This week Cameron the Weimaraner reminisces the trials and errors of his first bird hunt as a young pup pointing pheasants in the field.
I can barely remember back when I was young and just a pup, but I rode in a truck and the door opened and Mike, my hunting partner and bird hunt organizer, picked me up and placed me on the ground. Then we were off. Oh, I noticed he was carrying a shotgun, alias a “Thunder Stick.”
After a walk in some grass and weeds—it hit me. I smelled a pleasant smell that I had been sniffing on training aids the past few months. This time the smell was more exciting. I had to investigate. As I crept close to the source, in the grass I spotted feathers and a long tail. Eureka! It was a pheasant. I had to get Mike’s attention since he had the gun. I figured if I raised my front paw he would see me, think I was injured and come over—or something like that. So I did and here he came.
Funny thing is he didn’t check on my raised paw, but crept past and the pheasant exploded out of the grass. Mike shot and the bird fell. When I ran over, I grabbed it. OK, Mike shot this one so he could have it and I carried it back to him. Wow, the praise and treats then flowed like honey from a beehive. I was happy.
Several times that day the same scenario: I’d smell a bird, give the injured paw uplift, then Mike would sneak past and the bird would try to fly away. OK. A couple of times those birds did fly away and I heard new words—Mike was cursing because he missed. Yikes.
Anyway, I have learned to like this game of searching for birds. I get in a lot of road trips, see new areas, find new smells, and then when I find a bird and Mike shoots his shotgun correctly, the bird falls and I find it and retrieve it. Then the treats follow—and that makes me happy. Birds equal treats. That’s why I like birds.
– Cameron the Weim
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