Dead Bird, Dead Bird Indeed

Any seasoned hunter can tell you story after story of how a hunt all came together “according to plan.” Sayings like, “the ducks did what we wanted them to do” or “that buck checked his scrape just like I thought he would” are said in hunt camps across the country each season. While it's hard to beat the satisfaction of things going as we expect, there is a particular kind of joy that comes from unconventional success.

I love wing-shooting. If it flies and has feathers, then there’s a good chance I enjoy hunting it. Ducks are my staple bird of choice. Several quail and a pheasant or two have fallen from the pull of my trigger. Turkeys are the thorn in my flesh, but I have managed to bag a few. Recently, a rekindled love for dove hunting has fanned into flame within me. I dove hunted quite a bit as a youth hunter when opportunities presented themselves, but lost touch with this form of hunting for several years, mostly due to lack of access to a decent field to hunt.

Dove hunting is a favorite among most sportsmen and it typically involves hot September days, sunflower fields, and lots of hunting company. It is perhaps the most communal type of hunting because you can incorporate large numbers of friends to help break the birds down from the air above. In September the birds are inexperienced with the blasts from the muzzle, more susceptible to fly in close, and willing to cooperate making for fast shooting and lots of it, given the birds are present to begin with. I love an early season dove hunt, but have found that the late season produces just as much shooting, though it might look a tad different.

Opie, my beloved retriever and friend, is a big reason I have taken such interest in dove hunting again. Though my main purpose in acquiring another lab was to retrieve ducks, I recognized the inconsistencies in my duck harvests (due to geographic constraints) and knew that if he would turn into any formidable bird dog then he would have to get his mouth on whatever we found available. Doves have been the majority of Opie’s career retrieves to this point and though the waterfowler in me wishes that wasn’t always the case, to the dog a dead bird is a dead bird.

We have taken on this mentality as a hunting duo and seem quite comfortable with the idea of being generalists; hunting what we can, when we can, where we can. December and January have proven to be fine dove shooting months. Plump migrating birds bring a hunger for loose grain and that same naive wing beat as the September birds. Me and Opie have taken quite the liking to hunting doves during the winter months. We have shot many flying high overhead, as most dove hunts tend to go, but we’ve also discovered a new form of dove hunting that is as effective as it is fun. Flushing is a term well known to bird hunters, but rarely used in the context of dove hunting. Doves are ground feeders and spend a good portion of time picking at any leftover seeds or grain they can find during the winter months. Flushing doves is a lot like flushing a quail or pheasant. The dog sniffs out the bird, moves in close, jumps him to the air, and waits for the hunter to make a lethal shot.

I will never forget the first time me and Opie flushed a dove. I was letting him roam after a long and idle sit. He was still a pup and was learning what it means to wait for the birds, a concept he still struggles with. Running free after a couple hours of sitting was like a reward and I was happy to let him stretch his legs. Nose to the ground he ran, back and forth, around me in 20-30 yard circles. Suddenly, a ferocious wing beat exploded from a clump of grass. With little time to react, but enough to identify my quarry, I raised my dad’s old single shot 16 gauge and fired. A folded bird fell to the ground with a light thump. Opie, who had hardly broken his stride, fetched it right up and placed it in my hand. Shocked that we had flushed a dove in such a way, I kind of laughed and said “dead bird.” Smiling with tongue hanging out, Opie nodded in such a way that I knew it translated to “dead bird indeed.”

We have since placed some strategy into flushing doves and though it can be quite difficult at times, it is one of the more rewarding aspects of hunting with my friend. I bought a retriever, but gained a pretty decent flushing dog as well. Being unconventional is not always a bad thing. At times I am found slipping into the mindset of purists who think hunting must look and feel a certain way in order to be valid. Within the scope of law and conscience of man, hunting practices that are fulfilling ought not to be shamed.

I am sure that somewhere an upland hunting purist would call my efforts to flush doves from the grass and cut corn a cute mock of what a real bird hunter would do. I would like to answer that hunter with a dove filled hand and simply say, “dead bird, dead bird indeed.”

I serve a creative God and I am glad that He allows me time and space to be unconventional and creative in my hunting. Does that bring Him more glory? I like to think so. Whether I snatch them from high above or flush them from the ground beneath, I give thanks to my Father who provides the birds and entrusted us with dominion to manage and utilize the resource. Some might say Christ himself was unconventional. Israel expected a strong and heavy handed leader who would break the bonds of Roman rule. Instead, God sent a humble and meek son to die for the sins of many. Was that very expected or conventional? Convention has it's place, but great blessings can come from where you least expect it.

I love you Lord. Thank you for doves to flush, a dog to retrieve, and a Savior who truly saves.