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Mother Nature hasn’t quite decided whether it is still winter or the start of spring. We started yesterday with around 3-4 inches of snow and by evening the temps were near 50. While the weather sorts things out the snow geese have decided to start their migration through the state. It is just the leading edge, but with cabin fever firmly in place I loaded Lily up last Friday and headed out to attempt a pass shoot after work.
I’ll admit I was impressed by the little dog’s ability to sit still:
Thankfully we had to walk about a half-mile to the spot which allowed her to burn off some energy. Having had no experience with “watching” birds she was a little confused as to why we were just standing there in the tall grass. Occasionally she would excuse herself from Hup and start exploring. After a couple of quick toots on the whistle though she’d return and resume her post.
We were on a hill overlooking a small lake that was holding a few birds out on the ice. My hope was that those birds would draw some of the birds in the area in and afford us a couple of opportunities. After about forty-five minutes something startled the birds on the ice and they began to circle over the lake, gradually widening their path as they contemplated sitting back down or heading out.
As the birds circled wider I was pretty certain I was going to get a shot. They were going to be a bit high, but well within gun range. I had not shot the 12 gauge around Lily yet so I decided to fire twice and see how things went. When the birds were in range I fired, and promptly missed. I quickly looked down to my left and no Lily. My heart sank a bit as I worried I had startled her.
Immediately I caught movement to my right. There was Lily with the front part of her body down and her butt up in the air, tail wagging like she had caught something in the grass? She looked ready to pounce so I released her with a “Lily” and she dove into the grass and quickly returned with an empty shell. She was so incredibly proud as she wiggled with excitement. I graciously took the shell and because she was so excited released her again with “Lily” and she swung around and grabbed shell number two. Not exactly what I had in mind for her first double, but I wasn’t going to disappoint the happy little dog.
Needless to say we have a bit of waterfowling work to do with the hopes of her understanding that we’re out there for birds. I relayed the story to a good friend whose comment was that she was just being a “green” dog worried about the environment. Nonetheless the adventure has begun as I transition Lily from the training field to the real world. She is at a crucial point for me to reinforce steadiness. Far and away she is the calmest, most steady dog I’ve ever had but a couple of unrestrained instances like last week and I can see how that would quickly come undone. I’m hoping this is the first of many spring reports with the little white “goose” dog:
I’ve often stated that the prairie grouse are my true love. Deep down the excitement and mystery of these native birds really does something for me. The last couple of years I was their devoted companion, only rarely straying to chase their Asian cousin the pheasant. Yesterday things once again changed in my life. If prairie grouse have become my true love, then yesterday I was reunited with the mistress that I’ll never be able to quit.
For the last two years I had forsaken this first love, in large part due to Emma’s deteriorating condition. I could justify an upland trip without her, but I think it would have killed her to watch me take the duck hunting gear and leave her at home. Most of this season I spent reminiscing about my waterfowling pursuits but had not acted upon them, always figuring “next year.” As the seasons came to a close I decided that I couldn’t wait for the snow geese to return and set the wheels in motion for a hunt that I’d been longing to have since moving to South Dakota.
Much the same as its bigger sibling the Mississippi, the Missouri river, is steeped in tradition and history. One of those traditions is late-season Canada goose hunting, which prior to yesterday I had only dreamed about. There are goose camps galore strung out along the river and a number of guides willing to share their pit with you for a price. The biggest stickler holding me back with such an arrangement was this last bit. I’ll go on record as saying I am staunchly against paying to hunt. I think it could lead to the downfall of hunting in this country as more and more land is taken away from public access. It was with this great internal moral conflict that I booked a day with a guide for a buddy and me. My rationale was that it was the only hunting opportunity in South Dakota, we would be using his gear and access to his land…that’s how I rationalized it but it still didn’t sit well in my heart.
This would be a bit of a reunion hunt for one of my best hunting buddies and me. Many of you who have followed the site from the start probably have noticed that Aaron and Storm had been absent the last couple of years in the blog. While I had shifted from primarily waterfowling to prairie birds, Aaron and Storm continued to chase the migrating birds. After a two-year break from the field we looked to pick up where we had left off.
