Cass is back in clover

Michael Rodway keeps his canine companion — and the long arm of the law — on side with a motorway trip in search of pigeon shooting

Iam ashamed to say that I had not fired a shot — except from an air rifle — from last February, when we had a few rather sparse evenings at pigeon roost shooting, until the last week in June.

There has been, in spite of reports to the contrary, a great shortage of pigeon in North Cheshire. On three occasions, I have hopefully set out my decoys in recommended places, installed myself and dog in ditch or hide — and never even seen a pigeon, much less fired at one.

Eventually, it was the labrador’s look of ‘for heaven’s sake, do something’ that made me decide to take him where, in past experience, action can be virtually guaranteed. This meant enlisting the help of David Home-gall in the Northants area.

Playing truant

Arrangements were made and we motored down the M6, via Spaghetti Junction (what an inelegant name for a wonderful feat of engineering), joining up with the M1 and so to our destination, a most delightful and friendly country inn near Yardley Hastings. The motorway link-up has cut the travelling time by about half, making the temptation to play truant for a day or so that much greater.

On the journey, not being overfond of service areas, I came off to a minor road to give my dog, Cass, a run and take aboard a pint of ale and a snack at a roadside pub. I requested an additional pickled onion with my ploughman’s platter, which was duly supplied at an extra cost of 2p. Inflation is indeed with us, but surely there are limits.

The day of the shoot opened sunny with a few cloudy patches and a reasonable breeze, in contrast, thank goodness, to the incessant deluge in which we had travelled the previous day. David arrived at 10am with mixed news. Large numbers of pigeon were

working a crop of peas locally, but there was a snag. The owner, who not unnaturally wanted them shot, would not allow dogs on his land. This, for me, was not on. After all, would Laurel take the stage without Hardy, leaving him confined in a hot car and broken-hearted to boot?

Benign bovines

This reaction had been anticipated by David, who had located an alternative feeding area from which a flock of 30-plus had risen as he surveyed it. This was a pasture field liberally laced with clover. I was a little worried by the presence of cattle grazing for we had two dogs with us and, as we have all undoubtedly experienced, this can cause complications or even, at worst, make shooting virtually impossible. After a cursory glance, however, these benign bovines resumed feeding, remaining at their end of the field throughout the day.

We set up shop in the corner of the field where the pigeon had been seen, using camouflage netting on barbed wire as a hide, with a convenient ditch behind for the dogs. Six rubber decoys 20 yards or so out in front and we were in business. Or were we? Five woodies, ignoring the decoys, pitched right into the middle of the field, being joined at intervals by companions.

This was no good. We urgently needed some real birds to add to our decoy picture. We kept well down as I fired a shot in the air. By good fortune, a bunch from those taking off in the centre of the field bored straight in at us, three dropping to the four shots.

Barely were we back in the hide from setting these up when two more arrived over our heads and settled among them. An absolute gift, but I missed one strutting no more than 20 yards away — how does one do it? — and killed the other as it took off.

The indefatigable David now left me to it and went off to search the adjacent countryside with a view to trying to put more birds my way. They came, not in vast quantities, but sufficient to keep me on the qui vive and have a chance at practically every shot in the book. Cass was what I euphemistically call ‘a little impetuous’ (I dislike the expression ‘running-in to shot’) at first, but soon settled down and performed splendidly. We didn’t lose a bird, which is his province, though plenty were missed, which is mine.

Thirty-six were to hand as I returned to base. I was unloading the back of the estate car in the inn yard when a voice behind me said: “Good evening, sir.” Turning, I perceived the blue-clad upper half of the law regarding me over the wall. It is incredible how much frantic thought can be packed into a few seconds. Of course I’ve got a shotgun certificate, but is it in the other gun case at home? (It was). I’m sure my wife renewed the dog’s licence, but did she? The car’s documents all in order? Surely he doesn’t deal with income tax ?

“I wonder if you would sell me a couple of woodpigeon?” Seldom have four plump pigeon been delivered with my compliments with such alacrity. On the way back next morning, I missed the junction to the M6. I am told this is impossible. Not to worry. The hazel eyes of my travelling companion assured me that at last we had done something.

“We needed some real birds to add to our decoy picture”

This article was first published in Shooting Times on 16 September 1972.

“David located an alternative feeding area — a pasture field liberally laced with clover”

“We had dogs with us and cattle can cause complications or even, at worst, make shooting virtually impossible”

“I have hopefully set out my decoys and not even seen a pigeon, much less fired at one”