shotgun.

The shotgun in my hands on this hunt is as special to me as the family dog and the hunt itself. The gun is a sporty little 28 gauge over under. As just a gun, it is finely made, the walnut stock has a deep finish, and its lines perfectly fit my hands. The forend is cleanly checkered and the balance is a joy to swing in the field. All these things are fine attributes to a field gun, but this gun is more. This little shotgun was a gift from my wife. After 10 years of marriage she knew me and my habits and likings so well that she found me the perfect gift. When I handle this little gun, smaller that a 20 gauge, only larger than a .410, I see a family heirloom in the making. I hope that one day decades from now a young man or woman who knows of me through family and sporting and writing, is swinging that little gun through a covey flush on their perfect day.

As soon as we entered the field cover Meg and I were in birds. A quail flushed so quickly and early in the hunt that I lost my composure and didn't even mount my gun. Now many would think of a missed opportunity not as a perfect day or hunt, but to get into birds so early in a hunt is rare. Hunting with a dog that loves to retrieve and not holding up your end of the bargain can be interesting as well. As the bird flushed and flew away from under Meg's nose she watched the bird, then looked at me, then back at the distant bird and found it in herself to let out a bark. She let me known right then and there that my job was only to shoot the birds she finds for me, and she would even go and bring them back.

The partnership of a sportsman and a gun dog is special. This is Meg and I's first season together, and it has been great. Watching her work through cover, cruising over tangles and through tall grass, nose to the ground is a site to see. That afternoon the sun was high and bright, everything seemed clear and the light wind brought all the sounds of the field closer in. I felt as though my dog and I were the only two in the world, that our hunt was less a pastime or hobby, but more a necessity, part of what we and who we are. I am blessed to be able to find and act on that necessity of my life. Meg went right to work after our missed opportunity and quickly found another single bird. The grass along the edge of the corn field hung under knee high, and weighed heavy under a frost from last night's coldness that today's sun couldn't seem to melt. Meg's tail went from side to side to little circles; her nose hung low and huffed the ground searching for any scent of a bird. The fog of her breath seemed to hang in hesitation before a soft breeze floated it away. We were quail hunting, and into the birds! Gun at the ready I moved in quietly to Meg's shoulder planning the shot and placing the birds flush with my body. A kick to a bunch of frosted grass and a quail flushed from the cover in a flurry. In an instant my little gun found my cheek, all instinct and practice and concentration came together and a smooth swing through a flushing bird was echoed by the call to my partner to fetch a dead bird. Meg is not one to leave a bird, she hunts dead and downed birds like a seasoned professional, a quality in bird dogs that cannot be taught. Quickly she found our bird, and it was just that, our bird. A partnership of man and dog, an example of something as old as the hunter and his game.

The afternoon spilled on. We found and flushed more birds, crossed the road to different cover and found birds there too. Meg hunted hard, and smiled a dog smile. We worked together and enjoyed each other's company. The days are short this time of year, and the sunset wasn't far off. The Kansas sky filled with blazes of orange and yellow, and I found a spot to snap a picture of my partner, my gun, and our take in the waning last rays of light before the sun fell below the West horizon. Walking back to the pickup, I new something great had happened, I knew this was the end to a great day. So many times we find stress and pain, hurt and ends that don't meet the way we think they should, but this day was a day of contentment and blessings. I thought briefly about being disappointed that it had to end, that it was already evening, and I didn't start my hunt till after lunch, but I think without all the parts that made this day so great, it wouldn't have been the day it was.