The trip almost didn’t happen, as a cold-front moved in on Friday night and brought with it snow, drizzle and some strong northwest winds. After hemming and hawing for about a half-hour we decided to chance it. Thankfully about 20 miles west of Sioux Falls the conditions improved dramatically and we assumed we would have smooth sailing. Unfortunately Mother Nature decided to test our resolve once again, and the winds kicked up and we had to drive a significant stretch in on-and-off white conditions. Finally arriving at the motel, we both were beat and retired for the evening.
Most waterfowling adventures begin in the wee hours of the morning; late-season geese on the other hand seemed to be more dignified and like to see the sunrise before starting their day. We met our guide at about 7:30am, and were at the field after nine. We would be meeting other hunters, which was another big potential issue for me, as I have very few hunting partners choosing to share these experiences with the closest of friends. I was more than relieved when the group showed and I recognized some familiar faces. Thankfully the dog world is rather small and filled with good people. The nine of us set about to putting together the spread:
With temps just two degrees above zero we elected to sit in the trucks, waiting to see the first groups lift off the river in the distance. The birds had been flying around 10:30 most of the week, but with the abrupt change to lower temps they took their time stretching their wings, and it was noon when we spotted the first group. Three from the group offered to take the trucks out of the field while the rest of us headed for the layout blinds. As luck would have it, on this first group, Aaron and I were the only ones with calls in the blind. With a three-year layoff from calling I was a little worried whether I’d still have the chops. Aaron is an incredible caller and I happily played second chair to his Concert Master performance. The flock circled once before cupping up and committing to the spread. As those big birds parachuted into the spread I was falling in love all over again with the majesty of waterfowl.
In addition to the waterfowl hunt I was extremely excited to see Storm in action and had the camera gear along to capture this magnificent dog at work. As some of you have probably gathered from recent posts I miss having a retriever around the house. I love the setters and the cocker is growing on me, but with that being said, there is just something about a working retriever. After the first volley Storm was called on to perform his end of the job:
The action was extremely fast-paced as flock after flock appeared on the horizon. I’d alternate between calling, shooting and trying to manage the camera. Storm continued to do his job with enthusiasm and efficiency:
While we had a lot of success there were a number of geese that got away unscathed. Towards the end of the flurry I’d try to snap some pictures of the birds. Had I had a different blind set-up I think I could have managed some good incoming shots, but the last thing I wanted to do was ruin the hunt for the others with my camera glass causing flares. In this shot someone clearly wasn’t on the bird. This low-res copy doesn’t do it justice, but you can see a wad between the two birds and the shot string behind them:
Having the birds stacked up above us, and so readily responding to the calling and spread, completely fanned the waterfowling flame that had been laying dorment inside. I had moved to this great state to waterfowl, and prior to the prairie grouse obsession, I’d waterfowl hunt to the exclusion of all else, only chasing other birds once the duck season had ended. I can’t take back the two-year absence but I can dang well make sure it never happens again:
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how complicated we make life when at the end of the day it should be so, so simple. We’re always striving for bigger, better, faster, stronger, more money and more power. In the end how much of that will ever really matter? In the end the memories of family, friends, passionate pursuits…and a good dog or six will be what leads us through our dark times. Me?…my New Year’s resolution will be to making more memories like these:
For those of you who have followed the site since the beginning, you know that my first outdoor love has always been waterfowling. In fact I moved to this great state for that very reason. Recent visitors to the site may be shocked to hear that, considering most of my time over the last three years has been spent behind the setters chasing prairie birds. That, and I’ve added a nearly pure white cocker to the dog team.
Looking back in my hunting journal, my last real waterfowling entry was September 1, 2006. I realize last year that I chased the spring snows and took Emma out on a couple of pass shooting attempts, but I’m talking true-blue migrating-fall waterfowling. I vividly remember that last day, because we were dodging thunderstorms in an attempt to score on some honkers. It was my first hunt without Emma, and while I thoroughly enjoyed seeing my buddy’s dog Storm shoulder the load, it really took the wind out of my sails not having my hunting partner along. With Emma sidelined, I put my waterfowling love on the shelf. It still stung, but I could leave her at home while I chased prairie birds with the setters…I just don’t think I could have done the same had I left the house with my waterfowling gear.
