Every Dog is OK

Calhoun hunts. Just in case you didn't know. I am learning about hunting, but mostly I am a suburban kid, without skills or instinct, who has found herself simply trying to keep up with the vocabulary and what is in season this week.

While I can't spot a deer trail or identify bird tracks, I know - when Calhoun comes back during the daylight, only two hours after leaving for hunting, and is white as a ghost when he gets out of the car - I have the instinct to know that something is wrong.

The word I added to my vocabulary today: "snare"

"Vasa was caught in a snare."

I knew Vasa was OK because Calhoun was at the house, not the veterinarian's office. I knew Vasa was OK because there wasn't blood on Calhoun's jacket. I knew that Vasa was OK because Calhoun was walking, not crying.

Vasa is fine. 

When Calhoun was finally ready to tell me what happened Vasa was banging around the kitchen, whacking his pointer tail against the cabinets and getting pets.  Calhoun threw the snare on the table and told me he couldn't figure out how to get it off right away, but that Vasa knew Calhoun was trying to help him.

Vasa held still. 

Vasa did not struggle. 

Vasa did not pull the metal snare tighter around his neck. 

Vasa held still.

Vasa was wearing two collars - that probably stopped the snares from pulling tighter around his neck.

Vasa was only a little over 200 yards away.

Vasa held still.

Vasa was scared.

Vasa laid for minutes in the snow after Calhoun freed him.

Vasa does not have a broken neck.

Vasa held still.

Thank God it wasn't Sogn. Thank God it was not the skijoring dog, who pulls on leashes and restraints like it is his job. In the time it took Calhoun to get to Vasa, Sogn would have killed himself.

Thank God it was Vasa.

Vasa is fine.

There was no more hunting today.

Vasa is fine.

Every dog is OK.

...until he is not.

Red Lake Falls

The past few weeks have felt very busy - it's a lot of work to settle in to a new house!

We've been in the new place, here in RLF, for about three weeks. It's amazing how fast a new place can feel like home. I can't overstate how wonderful it is to have our couch out of storage, our books on the shelf and our dogs sleeping on the carpet in our own house.

Today, Calhoun took Vasa for a mid-afternoon grocery trip (hunting then a stop at the local grocery store) and Sogn and I went for a walk. RLF has a bike-path that goes through town so we went for a stroll to check out the neighborhood.

Sogn, not afraid of the bridge

It was sunny and beautiful and even though Sogn has been a country dog for a long time now and hasn't been on very many leash-walks lately he did a great job. He even posed (kinda) for a picture! RLF is a cool town, it is a little east and north of the flat flat plains of the Lake Agassiz/Red River Valley and sits high above the bank of the Red Lake River. What that means is that this small town, in northwest Minnesota, does not flood and isn't flat. It makes for some pretty cool views from old train bridges.

Our walk this afternoon was also one of the only times in the past few weeks that Sogn has been without his new companion, Vasa. Mostly they are getting along pretty well. As well as any two creatures can who are incredibly curious about one another and what each other is doing and simultaneously very apprehensive of the other. It's kinda cute but I do think that Sogn sometimes misses his alone time. So, we had quality time together this afternoon and each of them did very well without the other.

When Calhoun and Vasa came home they had groceries and a sharp-tail grouse. Sharp-tail grouse are pretty unique to this corner of northwest Minnesota and we haven't eaten much of it in the past. So, Calhoun took to his favorite game cooking blog, Hunter Angler Gardener Cook, and found an incredible recipe for Maple Bourbon Sauce. Calhoun was also inspired by some recipes he saw on Upland Journal that called for a "trencher" - a piece of fried bread that is used to soak up sauces and juices from your meal.

