Between hunting seasons, I have time to catch up on all the tasks that come from hunting hard. I pass my time stitching my vests and shooting shirts; cleaning my e-collars, bells and beepers; reloading shells and shooting some sporting clays; and patching and waxing jackets. Truth be told, I’d rather be wearing out my chaps than rewaxing them, but it’s part of the process and that process gives me time to think. I think about days in the woods, about my family and friends, and about my dogs, living and deceased. I’m sure you do the same.
I pulled out some ragged chaps and started to stitch. I thought of my dogs, and my memories of them were both flagging and staunch. When I was a kid, I had inbred Irish setters that looked great but were impossible to train and handle. If you were to combine their weakened genetics with my inexperience as a dog handler, you’d quickly realize that mine was an exercise in futility. Over time, my quest for a great bird dog moved me to change over to English setters. I also learned from my mistakes…