Over the last two to three years I’ve spent my falls chasing the prairie birds and getting my waterfowling fix in the spring with my camera. I love the prairie birds, and while they may have displaced the ducks at the top of my list of fowling pursuits, I would still feel a longing every time I’d see a circling group of mallards or a string of Canadas on the horizon. Some passions just can’t stay buried forever.
This weekend I’m hoping will mark my return to the ranks of waterfowling. I had alluded to this in the last post about decoy carving, and have been thinking about it endlessly since I’ve made the plans for this weekend. Sleep has been hard to come by the last week, and I’ve been on the edge of my seat watching the weather radar with yet another winter storm in the area. If all goes as planned I should have a pretty exciting blog post for the end of the weekend.
Well the upland hunting season ended with a whimper at the Gundogdoc house. We managed one more hunt after the New Year’s Day adventure, though no birds were harmed in the making of the memories. The weather had continued to go from bad to worse and the deep snow was coated with a layer of ice rain. On our last hunt Belle shined with some stunning points on hens. I had been frustrated with her most of the season, partly due to uncooperative birds, and it was nice to end the year on a positive note. Although we didn’t bag a bird I was just about as happy as I could be for how the last day went. Her last point was on a beautifully colored rooster that I had much too much time to think about prior to the flush and promptly emptied the gun at the departing bird…appropriate for how my season went.
I’m trying to put together at least one Missouri River goose hunt to end the fall season, but that too is proving to be a bit more difficult than I would have thought. That leaves a couple of cold, empty months before the snow geese start their journey back north. As I am oft to do it got me thinking about new “stuff” to occupy my time. One hobby that I’ve collected various pieces to, but never fully taken the plunge into, has been decoy carving. Well, I think this winter is going to be the year that I make that leap.
Last night I dug a couple of Rubbermaid containers out from storage and went through the various projects in various states of completion. There are some burlap-over-foam canvasbacks that have moved with us every move starting back to vet school. Ironically the little white devil is behind the motivation to tackle this new project. My first duck hunt with Emma was out of a boat I built, and we managed a limit of Canadas and a couple of ducks. That boat has made the same number of moves as the decoys, but now sits incapacitated under our deck suffering the ravages of wood rot.
My goal this fall is that on Lily’s first duck hunt we’ll be hunting over at least one original decoy. Ideally it would be a small spread of home-carved birds, but that may be a little too ambitious. So, why you might ask am I posting this? Well, as motivation, I’m hoping by making this public declaration I’ll hold myself to seeing the project through. If any of the site visitors are carvers and would like to offer any tips, tricks or suggestions, please drop me an email. Otherwise we’ll have to wait and see if this little plan comes to fruition in the fall.
Yesterday found me sticking pretty close to home. I had two hospitalized patients, one of which was in really rough shape at our local Emergency Hospital. After my morning rounds, I did find a couple of hours mid-day to sneak the dogs out for our traditional New Year’s Day hunt. I decided to head to an area I had not hunted this year in hopes of finding less pressure than in some of the areas I had been hitting recently.
I found what I was looking for on the pressure front, but I think it was because I found an area that had been pounded by snow. Lily continues to amaze me, and though she has no idea yet what we are doing, when she does quarter, the cover and snow don’t seem to slow this little pup down:
I’m still only carrying the blank pistol with her, and the snow cover and birds in the cattails have made for a less than ideal introduction to birds. We still have fun though, and I am increasingly excited about her intelligence and progression in the field.
Belle was up next, and she was raring to go. We managed two hens, but the roosters avoided us. I hate hunting the setters in the cattails, and so we could only manage the thick edges and I’m sure the wise, late-season birds just scooted further in to their burrows as we passed by. Maggie has been making these little excursions with us, but up to this point it has been as an observer. Yesterday I decided to run her very briefly to see how the leg responded. The deep, crusted snow was a less than ideal “recovery” exercise but she did have fun for the brief 10-15 minutes she was on the ground, and I’m happy to report there was very minimal limping afterwards.
To continue with the theme of my last post, not only am I a dogaholic, I’m also a bit of a nerd. Lining our downstairs are 8×10 pictures of the dogs. I take one in-the-field picture of each dog, and print and frame it, to serve as a pictorial walk down memory lane. In addition I take one group shot of the dogs that serves as the separation at the yearly breaks. Since this was the first time this season all three dogs had a spin in the field, here will be this season’s shot:
You try to get three dogs all to look at the camera at the same time. Maggie hadn’t run by this point so I think she was still a little disgusted with me.
