Unfortunately, my quail hunting heyday was pre digital age. I took plenty of pictures of my adventures. My old buddy and I were seriously disappointed if we didnt kill 100 birds each, over points every quail season. I still have a Brittany, but she is a princess. She cannot compare to my best dog.
He was truly phenomenal. He loved to hunt. He was a wild bird machine, that apparently hated quail. The year he was a pup. He thought his purpose in life was to make quail fly. He was lucky my hunting buddy didnt murder him.
I married my high school sweetheart and she is still the most beautiful woman I know. Apparently Ol Jake thought so too because he would jump up and drag her clothes off of the clothesline. He had an uncontrollable urge to hump her clothes. She worked at the bank in town and was required to dress nice. Jake had a 'thing' for her dress pants and skirts. They were often found wadded up in the dog house, where he was doing 'who knows what' to them.
If there was something dead, he would find it, roll in it, and eat it.
If there was poop, he would find it and roll in it, and eat it.
He chewed up a brand new denim work shirt of mine that ups had left on the porch.
He never spent a night in the kennel. He roamed loose his entire life. When he was a pup(3 years) he tore holes in my boys tshirts and shorts until their clothes had to be thrown away.
My wife bought a chocolate lab in order to raise some registered pups to sell. As soon as the lab came into heat, we locked ol jake in the shop. ....of course he jumped up on a workbenches, broke the window, tore through the screen.....and we had a litter of ½lab, ½brittany pups.....13 of em.
He didnt like tame birds. He wouldn't really point them. He would just sort of stop, and look at me. Fortunately he was broke to back on command. I would shout 'back', and he would lock up. We won shoot to retrieve trials and fun trials all over three counties. He was a covey dog, a singles dog and a dead bird dog. He would even retrieve doves.
Everyone is entitled to one good dog. He was mine.
When he got old, he liked to lay in the shade under my work truck. One warm fourth of July, he didnt hear my truck start and I backed over him. I had to run to the back door where I keep my single six to put him down. After all these years, I still get choked up thinking about that day. His magnificent life overshadows his unfortunate death.
Here is a picture of a picture of Jake.
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If he looks rotten, it's because he was.
That's my GSP Wyatt. He's a bit older now and we moved to South Carolina, so he hunts the occasional lizard.
Arty, my female black mouth cur. She’s still a hunting dog if the hunt begins after the shot, right? This was her first blood track after training on blood trails I made. She nailed it.
Avatar, She has never failed to find a fallen bird.
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Another pic of Buck and me on the left with my sisters husband and a female litter mate on the right after an Iowa hunt for wild birds.
