A Rebirth

I begin my annual rebirth in August. As the last of my client’s training dogs goes home and the start of bird hunting season arrives, the process evolves. It always happens to me at some point while I’m doing my chores. I relax my muscles from the continuous tension they have felt over the last five months of training bird dogs. But more importantly my mind starts to clear. I also begin to think about where I am this year as compared to last.

“OK”, I say to myself, “here I am once again. Have I done the things this year I promised myself I would from last summer? Did I improve in my training abilities? Did I have any break-through dogs; lost souls who I helped find their way?” These and many other questions fill my mind, begging for answers I haven’t had time to consider ‘til now. The first stage of rebirth is reflection. You have to know where you have been before you can see where you are going. To my way of thinking a rebirth is a renewal of both the soul and the body.

So into August I go, catching up on painting the fence, or putting in the new lawn area around the kennels, things of this sort. As these chores unfold I begin to look around and really observe, not just look. Now the rebirth is in full swing but has not reached its apex until the first of September.

I experience two opening days as the bird hunting season begins. The first opener is with my wife. She will usually take a day off from work and we’ll pack up a couple of our older dogs and go to a nearby field. Nothing fancy, just the two of us with our favorite dogs. Our hunt will last no more than a couple hours at most. The limiting factors this time of year are two; the heat of the day and our physical condition. Usually it becomes too hot to hunt by 10 a.m. and we are tired by then as well.

Enjoying the hunt is a vital part of the rebirth. To rejuvenate the soul, to move in harmony with nature, we have to let nature surround us with its parameters and accept them. If Joy and I were to set out to ‘get a limit of birds’ we would by necessity have to stretch these limits. This in turn puts an entirely different complexion on the hunt. Hunting then becomes a chore, a challenge, it takes on goals which one becomes compelled to achieve. It perverts the hunting experience.

Joy and I rarely talk during the hunt itself. The only conversation we may engage in has to do with seeing a covey of birds, or some tactical aspect involving teamwork on approaching a particular piece of cover. On this opener, Joy and I revisit our love for each other. Without words we come to remind ourselves of why we are still together after 35 years of marriage. This particular hunt isn’t about shooting birds. Birds are merely a reason to walk the fields, to smell the grasses, to feel the sun. This first hunt for Joy and I is a communal rebirth, another small part of the overall process I experience each fall.

My second opener usually arrives three or four days into the bird season. I don’t know exactly when it will come except it always happens during the first week. During this week I know I will go hunting with one particular dog, just the two of us. It’s important to me that the dog be the oldest one I have, it’s part of the ritual.

When the day is right I grab the dog and head out. I know the hunt will be a short one. The two of us will venture forth with the bare essentials. I’ll have to carry water, more for the dog than myself but appreciated by both. Other than that, I pocket only a few shotgun shells. I’ll wear my lightest hunting vest, most likely a short sleeve shirt and a pair of old, trusted blue-jeans.

Once in the field, quiet is the order of the day. The advantage of taking the oldest dog is an instant recognition by that dog of what is to come. The exactness of the dog work is not a consideration at this time. It is of little consequence with older dogs. They are going to do what they are going to do and should be allowed a great deal of latitude in how they choose to go about their work. So, the whistle stays in the pocket and voice commands are kept to an absolute minimum.

The dog hits point, the bird is flushed and the gun discharged. The cycle is complete, the rebirth in place. This cycle of life flashes before my eyes. I capsulate where I have been; where I am; and to a degree where I am headed. The picture is crystal clear, the understanding unquestioned. Everything I have done throughout the year, all the experiences I have compiled over the last 12 months, every disappointment or elation I have had all come into focus in an instant and pass not before my eyes but rather before my soul.

The hunt is short as again the heat of day begins to make its play. As we head back to the truck the dog usually senses the end of the hunt even though we are a good 10-minute walk from the vehicle. Older dogs will come in at a quazi heel on their own accord. They know not only when the hunt is done, but more importantly when the experience is concluded. There is a difference.

The last element of this rebirth is to have the harvest of the day for the evening meal. This completes the appreciation of the life cycle and the rebirth. I’ll not feel as I do at that moment for a year hence, and I know that each of these annual rebirths may be my last. One of these times there will be no rebirth, there will only be a closing hunt.

Christopher Eckhoff has been training bird dogs for over 30 years in Richland County. He has a book available titled “Following the Scent”. This book can be purchased online, directly at Upland Kennel, Crane, or the Yellowstone Marketplace, Sidney.