I was scheduled to work a half day on Saturday, and our office Christmas party was in the evening. That meant I had a very narrow window to try to get out to chase some roosters. On top of that, the forecast for Sunday was negative temps, snow and howling winds. Needless to say if I was going to hunt this weekend, Saturday was going to be the day.
One of the fortunate parts of my job is that I get to meet a variety of people with the common interests of hunting and good dogs. Over the last couple of years I’ve gotten to be good friends with one client in particular, who happens to have two dynamic little Pointers. We shared one bitterly-cold, late-season hunt last year, and other than that our paths hadn’t had a chance to cross in the field, because I spend most of my time chasing prairie birds while he chases pheasants. As luck would have it, Saturday afternoon worked for both of us. We loaded up the dogs and headed for an area close to town.
I love the breeds of dogs I’ve chosen…obviously; however, there is just something about a pointer that screams bird dog:
When we arrived at our chosen location, the cover was shoulder to head high. As most of you know, I primarily hunt prairie birds, and one might say that I have injury-prone dogs. So I elected to let Belle sit the field out while we ran Ryan’s pointers, both of which were seasoned, thick-cover pheasant dogs.
We proceeded through the switch grass jungle, and I would never have expected, with a blizzard set to arrive in hours, that I’d overheat in just my sweatshirt. The day was almost too perfect, and with my eternal thoughts of negativeness I figured that meant we’d go birdless. Those thoughts quickly vanished when Daisy’s beeper went off. I had the audio cue; however, it took me a while to find the little pointer in the thick cover. She held pat while I made my way in front of her to flush the first rooster of the day. Thankfully my shooting woes of this fall did not continue, though I was grateful for having the auto and not the over-under, and I broke the ice with the first rooster of the day, which Copper made a beautiful retrieve on.
The action wasn’t hot and heavy, but it was nearly perfect with the dogs going on point every couple hundred yards on a variety of hens and roosters. Somehow Daisy managed to produce most of the successful rooster points, and by the end of the field we were one short of our limit thanks to the little female:
With the sun rapidly setting and a Christmas party to get to, we decided to give Lily one chance at producing our limit bird. We turned the power weasel loose in a low spot with high hopes of the pup coming up with one lonely rooster. Unfortunately though we weren’t meant to end the day in storybook fashion, no fault of the pup.
Counting our blessings for the day we loaded up the trucks, and I headed for a quick shower before speeding to the Christmas party. As I type this the wind is gusting near 30 mph and the windchill is -30…here’s to hoping the season isn’t completely over.
Thanksgiving week for the last couple of years has meant an extended hunting trip for Dad and me. With Maggie’s situation and more precipitation in the forecast, it was looking like we may have to cancel or reschedule this year’s trip. Knowing that we weren’t going to get Maggie’s results until Tuesday, I decided that if Maggie was doing ok we’d still take off for the trip with Belle shouldering the load.
Saturday night it was looking like the crew at home would be fine…except for Lily. I just couldn’t feel good about leaving the little devil at home terrorizing Maggie and Chrissy while they tried to keep Maggie quiet. So after all the gear was loaded in the truck, we put the small kennel in the back and decided to take the little cocker on her first big hunting trip.
Sunday we awoke to snow and icy roads, which meant we got a late start. When we arrived out West the roads were muddy gumbo, and it was looking like Mother Nature was going to have a hand in the hunt once again. We decided to make the best of it and hit a pheasant spot with Belle, as the grouse covers were going to be tough to access. The plan with Lily was not to hunt over her, but rather take her out on training sessions and runs when Belle needed a rest. Since we got a late start that first day she only got one run and had plenty of energy in the motel that night. When her favorite activity was jumping between the motel beds, I was worried this may have been a mistake:
The next couple of days were a different story, and she quickly became part of the hunting team. I’m still doing all my training sans collar but did run her in the field with the Astro…just in case. How can something this cute be so, so naughty:
The first couple of outings went very well, and I decided that I’d have Dad start firing the blank pistol when I’d give her retrieves and we eventually graduated to the shotgun. Do you think she was having fun:
She even undertook important tasks like learning to drink out of the water bottle:
By the third day of the trip we were firing on all cylinders. We had found a small pheasant hot spot where we had ended the previous couple of days with some success. Belle was struggling a bit with uncooperative grouse but she was smoking hot on the pheasants. During the course of the field Dad had dropped a double. Belle was in thick cover over by me. Unfortunately the greatest downfall I have found with these setters is that they are not super enthused about hunting dead. We covered the area for about 30 minutes looking for the downed pair with no success. We marked the area in the cover and continued to hunt with a plan to come back later.
