Mans Best Friend

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As I sit here this evening by a warm fire, it was not my intention to write about dogs. However, my yellow Labrador, Bree, is sitting next to me snoring softly. After a long day in the cold duck marsh, my mind started to drift over the thousands of hours of my life spent with duck dogs. As I was reliving memories, both grand and tragic, I received a text from a friend informing me his black Labrador of 14 years crossed the bridge. Maverick was 14. A long life by dog years. But it's never long enough. I've hunted over him many times. He was a brute of a dog physically. But he was a big goofball in personality.

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Maverick in His prime with Pairs of Mallards and Black ducks

My friend never counted his retrieves. But I am sure they were in the thousands. Young kids first birds. Disabled veterans, longtime friends, Old timers, who hadn't been in a Marsh in years. Maverick retrieved birds for them all, and did it with style.

‍Maverick with a young hunter and Pheasants

Those who are not duck hunters can never understand the bond that we have with our retrievers. Regular pet owners love their dogs and appreciate them. They are part of their daily lives. But duck hunters have a relationship that goes even deeper. Being able to read a dog's body language. The flash of their eyes when they see distant birds. The true grit they have being able to withstand sub freezing temperatures, winter winds, and conditions that would send even the hardiest of souls looking for cover.

They do it to please us, but they also do it because somewhere back in their ancestral DNA there is a code written that tells them that is what they were made for. Those who have seen the best retrievers work understand this in a way that no one else can.

Maverick was right at home in the snow and ice.

That is why when one of these bright souls leaves the Earth it is fitting that we take time to remember them. And reflect on all the joy they have given us.

I've owned three working retrievers over my 30 year hunting career. The first lived to be 15 and hunted until she was 13. Belle was a wonderful dog, maybe the best I will ever own.Though my current Labrador is going to give her a run for her money!

My first Labrador, Belle. In those days all I had was a canoe, and some homemade Canada Goose tire decoys!

I look at the segments of my life that these dogs occupied. The young man without any children. Training a dog with all of his heart, the hopes she would one day be able to pick up a downed duck. Much to his surprise 10 years later, she's diving underwater for crippled, black ducks on her own without any direction or handling from me.

That's the great thing about seasoned retrievers. They learn the game on their own and can exceed the working handler. I know hard-core field trialers would look down on this statement.

But I found that great retrievers have their own personality and style. Much like great baseball players or running backs, each have their technique and form, so does a retriever follow suit.

Belle at 10 years old with a Greenwing. Photo Len Maiorano

My second dog Brooke did not have superior drive on her own. But she retrieved hundreds of birds merely to make me happy. So much so she retrieved two limits of Teal on the day she died. That was sheer heart. Nothing else. She will always have my utmost admiration for that final act of courage. (Some may have read the account of this written by Anthony Hauck In Delta Magazine Greatest retrieves issue)

Brooke with a Hen Teal

My current retriever Bree just turned three. These are the glory years. Fresh legs, worlds of enthusiasm and drive that would make even a young 20 something green with envy. As it was put to me by her breeder,

"This one needs a job. "

Truer words were never spoken. If she goes for a few days without hunting or training you can see the frustration build. Thankfully I haven't lost a bird in nearly 2 years since she has been by my side. Granted, I tend to be very conservative with my shooting and only take shots that I am fairly competent can be retrieved. But her nose for cripple in the flooded Marsh is something that impresses even me. Much to my surprise she even loves the wide open roiling waters of the wintertime Delaware bay. Snow geese on these wild shores have become a favorite of hers. Dogs will always surprise you!

Bree with a Late Winter snow Goose.

These great dogs are one of the reason I started making Decoy urns. I can't say I was the first to come up with the idea, but I was one of the pioneers.

After my Belle passed away, I was given a square Red painted MDF box the crematory provided. It held the ashes adequately, but inside there was so much more. A lifetime of memories for my family and I.

Since my decoys were hollowed already, I thought about placing some of her ashes inside that bird so I could hunt with her again. I realized there were several other factors that needed to be taken into consideration. And with time and experimentation I perfected the making of Decoy urns.

I've heard it said that I make nothing other than "dog coffins"

At first I was bother by that statement , ( even though it's far from the truth ) However now it doesn't bother me one bit!

I'd rather honor the memory of a hard-working retriever and someone's best friend then make a bird that sits on the shelf to be gawked at and never used.

Truth be told, urns are some of the most meaningful and important work that I do.

