Here’s a little clip I took yesterday of the female pup I kept out of Daisy’s litter. I named her “West Mountain Sunny Days” (Sunny, good name huh, Andy :-)?). She disappeared over the mountain and by the time I caught up, she was down the other side doing what she was supposed to be…

When last we left our intrepid bird finder, Pride the Wonder Dog, she was lolling about in the easy chair that used to belong to my wife, the lovely Joanne. So I sez’ to her, “Pride, why don’t you get off your keyster and we’ll go off and find some more of those “chuckles” guys–chukar…

The Isle of Woodcock, Part 2. Standing in the gathering Hebridean gloom, a chill breeze blowing in from the sea, I strain my eyes to try to pick up the first, dark, batlike silhouettes, of flighting Woodcock. The darkening sky. I pull up my collar against the chill, and raise the peak of my tweed…

Having our new member from Scotland, a woodcock aficionado, jogged my memory this morning. Some will recall a post I made some months ago regarding a friend I had in the old Soviet Union many years ago who was a devoted shotgunner, dog man and upland bird hunter. I have kept all my old correspondence…

St. John of the Cross coined the term in a famous book on the spiritual life. I never thought much about it until it found me. It has been a long trip for the past four months. I’m glad it’s gone by. Remember Pride, the English Pointer? I joined a game club once I came…

The Isle of Woodcock. With a whir of wings, the mottled, brown bird, flushed, and jinking, twisted up into the thick Birch canopy above. Trying desperately,to find level ground upon which to stand, amongst the tangled tree roots, rocks and bracken, I gripped the barrels of the 20 bore, and leaned into the shot. In…