We finished out the field and headed back to the truck and drove closer to the spot of the downed birds. It was just after sunset and the light was fading fast. I decided I’d get the little dog out along with Belle “just in case.” We again scoured the area to no avail. I decided to head to the adjacent ditch and make one more swing up it with Lily. About midway up a truck came screaming over the hill and I called Belle in to grab her by the collar. Just as the truck past and I released the dogs Lily went straight in the ditch and bounced on a bundle of grass. To my udder shock and amazement the first wounded rooster was recovered. Dad happened to have his camera on him and wanted a picture of the event. As we made our way to a spot to take the picture the little dog ran up the ditch and bounced again recovering the second rooster. Two birds that we thought had been lost were suddenly discovered by this little white wonder. I love this picture because if you look close the bird is longer than the dog:
A trip that was looking like the previous three, with poor weather, had certainly turned into an amazing adventure. The next day the roads had dried some and we were finally able to give the grouse a legitimate attempt. I’d like to tell you how Belle handled the birds superbly and the trip was a success. This wasn’t the case with these late season birds. They were continually running and jumping on the little setter and the dog that was nailing roosters less than 12 hours previous was not looking like she hadn’t ever seen a game bird. I managed to scratch down my birds, but they weren’t over flawless dog work, which was a little disappointing in an otherwise memorable trip:
All-in-all a memorable trip in a year that had been filled with frustration and heartache up to this point. My Dad made a profound observation during the trip that really gave me pause. By most people’s accounts I’m a relatively young guy; however, here I was on a trip with essentially my second generation of hunting dogs. It seems just like yesterday when I had traveled to Missouri to pick up Emma or Green Bay for Maggie, and here I was in one of my favorite places on earth to share with my dogs without either of those girls. It really drove home the point that time waits for no one. Thankfully it looks like Maggie will once again be up for future adventures, and while nothing will replace the memories of the adventures we’ve had in the past…I think this second generation of bird dogs have already started to write their own chapters in my heart:
This season has been one bad dream. I live my entire year for fall, and I’ve yet to have anything go right. Wednesday I attempted to get out to salvage the vacation that was ruined by the blizzard that hit South Dakota. After getting some office work done in the morning I loaded the three dogs up in the truck and headed for some public shooting areas.
Lily was on the ground first and is really coming along with her work in the field. I’m still not doing anything more than taking her for walks, working on obedience and laying the groundwork for retrieving. With that being said, she is a blast in the field nonetheless. Next up was Belle. There was still a fair amount of snow on the ground, and it was in the process of melting quickly. I was soaked after running Lily and figured we would just be going on a walk, because I suspected the pheasants would want no part of the melting snow. Almost immediately Belle went on point and up popped a tight sitting rooster that I managed to connect on. Next up was a hen point and a second rooster that sat so tight I kicked the cover multiple times before finally stepping on the bird. Belle had done her part, but the close-sitting bird had managed to scare me, and I promptly whiffed on three quick shots. We continued with two more stellar points on hens. Belle had been somewhat iffy all season and her performance was nearly perfect and her intensity on point had returned.
It was getting late in the day and I needed to get back to town to take my beautiful bride out for her birthday. Not wanting Maggie to be left out I took her out for a quick 15 minute run down a fence line and back. When I got back to the truck from running Belle a friend was in the parking lot and walked with me as Maggie burned off some pent up energy. I lamented on how good of bird dog she was but was just a walking accident due to only having one speed while working. Back at the truck all seemed fine after a quick once over and we headed for home.
