Mans Best Friend
A short essay on the four legged companions that make life in the Duck marsh so much more enjoyable.
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.
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!
Kings of the Eastern Shore: Sika Deer
Sika Deer, Maryland’s eastern shore treasure
Spending time on the Eastern shore of Maryland is always a treat. When that times falls in mid-October, it is certainly going to be extra special. That time frame coincides with the rut of the King of the shore, The Sika deer. Sika are a species of tiny Elk first introduced in the late 1800s by a private stocking on James island. At some point they escaped the island. Over the next 100 years they began to quickly colonize swampy Dorchester and surrounding counties. Now a well established free range herd, hunters travel from across the country to try and bag one of the shy, largely nocturnal creatures.
A female Sika, Known as a “Hind”
The hinds spotted coat remains throughout her life, even when mature.
I was fortunate enough to get an invitation to hunt a friends large private timber holding, for early muzzleloader season. A chance I could not pass up. Upon arriving the evening prior to opening day the wind was howling. This set the stage for the opening morning frustration. The wind was blowing 40 miles an hour plus, the tide was super high and even though I saw several Sika, I did not harvest one.
Typical view from a Sika deer stand.
I cleanly missed one in the morning due to the swaying tree stand , and I elected not to shoot at a stag in the meadow at last light During the afternoon.
I was So troubled by the days events I did not sleep well that evening. I awoke at 3 AM playing the days scenarios over in my mind. I quickly realized I would not fall back asleep, and decided to put into action my plan for the new day, Friday. I was dressed and out the door by 3:30 AM and in my stand deep in the pine forests of Dorchester County by 4:30 AM
Sunrise over the Marsh
It was a spot I had scouted last winter that showed good sign of both Hinds and stags. It didn’t look like it had seen much hunting other than a decomposing carcass of a deer, probably shot during early bow season.
I climbed into my perch some 30 feet up and watched numerous shooting stars burn across the sky. The wind was blowing, but not as bad as Thursday. I soon began to hear the cat like meowing call of the Sika Hind( female), Within seconds they were answered with a shrill roaring bugle from several stags.
In the moonlight, Silhouetted in the darkness I could see distinct shapes running all around in the meadow. Yet it was still 1-1/2 hours until shooting light. I looked through my scope and saw a wonderful 6 Point stag silhouetted perfectly against a patch of light grass. The little devil on my shoulder told me to shoot, but the angel on the other side won out.
Soon shooting light arrived, and as I looked around, I had many little groups of deer feeding in the short Meadow grass. Two spikes were sparring and clacking antlers while letting out short bellow’s, feeling the other out. Then from directly in front of me a hind let out her call and a stag answered immediately and closely.
Sika stag wallow in the timber
He was in the thick timber and staying out of sight. The hind continue to meow and made her way out into a grass opening at about 60 yards. Soon the two spikes saw her and made a beeline towards her, harassing her and trying to get her attention. After about a minute of this the stag could take it no longer and he ran charging out to run the spikes off.
A visitor to my perch, a Delmarva fox squirrel
I looked through the scope and I saw branching antlers. So I knew it wasn’t a spike, but it didn’t look like the big 3 x 3 I had seen in the moonlight either.
However I knew it would be the biggest Stag I had ever seen or taken. So I decided to take the shot. Upon the report of the muzzleloader the stag fell to the ground . I held the scope on him and he did not move.
I decided I would also try to harvest the hind since it was my last day hunting and I love Sika venison . I reloaded, drew a bead and fired.
The hind ran all of 40 yards and I saw her cart wheel down into the grass.
However upon the report from the second shot, the stag raised his head got up and staggered into the same patch of brush where the Hind had ran. Oh no, what did that mean, did I stun him, or worse yet wound?
I looked in vain to see movement or to see him fall, I saw neither. I decided to climb down, come home, clean the gun and get breakfast. Later I would go back with a buddy and begin the search.
After several hours past we eased our way into the marsh slipping along quietly. I was in the lead with the muzzleloader ready. It only took about five minutes to locate the dead hind, in a little bit further along the same trail there with the expired stag as well!
Jode, with a beautiful pair of Sika Deer. Stag and hind
What is amazing turn of events. It was probably the best time hunting I had ever had in my life. From the scenery, to the animals, to the excitement, to the good friends, to the wonderful environment.
This trip had it all. Killing Two beautiful animals was just the icing on the cake. And Sika is just about as yummy and delicious as anything you could ever eat. That’s why I expend the monumental effort to chase these wonderful little marsh deer.
Thanks for reading, Jode