Luckily, we had a loaf of Calhoun's homemade peasant wheat bread to use as the base of our meal. He fried that up, topped it with caramelized onions and fried bacon, rare slices of sharp-tail and topped it with the Maple Bourbon Sauce. It was incredible and has made us more excited about eating sharp-tail and the recipes we will get to try as the season goes on.

dinner, a la Calhoun

All in all it has been a great weekend here in RLF, we really are feeling like this place is home and we enjoyed this beautiful, sunny Sunday.

Introducing Vasa!

A few weeks ago, when we were feeling really down about living in the basement and still not having a house of our own, we rebelled by doing something really irresponsible.

We bought a second dog. 

We've been talking about getting a second dog for a long time. I love dogs and Calhoun loves dogs and loves to hunt. We got Sogn after years of discussion, persuasion, and careful planning. It was a great decision, Sogn is an absolute joy and we love having him around every day. It wasn't so long after getting him that Calhoun figured out that, as an upland bird hunter, a pointer would also be an excellent hunting dog and that Sogn is a pretty social dog and would really enjoy having a buddy. So, I started pushing for a second dog - and after years of discussion, persuasion, and not-so-careful planning we added another furry member to our family!

To his credit, Calhoun did a ton of research, met dogs and watched bird dog trials. When I mentioned that I wanted an adult dog, not a puppy, he zeroed in on a trainer in South Carolina who was training dogs from a line he really liked.

And a few weeks ago the stars aligned for us. The timing felt right to make a really irresponsible decision and we bought a dog and scheduled shipping to Minneapolis.

After attending an incredible wedding this weekend, and celebrating with friends, we stopped by the cargo pickup area at the MSP International Airport and picked up Vasa, a fully finished English Pointer  who has never set paw in Minnesota before.

He has been wonderful dog so far. Vasa is truly a kennel dog, having been trained on a quail plantation  who has a kennel facility. He is an outside kennel dog and everything that suggests. Even though he's not sure what his name is and pees on concrete, he loves to be petted and is so sweet. It will take some time to introduce him to the finer things in life: carpet, hearth fires, treats, car rides, and flannel sweater vests. But he has major potential and we are so happy that he is finally here.

Sogn seems to be having some mixed feelings about this whole thing, we're taking the introduction slow and we'll keep you posted!

It's going to be a long six weeks...

please forgive the blurry images - it's hard to get the subject to hold still and we don't have a real camera

This is my dog, Sogn. 

He is awesome. You may have read about him here on the blog.

There are some things you may not know about Sogn.

First, he is named after Sogn Valley, in southeast Minnesota (near where we went to college), which is named after Sognefjord, the largest fjord in Norway. Like many of the Minnesota areas that derive their names from the native lands of the people who settled here, the people near Sogn Valley intentionally mispronounce the Norwegian word. Apparently, when people settled the area, in an attempt to blend the old and the new they used old-country names with midwest pronunciations. For example, folks from New Prague, Minnesota, pronounce it "New Prage" - not in the old world way of "New Praag." So, rather than "Sougn" (give me a break, I took Spanish in college - who speaks Norwegian?), we pronounce his name "So-gen."

Second, he likes to bring you things - mostly household things that he shouldn't be bringing you, think dishtowels, shoes, anything on the floor. Sometimes his desire to bring things actually gets very distracting for him. For example, people are his FAVORITE THING IN THE WORLD. Any person. Favorite thing. If you're unlucky enough to be outside when first encountering Sogn chances are he is just going to pounce on you. But, if you're lucky enough to first encounter him in the house chances are that he is going to spend a good minute gathering up seven things to bring to you before he actually comes to greet you. And then when he does, he does that really cute retriever snorting thing while you pet him.

The fact that he likes to bring you things makes it even more strange that he is not actually a great retriever. To a certain extent he is a natural hunter. Once he's in the field and remembers what he's supposed to do he finds and flushes the bird, and he has a soft mouth. I've seen all of this first hand. On more than one occasion I've watched him catch a scent and then flush up a pheasant and look at me expecting me to shoot it down, which I don't, and then he gets disappointed. And, as far as the soft mouth thing goes, last summer when we were out behind a friend's house we wondered where Sogn was. When Calhoun found him around the side of the house he had something in his mouth and when Calhoun made him drop it it was a baby bunny! Turns out he had found a bunny nest and was moving the bunnies from the window well to a spot in the middle of the lawn. None were injured but they were wet and terrified.