At home I went to let the dogs out of the truck only to find Maggie not using a back leg. Initially I wasn’t too concerned, as the crusty snow had dinged up their feet and I figured it was a momentary irritation. I went about unloading the truck prior to letting them in the house. She was still carrying the back leg so I decided to have a closer look. I nearly threw up when I felt her calf: it was huge, rock hard and painful. All of these can be symptoms of a ruptured Achilles, but with her history I was also worried about some type of weird tumor that had been traumatized during the run. I would have only been thinking injury; however, she was completely normal at the truck and it was whatever happened during the ride home that resulted in the lameness. We canceled our dinner plans, started icing the leg and hoped for the best.
We awoke the next morning to a leg that was about three times normal size. I took her into the clinic for x-rays, which only showed the swelling and was quickly on the phone with one of the best veterinarians I know, thankfully still practicing at my alma mater, Iowa State. After a quick rearranging of the clinic schedule I loaded up an overnight bag and headed for Iowa State.
After being examined by internal medicine specialists, surgeons and radiologist, an injury was highest on the list, but with the oddity of the swelling (none of them had seen anything like it) cancer was also on that list. On ultrasound there was a defined area within the swelling and I was going to have to wait overnight for the results of the aspirate. That night in the motel room I took some pictures of the affected leg:
The next day we returned to the hospital and the news was not good. The samples taken from the swelling within the muscle showed cells that were highly suggestive of cancer. This wasn’t a guarantee of cancer, but it suddenly rose to the top of the list of possibilities. I couldn’t have been more devastated. Even though it was the very reason I made the trip, I had hoped it was just an overreaction on my part. The rest of the day was spent doing more ultrasounds and x-rays of Maggie, looking for any sign of cancer in her body. Thankfully everything kept coming back clear.
The surgeons took another look at her to determine whether they could go in and take a look for an exploration of the abnormality. It was determined that the best course would be to wait through the weekend and hope some of the swelling and hemorrhage in the leg resolved. Late in the day on Friday we pointed the car back home and drove the five-hour drive in rain, sleet, snow and wind.
We have spent this weekend icing Maggie’s leg and giving her a cocktail of medications to help with pain, discomfort and swelling. I’m very happy to report that she appears to be responding well to the treatment, and while it doesn’t necessarily help with the diagnosis we’re at least going in the right direction. For comparison here are some pictures from today:
and
and one from the inside:
We’re heading back bright and early in the morning for a follow-up ultrasound, followed by a surgery to explore the site, if the suspicious mass is still present. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers over the next couple of days. This little dog has been nothing but trouble since day one, but at the end of the day she is a one-of-a-kind and we love her. I’ve never in my life wished so much that a dog had a terrible muscle injury, but in this case it would make me a very, very happy guy.
I’ll keep you posted.
Monday morning dawned with the sliver still embedded in Belle’s eye. I had purchased some new equipment, borrowed some magnification and tried like heck to get the little piece out Friday and Saturday, but it just was too small. I set the alarm for four in the morning and loaded Belle up and we headed to Omaha to visit Dr. Tonya McIlnay at Veterinary Eye Specialists of Nebraska. I had spoken with Dr. McIlnay via phone a couple of times over the last year, but this was going to be my first visit to her facility.
Veterinary ophthalmologists are few and far between in the Midwest, and I’m happy to report that we have a great one in Dr. McIlnay in this part of the country. Prior to her recent arrival in Omaha our closest options were Ames, Iowa, and Minneapolis, Minnesota. Unfortunately it is one of the few veterinary specialties that is a necessity for many dog owners. It is important on two fronts: one, because the eyes are such fragile organs and for anything beyond the basics a boarded specialist is needed, and two, because in order to get a CERF performed on a breeding dog the exam has to be performed by an board-certified ophthalmologist.
Thankfully for Belle the appointment was a quick one. I had planned on spending most of the day in Omaha, as I was certain they would end up having to put her under and they were working me in on an already busy Monday. With me holding, Belle cooperating, and Dr. McIlnay’s steady hands, we attempted to address the issue in the exam room. The initial attempts were unsuccessful, as the plant piece was incredibly small. Dr. McIlnay had one more trick to try prior to going the surgical route, which involved physically grabbing Belle’s eyeball with an instrument in order to better manipulate the foreign body. It’s times like this that I’m thankful for well-behaved dogs, as Belle was a trooper and Dr. McIlnay was able to remove the offending piece. After arriving home it became obvious how much discomfort Belle had been in, because she immediately returned to eating with veracity and her winning personality returned.
