Scott Linden Outdoors

You never know what you’ll find out there.

We are all getting farther from the back gate than we’ve been in a long time. Flick’s little legs are synchronized to the point where he can now sort of run. It’s kind of a Keystone Kops amble, but it is now a bit faster, more urgent in part because he has been finding pigeons out there and well, he is a bird dog.

Manny’s toe is healed enough to allow a mile or so of running and he too has been getting his fair share of pigeon work out in the sagebrush. His excitement is pent up, stored for eight weeks as he recuperated, virtually immobile (well, as immobile as I could keep him).

Today’s hike was therapeutic for all of us. Just being out there, on trails and among knolls that are old friends, is literally and figuratively a breath of fresh air. To roam among the ancient junipers and towering ponderosas, see the dogs in their element reminds me I am a hunter first and foremost.

Manny hasn’t missed a beat. He is pointing at 20 yards and holding stock-still through multiple flushes and shots. He may be a little porky (so is his owner) with his layoff but his hunter’s heart will fortify him next weekend.

For the rookie, everything is dazzling, new, fascinating. Flick is searching now, not just pottering around in the weeds. His own hunter’s heart is directing him to objectives, to the front, coursing the fields in a miniature version of Manny’s pattern. His nose is high, constantly searching the air for scent.

And at least one time per outing, that little puppy nose locks onto a bird. It’s a point, then a flush, a chase and a BANG. He won’t go far or fast next weekend, but he will go.