But, unfortunately, he's not a spectacular retriever. Oh - he'll apparently get the birds - but he doesn't bring them to the hand like a good retriever is supposed to do. He does just about everything but bring them to the hand.

So, for the next six weeks, my darling dog is off learning how to be a good retriever so he and Calhoun can have an even better bird season. Sadly for us, training is a full-time job and that means no dog tail wags or antics at any time! Calhoun and I are just realizing how quiet it is around here without a sixty pound ball of fur rolling around causing trouble. We're already missing him terribly and wondering why we don't have a backup dog (maybe coming spring 2013?) and are hoping that he's having lots of fun and learning lots while he is away.

A final thing about Sogn is that he is a sweet sweet dog. We had him in Minneapolis with us this past weekend, where we were staying in a house full of friends and people coming and going. And once he gets over the initial panic of enthusiasm of SEEING A PERSON he is the sweetest pup. He likes to be pet and he likes to lean on you while it's happening just so you don't forget he's there. After two years of having an insane puppy, he's finally grown up. He is a calm house-dog who lays by your feet and follows you from the kitchen to the living room just hoping to get some lovin'.

It's going to be a long six weeks....

Our First Guests at The Lake

A few weeks ago, before the holidays, we had our first guests here at The Lake! They said that our house was brighter and more pleasant than we had described and we were so happy to have them!

Red and Swan came down specifically for a weekend of relaxation and hunting. Although Red was a Boy Scout and was an excellent shot at a target he had never actually been hunting. Calhoun has been out enough this season, and with enough frequency, that he was really looking forward to opportunities to host friends down here. So, they came down the weekend before Christmas to get in a few final hunts of the season.

It was really great to have friends down here. We cooked big breakfasts, took naps, spent the day in our sweatpants (Red and Swan are really good friends), had wonderful dinners and great time with them.

The boys - I guess they're men now? - hunted for two days. Calhoun was able to supply all the gear. A few winters ago, Calhoun and a collection of other friends journeyed to the DDS's home in Grand Rapids where they spent a few days ice fishing. When they came home Calhoun was enamored with the DDS's family's gear closet - reportedly a corner basement room filled with boots, snow-pants, vests, coats, shirts and all the blaze orange your heart could desire. Although he hasn't said so, I think it's Calhoun's desire to have such a collection of gear that he could have a dozen people out to hunt or fish and could dress all of them! Well, he's well on his way, and proved it when he and Red emerged from the basement both looking like real hunters.

They had a great time, they certainly came back smiling and exhausted. They even got one pheasant! Although I won't say who shot it :)

 Sogn, boots and a fire. Not bad.

In the end they headed back to the cities, as we knew they would. But it was great to host again and I can't wait to host some more!

Grouse Opener 2011

This weekend is grouse opener in Minnesota, which means that the boys are out doing their thing - tromping through the grasses and looking for birds.

Beautiful.

Good Boy, Sogn!

Calhoun is a much better writer than I am, please enjoy this story from him.

----------------------------------------------------

It's not usually a good omen for a day of hunting when your wife beats you out the door on her way to work. I was tired and unprepared, bumbling around the house gathering gear and making lunch. I should have left hours ago. She was sprinting out the door on nothing but coffee to make the case that an unfortunate Indian fellow was the victim of human trafficking and deserving of what she calls a T visa. As I kissed her pantsuit goodbye, I couldn't help but think the day wouldn't turn into much.

