"Why do I do this?". That wasn't the first time I had that thought while hunting. I've thought the same just before wading into a semi-frozen cattail swamp to chase pheasants. I had a similar thought before plunging into a muddy lake to retrieve a duck because my ace birddog can't swim. I sunk to my sternum in mud.

This time it wasn't that bad. I was standing on a hill, overlooking a hundred-some acres of cover. The height of the cover varied from knee to chest high. It was just me and the dog after the pheasants. A hundred-some acres doesn't sound like a lot of land, but there's a lot a room to hide for a bird that is about the size of chicken. And the hens are safe. Not legal game. Add to that the fact the pheasants and can out run a birddog despite having legs only about as long as my thumbs. Doesn't help that they are as jumpy as a crack addict in between fixes. Oh, and these are late season pheasants. We are not the first hunter/dog crew they've encountered. The advantage clearly goes to the birds. I wonder why I don't take up golf. The golf ball isn't using every trick in the book to evade you. It just sits there. Then again, no one is trying to shoot the golf ball.

I decide to take a long walk along the perimeter of the cover. The idea was to drive the birds towards the center of the plot of land where it will be easier for the dog to work them. We had just about completed our loop when we came upon some thicker cover, about chest high. The place was full of pheasant tracks. Unfortunately, it was also close to the road. There's not much traffic on the rural byway, but the locals drive it like moonshiners during prohibition. I cradled my shotgun in my right arm and held the remote for the dog's electronic collar in my left. I'd have to call her off if she got much closer to the road, bird or no bird.

I could tell Whit hit scent in the thick of the cover. We worked our way towards the end, when Whit suddenly flash froze into a point. I angled towards her on the right. The rooster wasn't having it. It burst out of the cover, full cackle, full noisy flush of wings. I dropped it with the right barrel of my 80-plus year old side by side. The dog made a quick retrieve.

Most days, I'm happy taking one pheasant. The limit in our state is two. If we see more than two on any given hunt, I'm bordering on ecstatic. There was one other patch cover on this property that I wanted to work. We took a rooster out of it the month before, and had seen plenty of tracks from other birds. We weren't in the thick stuff long when Whit went on point again. This time, she froze with her head turned 90 degrees to her left. I angled in on the left side, hoping to pin the bird between Whit and I. Whit then began to turn her head, slowly, fluidly, without moving a single other muscle, until she was facing straight ahead. The bird was running. I released Whit right about the time she decided she wasn't waiting around for me. She ran about 15 yards and pointed again. Next, she relocated on her own, pointing again. The bird had run in a giant U, and was apparently trying to loop around behind us. They do that sort of thing.

The bird had finally had enough. It flushed. Rooster! I had to pass on the shot for a significant portion of its flight plan. I didn't want to shoot over the road, even though there were no cars in sight. Some habits you just don't want to break. I took a shot at it once it cleared the road. The bird went down into the thick patch of cover that produced the first bird. It didn't look hit, but that wasn't going to stop us from following it up. Whit and I both worked the cover and found nothing. No blood, no bird. When I got to the opposite end, I noticed fresh tracks on the thing that sort of resembled a trail. Darn bird had run out of the cover while we were fumbling around. I whistled the dog. She came running to me, only to notice the fresh trail. We were in hot pursuit!

Turns out these birds are pretty smart. This one ran 500+ yards on an open trail, into the woods and onto private property. It would live to outsmart another hunter. That's OK with me. Mike 1, Pheasants 1 is a pretty good score in my book.