Is this dove hunting Daddy? 

By Andy Kohly

Shooting Dog Editor

On September 1, 2001 I will endeavor to do something I have not done for many years.  Go dove hunting.  Why the long absence?  Well Doc it all started about eight years ago when I took my oldest on a dove hunt.

We had done our due diligence and scouted the area well.  We knew the food and water sources as well as the roosting areas and marked off the days on our calendar in anxious anticipation of our first father-son outing.

On the morn of the glorious day, we rousted out of bed at O-dark:30 and made our way to what we believed would be the perfect spot to spend opening morning.  It was still dark when we arrived and the still, muggy morning air soon had us sweating as we watched the first orange/yellow fingers of light awaken just beyond the horizon. Hurriedly we walked toward our “spot” just outside a tree line beneath what had proven to be a major flyway to and from a stock tank located nearby.

As the minutes ticked away toward the utopia of legal shooting time, doves had already begun to fill the sky like airliners in holding patterns at a major airport during a holiday.  As the last few minutes ticked away, firing erupted in the distance no doubt someone’s watch was off or they could no longer stand the temptation. 

With the long awaited hour at hand I aimed at and downed a single then two doubles.  Well on our way to what I believed would be a fantastic day a field, the mood suddenly changed as a caravan of trucks “joined” us.  “Getting’ any” came a question from one of the trucks, not that the guy could hear or was even interested in my reply, as he had busied himself setting up the sound system.  Soon more and more trucks lined the tree line and people carefully dressed for the occasion in camouflage clothing, seated themselves most inconspicuously in lawn chairs in the backs of their trucks but certainly not out of reach of their beer coolers.

So, with the tunes blasting and the cool ones flowing, the barrage began in earnest.  While it was hard to tell how many guns were being fired due to the nearly non-stop din, surprisingly few birds fell.  Those that did were picked up by young children scampering about some barefooted others not.  Occasionally a dog presumably a bred somewhere near a Labrador, would waddle out, pick up a bird and then when he returned empty handed, was soundly thrashed by his owner who no doubt possessed sage like wisdom when it came to dog handling.  Occasionally we were even treated to a display of pugilism, as fights would break out no doubt over one of the few doves that were downed.

By 07:30 the BBQ grills had been fired up and a variety of crooners such as Garth Brooks, Jimmy Buffet, Billy Ray Cyrus and AC/DC permeated the air only to be outdone in volume by the continuing barrage of gun fire and the intermittent whoops and yells that signified someone had hit a bird.

No doubt my son had noticed my stunned, shocked look as I took in the bounty before us.  Our dove hunt had apparently taken a turn around the bend toward Circus-Ville and developed the ambiance of a tailgate party at a Turkish bazaar. 

My son turned toward me and looked at me through eyes deep with the sincerity and innocence of a child and asked, “Is this dove hunting Daddy?” 

How would you answer???