Wigeon decoy urn for Hunter

It is more than just something to turn a dollar. It is a calling.

I've connected with people from all over the country, heard their stories, felt their tears, listened to them pour their heart out about things that only duck hunters can understand.

If I had to go, the rest of my carving career making urns, that would be fine by me.

I told my wife on many occasions regarding Bree, "This one better live forever, because without her I won't be any good."

I know that's not possible, however I hope that day is far into the future.

Who knows, even then, with any luck, perhaps there will be another wet nosed puppy that lights my heart afire once again.

Who can resist that face!

The “Real” Duck Season.

Early season Sunrise over a New Jersey salt marsh.

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Here in New Jersey our waterfowl season starts the third week of October. We have one early week to chase ducks before the season closes for over a month. This early season is generally spent chasing wood ducks or blue wing teal that have overstayed their welcome.

Bag limits are rarely filled. Warm temperatures, mosquitoes and a host of other activities generally take precedence.

This year was no exception. I hunted a couple days and I bagged less than a handful of birds.

However, That was OK. Just being afield with shotgun in hand sitting in the sneakbox is always worth it.

A view of the decoys over the stern of a Schellinger low boat

However once Thanksgiving nears things tend to get serious.

I'm talking about what most New Jersey duck gunners refer to as the "Real" duck season.

When the first cold winds of November start to blow, waterfowl to our north, in New York and Canada, start to get itchy wings.

With any bit of luck, the colder weather pushes Mallards, Pintails and Divers into New Jersey's multitude of waterways. The state is technically a peninsula, surrounded by water on three sides. Our feathered friends take full advantage of that geography.

Also those that migrate based on daylight length, like Green-Wing Teal, begin to show up like clockwork. They start arriving in New Jersey en mass at the same time.

Black Duck and Pintail Decoys waiting on the flight.

New Jersey has some of the best waterfowling on the East Coast and dare I say, for those in the know, the country.

I'm nearing my 30th year waterfowl hunting, and I'm hoping to have many more.

As I reflect over these years one thing remains the same. The excitement and anticipation of what the upcoming day will hold. For me duck hunting is much like fishing. You're heading out for a certain quarry but you never know what May show up.

Case and point. I remember one particular Thanksgiving morning. My hunting partner and myself had a group of guys from church out for ducks. Most were Deer hunters, not dyed in the wool waterfowlers. There were five of them lined up in the marsh. It was more of a social outing than a serious duck trip. They crouched behind makeshift blinds in the grass. We were deep in the marsh, hunting a tidal gut, far from and big water. It would probably be the only day they would duck hunt that year.

Shortly after sunrise a pair of Canvasbacks came ripping up the tiny channel! I’ll never forget the sounds their wings made slicing the air. My jaw nearly hit the mud. Never before or since have I seen them in this area.

It was like a scene from the movie “The Patriot” a skirmish battle line! Bang bang bang, bang bang bang, Bang bang bang, bang bang bang, bang bang bang! Suffice to stay those pair of Cans ran the gauntlet without a feather ever being scratched! My friend and I just looked at each other and laughed. That's the kind of things you experience in waterfowling.

Later that morning the guys redeemed themselves though when a flock of Teal came barreling into the Decoys. They shot well on those. After the volley was over, bunches of little legs were kicking on the water, the glimmer of bands on nearly all of them! Four of the five collected their first bands on that flock of Green Wing's.

Those are the types of days you can't plan.

A beautiful Bag of Green Wing Teal.

A More typical hunt would be just myself and a friend, plus my retriever Bree. Sitting in the Sneakbox watching the blackness of night transform into the first gray light of dawn.

Soon the sky is awash with pink and orange.

Wings whistle, teal peep, black ducks quack. Even the common is so very enthralling. This is what the "Real" duck season is all about.

Unmistakable Speculums of Jersey Black Ducks

I am very blessed to live in a place that offers everything from open water sea duck hunting, to big Bay divers, to woodies tearing through the trees. You can pick your poison.

I probably have less seasons in front of me than I do behind. One thing I have come to appreciate over the years is the companionship, Tradition, and wonderful meals that duck hunting provide me and my family.

This essay is a tip of my hat to all of my fellow waterfowlers to make the most of this season. I encourage you to find time even in our modern busy schedules to connect with the natural world. You won't regret it. Make a plan, get out there and enjoy the real duck season.

Thanks for reading, Jode

Belle with a Teal.