December 22, 2007, was a great day. Pfc. Derek W. Austin, U.S. Army, my 18 year old nephew, was visiting Pennsylvania before he deployed to Taji,
Iraq on January 10. Over my reloading bench, I have hung photos of Derek and his older brother as boys holding .22 rifles during trips to a plinking
range. The Army has continued his marksmanship on stationary rifle targets, but Derek had never hunted birds before, so we had visited a skeet
range the day before. After one chilly, windy session, Derek was scoring outgoing clays well, and improving on crossers.
Iraq on January 10. Over my reloading bench, I have hung photos of Derek and his older brother as boys holding .22 rifles during trips to a plinking
range. The Army has continued his marksmanship on stationary rifle targets, but Derek had never hunted birds before, so we had visited a skeet
range the day before. After one chilly, windy session, Derek was scoring outgoing clays well, and improving on crossers.
Dang Yankee Boykin Spaniel Club
A Brown Dog Send Off
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Derek, a Florida native, had flown up from Fort Hood, Texas, so he was not ready for
what he called cold, but we locals thought was a nice break in the weather. After he
layered warm clothes under borrowed hunting gear, we set off with my Boykin
Spaniel, Ranger, to a scheduled hunt for forty Bob White quail at the Alpine Club, a
licensed preserve near Pittsburgh. There we met Josh, my over-sized nephew
through my other sister, plus his buddy Brad, and Timber, Brad’s huge Chocolate
Lab.
The big Lab was just recovering from Lyme Disease, so Ranger did most of the gun
dog work that day. One episode was especially memorable. It started with a single
flush after Ranger had circled a tuft of thick cover to cut off escape for the quail. That
maneuver was impressive, but there was more. After the flushed quail had been
dropped cleanly by Derek, while Josh was being uncharacteristically exuberant in
praise of work by Ranger before the flush, and I was proudly watching my dog trot
back with the bird in his mouth, Ranger caught scent of a live bird. As we all
watched, Ranger crisply turned to the scent, paused, and just before he pounced,
dropped the dead bird at the edge of the cover. In the melee that followed, Ranger
found and retrieved the second downed bird to my hand, while someone picked up
the first. Barely a year old, the little brown dog put on a good show.
what he called cold, but we locals thought was a nice break in the weather. After he
layered warm clothes under borrowed hunting gear, we set off with my Boykin
Spaniel, Ranger, to a scheduled hunt for forty Bob White quail at the Alpine Club, a
licensed preserve near Pittsburgh. There we met Josh, my over-sized nephew
through my other sister, plus his buddy Brad, and Timber, Brad’s huge Chocolate
Lab.
The big Lab was just recovering from Lyme Disease, so Ranger did most of the gun
dog work that day. One episode was especially memorable. It started with a single
flush after Ranger had circled a tuft of thick cover to cut off escape for the quail. That
maneuver was impressive, but there was more. After the flushed quail had been
dropped cleanly by Derek, while Josh was being uncharacteristically exuberant in
praise of work by Ranger before the flush, and I was proudly watching my dog trot
back with the bird in his mouth, Ranger caught scent of a live bird. As we all
watched, Ranger crisply turned to the scent, paused, and just before he pounced,
dropped the dead bird at the edge of the cover. In the melee that followed, Ranger
found and retrieved the second downed bird to my hand, while someone picked up
the first. Barely a year old, the little brown dog put on a good show.
We had a great day afield, Ranger retrieved most of the released quail and we even chased some ‘hold over’ pheasants. Probably due to the large
number of birds to be retrieved, and the lavish praise for doing so, his retrieves improved that day into robust returns to my hand. I also have to credit
Brad for stomping his feet behind Ranger once, early in the hunt, which prompted Ranger to start running the birds back to me. The Boykin did me
proud all day long and, as Derek’s kid brother says, “This dog won’t quit.” Even when Brad took a picture of Ranger standing over the three dozen
retrieved quail splayed on my tailgate, flanked by my nephews and me, the little Boykin only wanted to keep hunting.
I am especially grateful that my Godson and nephew, Derek, enjoyed a great bird hunt, his first bird hunt, before he deployed to Iraq for his 15 month
tour of duty. By the end of the day, Derek had several single shot, solo birds to his credit, and he can rightly claim to be a wing shooter and bird
hunter. But best of all, late in the day, while we two walked together towards a patch of sorghum in search of some more birds, Derek told me that
just being there and watching the dogs work was his favorite part. I am proud that Derek so quickly realized that bird hunting is about much more
than hitting a feathered target. I pray that he will return soon and often to hunt with Ranger and me. Better still, Ranger and I will be glad to meet
Derek in Florida, or Texas, or wherever he wants to hunt birds when he comes home. Godspeed, Derek.
number of birds to be retrieved, and the lavish praise for doing so, his retrieves improved that day into robust returns to my hand. I also have to credit
Brad for stomping his feet behind Ranger once, early in the hunt, which prompted Ranger to start running the birds back to me. The Boykin did me
proud all day long and, as Derek’s kid brother says, “This dog won’t quit.” Even when Brad took a picture of Ranger standing over the three dozen
retrieved quail splayed on my tailgate, flanked by my nephews and me, the little Boykin only wanted to keep hunting.
I am especially grateful that my Godson and nephew, Derek, enjoyed a great bird hunt, his first bird hunt, before he deployed to Iraq for his 15 month
tour of duty. By the end of the day, Derek had several single shot, solo birds to his credit, and he can rightly claim to be a wing shooter and bird
hunter. But best of all, late in the day, while we two walked together towards a patch of sorghum in search of some more birds, Derek told me that
just being there and watching the dogs work was his favorite part. I am proud that Derek so quickly realized that bird hunting is about much more
than hitting a feathered target. I pray that he will return soon and often to hunt with Ranger and me. Better still, Ranger and I will be glad to meet
Derek in Florida, or Texas, or wherever he wants to hunt birds when he comes home. Godspeed, Derek.