We had a glorious day afield! Each dog did an admirable job, but it was Booker whose nose had it for the pheasant. Sadly most of the shots I had were on the limit of my skill, and so I successfully scared my fair share of these lovely birds, but only bagged one. Jorja and Booker shared a nice point, the shot was sharply downhill below me, with the cock-bird hooking hard and fast to the left, a shot I had no hope of making. The roosters where there, but the shooting was tough. On the way out, we made a last minute hunt in an area I had hunted the year before, and Booker turned up a pair of roosters, but again, standing in grass as tall as myself, made for poor shooting. In the end we worked hard and hunted smart to bag the largest of the two roosters. Literally, I had just come to terms I had most likely made a tactical error, and blew it when suddenly Booker slammed into a nice point up ahead and off to my right. An arms length in from of him was my ditch chicken trying to make like a hummock of grass tucked under a small bush. Not a lot of time to think, and he was on the move, exploding out and winging hard to make safely again. Fortunately, for a change of pace I managed to connect. I'm sure my hot and tired dog was thankful I finally held up my end of the deal.
I'm just a guy suffering with an infatuation with gundogs since childhood. Forty some odd years later this is what you get.