Tomorrow will be my last pheasant hunt of the season, and I'm feeling both a sense of anticipation and a bit of self-pity. Alie, my Labrador Retriever, has had a great first season, and it has been fulfilling to watch her become a good tracker and flusher and do her job with exuberance. I'm antsy to get my gear packed up for tomorrow and can scarcely wait to walk through the fields of Eastern Colorado with my son and Alie. But I'm already dreading the long wait until the 2011 season starts next November.
There's just something about walking through fields of tall, frost-covered grass (veritable crystal wonderlands), hawks swooping by searching for their breakfast, and my dog's tail telegraphing her position ahead of me that makes me more sentimental than is manly to admit. But after tomorrow, ten months of mild depression await me; I'll spend a lot of time in my recliner looking at my Christmas gift (a portrait of a man hunting pheasants in a field near a barn); reminiscing of the good times the past season provided with my sons (who become more independent, and thus distant, with each passing year); and reading articles from old hunting magazines. But I believe the future holds good things.
Next year I'll introduce my daughter to pheasant hunting. And I'm planning a bit of an extravagant Thanksgiving weekend hunting trip to either Kansas or South Dakota with all my kids. And I'm going to spend a lot of time during the coming spring and summer fine-tuning Alie's skills, working with her on hand signals, doubles and blind retrieves. Then there's the shopping: scouring the classifieds for used duck decoys and portable hunting blinds to introduce Alie to waterfowl hunting after the 2011 pheasant season ends (which should decrease the longevity of next year's post-season depression by about two months).
So, I'm off to prepare the truck, pack the gear and run a rag through the guns. Then I'll get to bed early tonight and dream of tomorrow morning's breakfast of antelope steak, eggs and toast, as well as the three-hour drive with my son to the hunting grounds. Ultimately, it's about making memories while you still can. When I hear the distant thunder of other hunters' shotguns tomorrow, I'll imagine they are feeling the same way I am. Then, I'll glance at my son and give him a wink (kids remember the darnedest things when they get older), locate Alie's flagging tail, and keep my eyes on the dog. Always keep your eyes on the dog.
