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I spent most of Saturday in the office but sneaked out for a solo trip by Harrold later in the afternoon. The dogs and I stink at the obligatory end of hunt picture with birds and shotgun.

On Sunday we rounded up some friends and went over for a redux. The weather was starting to turn, so we hatched a plan based on what I call "every man for himself." Meaning go out there with a general area to cover and when you see birds follow them up and get on them. As it turned out, I moved quite a few birds toward others but had only one opportunity upon which I capitalized with my trusty 20ga using one ounce of #6 shot in 2-3/4" shells. I made my way back to my truck and waited by a friend's truck to regroup. As I waited he approached with his Viszla, and another companion with his munsterlander drove up as well. Viszla man flushed two birds and missed both (a common theme as it turned out) and Munsterlander Owner got his shotgun out in time to hit but not grass a third rooster which then lit about a quarter mile away up the road. The group proceeded to look for it for a few minutes until the Flash was let out for a prompt recovery. He was proud as a peacock and took the bird on a victory lap which in my mind was well deserved.

It was late in the day, windy and chilly and people wanted to go home so sent birds with others and there was about 15 mins of daylight left. I took a spin around the property and saw about 8 roosters light 100 yards into the deep grass. Just enough time to go see if I could pot one of the inferior birds, so Lola and I left a protesting Flash in his crate, and walked out there to sort out the invasive species. I walked about 20 steps further than I thought I should have had to, and stopped to reassess my location. A rooster busted to my left, and I missed, but a second had busted an instant later and closer. I popped him but he skittered away over the top of the grass. Roosters were now busting everywhere around me and I dumped one to my right, and walked to the spot where he'd gone down. I looked around, whistling and calling for Lola, by now the sun is down, and Im thinking this didn't work out as well as I'd planned. Two lost pheasants and one lost dog. Eff.

More than three, less than five minutes later, here comes that little black dog with a rather busted up yet still alive rooster in her mouth, and I was quite overjoyed at her success. The grass is thick and deep, and full of scent because its full of pheasants. I praised her and told her to "find another one." She took two spins around my general area, moved in on a tuft of grass near my feet, almost disappeared under it, and pulled out my second bird. At this point, I was quite proud of her and of both of them really. The picture doesn't do them justice at all. If the blizzard puts an end to our hunting this year, well, we went out on a high note.