Before Rupert pushed his wiry self into our lives, I thought I knew what it meant to own a dog. Feed it, walk it, play with it, and make sure there is enough room on the bed for them to sleep.However, I didn’t know what it meant to own a bird dog.Read More
I wonder what I’ll do when that king of birds flushes up through the thicket in a thunder of wings and feathers. Will I rise to the challenge and take a shot? Will I miss? As it turns out, I did neither.Read More
Behind me is a lighthouse - brick red with a snow white top. It has watched over this place for hundreds of years.Read More
As we prepare, Rupert seems calm with a stern demeanor. This is new, Rupert a born clown, has learned that finding ruffed grouse takes a cool determination.
The tires hummed a low rumble as the truck rolled to a stop. Through the passenger side window, the night sky could be seen reflecting off of the frost-covered field.Read More
“I have a roadkill deer,” read the early-afternoon text message from my husband. “Call around for processing.”
Without exhausting much effort, I learned the butcher shop in town was still accepting deer for processing into neatly packaged steak, roasts and hamburger. After passing the information, including the cost of services, along to Scott, my phone dinged with another message.
“Expensive,” it read.Read More
Letting a bird dog into my house was the worse decision I ever made… I’ve lived with Rupert, a wirehaired pointing griffon, since August of 2014 so let me offer some advice to the reader considering buying a puppy.Read More
As I sit here, wrapped in my crocheted afghan and with the heating blanket roaring on the back of the couch, I thought I knew what cold was. Boy was I wrong.Read More