I can’t thank Dr. McIlnay enough for her help and I have to strongly recommend her to any of you who are in this part of the country. For more information you can visit their website at: Veterinary Eye Specialists of Nebraska.
Belle and Dr. McIllnay after the offending piece of plant had been removed:
I’m happy to report that it would appear that everyone is back to full-strength. Maggie has been getting around well and shown no further symptoms of her back issues. I’m still in the boot but my foot is actually beginning to feel better, and Belle no longer has a stick in her eye. Of course as I type this the wind is howling and the snow is coming down hard with the season’s first blizzard. But hey, at least the dogs are healthy.
So far this season has been a disaster. I should just be thankful that I’m able to get out, but with the calamity that has resulted I’ve been anything but thrilled to this point. I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but if it weren’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have any luck at all.
Last weekend Dad and I managed to sneak away for a multi-day hunt. The first day of the trip we were treated to winds over 60 MPH. Yes that was SIX ZERO miles per hour. While hunting the first spot of the day Dad had a rooster flush in front of him, and at less than 30 yards I could not hear the discharge of the gun. As we neared the truck we both agreed nothing good could come of hunting in these conditions. All was not lost though, as the small stock dams had a good amount of waterfowl on them, and although we didn’t have a retriever along, the wind would help us on that front. I managed a successful sneak on a group before breaking for lunch for the day.
The next day dawned nearly perfect and we decided to hunt hard to make up for the previous day, most of which was spent napping in the truck. The dogs, I thought, were in fine form:
Maggie had other plans, managing to rough up both front legs (between the feet and wrists) at the first spot we hunted. At the second spot I went through a panic situation that I hadn’t had to endure for a number of years. Maggie stumbled up to me with a bug-eyed look and clearly couldn’t see well. Her gait became very herky-jerky and I knew she was in trouble. The day was very cool and I had been using an in-the-field supplement to prevent this type of problem. For the last three or four years she hasn’t had any issues like this, and I thought they were well behind us. I immediately grabbed the first-aid kit to get the dog some sugar (in the form of dextrose), as I was certain she was experiencing hypoglycemia (low blood sugar). We alternated carrying her out of the field and the little dog was done for the day.
With Maggie on the bench we asked Belle to shoulder most of the load. By the end of the day she was tapped. As luck would have it we ran in to a friend of mine who I had been trying to hunt with for the previous few years. The timing had never worked out before, but fate intervened, and we ended up arriving at the same area late in the afternoon. The birds were less than cooperative, and during the last field I left the gun in the truck and followed with the camera. My friend’s GSP Annie was a joy to watch in the field and put on a show on a couple of pheasants:
The next day was even more beautiful than the first, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing from a hunting perspective. We did manage a couple of birds prior to heading home and both dogs hunted like a million bucks. My wife had tickets to a dinner event where Tom Brokaw was the keynote speaker, and my presence was strongly suggested, so we cut the trip short and returned home.
I awoke Wednesday to an all too familiar squint from Belle. I examined her eye closely and didn’t see anything immediately obvious. Even after staining her eye, I noticed only a few minor scrapes along the top part of her eye but nothing concerning. Later in the day I brought home the head loop from the clinic for a magnified view only to find an extremely small sliver embedded in her eye. The small plant piece was less than the diameter of a piece of hair and about 1mm long. I couldn’t believe it. Here we were heading into the month of November, looking to make up for lost time, and I was looking at Maggie with two raw legs and blood sugar issues, Belle with another corneal foreign body and me with a stress fracture of my left foot. This fall wasn’t exactly turning out the way I had hoped with all three members of the team trying to play injured.
I made several attempts to remove the object from Belle’s eye, but in the end I couldn’t find an instrument fine enough or magnification strong enough to get it done. In the morning we will be pointing the car south as we head to Omaha for a visit to an ophthalmologist. I’m really hoping it turns around from here.
Stay tuned for Belle’s latest adventure. I love these setters but it is getting to be a little like hunting with glass figurines.