Hunting dog mustwait for birds of di≠erent feather

As duck dogs go, the vizsla is far from first choice among most hunters. Then again, if waterfowl hunting squads were chosen like pickup hoops teams at recess, I may very well be the last man standing on the sidelines.

It’s more likely because of my mixed-breed dog— whose Australian shepherd half doesn’t offer much compensation for the short-haired, upland-oriented genes of her Hungarian pointer side— that I am invited on any duck hunts at all. That, and the generous opportunity for the scattergun assassins who drag me along to toss “nice shot” creditsmy way when a three- round triple might otherwise land them precariously close to the daily bag limit.

But I do enjoy a smoked duck and have been known on occasion to hit what I’m aiming for, so it works out. Plus, the dog, Bailey, is a far better swimmer than the lot of us, serving as my most inviting asset.

While it’s evident that she would prefer the birds fall on land, Bailey’s webbed feet and affinity for retrieval are generally enough to compensate for the chattering teeth and quaking in the blind that tend to accompany a sunrise swim during duck season. And it’s equally evident that she’d rather hunt than be left at home, every time.

With only a few duck hunts on her résumé, she’s still new to the waterfowl world. It’s a far cry from the pheasant field and grouse thickets she’s been brought up on for the past three years. There she’s encouraged to follow her nose and roam freely as I shadow her lead. In the duck game, the standard strategy is to entice the birds to you, awaiting ambush until a high-percentage shooting opportunity presents itself.

Only then does the dog spring into action, where the telltale thrashing of a labrador charging from blind to bird with singularity of purpose has earned the breed such a devoted following. Not so much for the Australian/vizsla.

Still, Bailey remains my most devoted hunting partner, and her desire to please no matter what the scenario earns her a seat rid- ing shotgun, almost every time.

So it was that we made our way to opening day of duck season this fall for some on-the-job training. She’d been savvy enough to discern when I’d been out chasing elk without her during archery season, and the table scraps she enjoyed after an early dove hunt hardly compensated for the hurt in her eyes at being left behind.

With but a few September grouse flushes under her belt, Bailey soon remembered the duck drill and did her best to lay low as we did our best to fill our limit. Despite some good early opportunities, that wouldn’t happen until just after noon, when two of us managed to jump a small flock of swimmers and bag three birds as they arose.

Without hesitation, Bailey dived into the lake for three consecutive laps and brought the birds to hand with gusto and pride.

We’re still about a month away from pheasant season and the first real opportunity to return to the farm country fields that occasionally breed pointing cattle dogs. The regional pheasant forecast is the best it has been for about three years, giving my hunting partner and me something to look forward to. Until then, a few smoked ducks will just have to do.