I headed out around 8:15 with our nine month old terrorist-in-residence. It was his fifth grouse hunt, although I doubt he knows that. For him, hunting is like going to the dog park, only better: no fences, first choice of the sticks, and plenty of swamps. I was starting to worry that this dog had no hunt in him, that he was more of a stick dog than a bird dog. Knowing the day was already short, I headed for one of my best covers to put him on some birds. The area is only 1500 acres of so - the better part of three sections - but it's all young aspen and alder, enough for a full day.

A little after 10am, a long while after the road hunters had called it a morning, we headed down the first trail. Now, when we're walking on a trail Sogn often thinks it's a racetrack for repeat sprints. He runs up and back, up and back, until his tongue lolls out the side of his mouth. After about a half hour of this exertion he hasn't once thought about birds, but he's ready for a nap. In an effort to curtail these antics and show him what hunting is supposed to be about, I've been spending most of my time off the trail. Once he's no longer on the racetrack, his leg rpms goes down and his nose and brain sputter to life.

100 yards down the first trail I dove into the brush with Sogn. 200 yards further into the tangle he started spinning in circles. Bird! A single shot brought it down. Good boy, Sogn!

A half hour later, he started weaving and bobbing, following a scent. I got ready to shoot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a prickly, slothlike lump inchworming up a tree.

Porcupine!

Sogn, come! For once, he did. Disaster averted. I checked to make sure I still had a pliers for quills in my vest (I did), but I was really glad that I didn't have to use it.

We finished that first trail seeing three more birds, two of which offered a shot, and one of which went in my gamebag. After the first trail the score was Sogn: 2, Porcupine: 0. Good boy, Sogn!

We hunted a few more trails, seeing three birds and bagging two. I had told Harriet I'd call it quits by 5 to be home for dinner with a guest by 7. At 5 we had four birds, one shy of a limit. I hadn't shot a limit of grouse since 1998, and I wasn't doing to walk away from the opportunity just for dinner. After a quick blessing from the homefront, I resolved to walk one more trail.

As we headed out, I slipped a cold Oktoberfest into my vest, just in case this day needed celebrating. I didn't want to jinx it, but I didn't want to be unprepared either.

We walked a half mile down a prime trail that I'd resolved would be the last of the day without seeing a bird. Drat, perhaps the beer in my vest was just a little hubristic.

Up ahead a jack pine had fallen across the trail. I was looking for a way around, wondering if it was even worth it, when Sogn ran full bore straight toward the downed tree. With one leap he was over the tree, and for a moment the flying puppy must have shared airspace with the two grouse who were previously sunning themselves on the far side of that crumbled jackpine. I wanted this one so bad for Sogn; I fired both barrels.

When everything and everyone returned to the ground, the day was done. Good boy, Sogn!

The Tick Retriever

Calhoun and Sogn have been out hunting a few times this year. Thanks to Calhoun's graduate student schedule he can go spend weekdays hunting with Sogn which greatly reduces my fear that my darling dog is going to be shot by some crazy weekend hunter.

Every day they go they seem to get closer and closer to retriever success. Today Calhoun sent me this picture of Sogn, standing over a bird and a gun:

Success! Or so I thought...

When Calhoun finally got home he told me about his success at shooting the first grouse of the season, and how Sogn stepped on it.

Then, Calhoun told me about the second bird, which Sogn picked up but didn't bring all the way back.

Sogn did apparently track a few birds into the brush and flush them, and to be fair, Sogn has not been formally educated in retrieving. He's still young and we have been assured by many a casual Minnesota hunters that he'll learn and that the first year is really about Sogn enjoying being out and learning about the woods and the gun and all of that good stuff.

Although there have been minor successes, I am still eagerly waiting for the day when he retrieves a bird without hesitation.

In the meantime, I will have to learn to deal with the aftermath of a long hunting day - which apparently means ticks by the dozen! I'm pretty sure ticks just crawling out of the curly apricot hair of my sweet puppy is something this Minnesota wife is never going to learn to handle well. ICK!