North Dakota Flush

The wind howled and the birds held their ground. The wheat swirled ferociously, daring us to eddy-out. Our eyes teared, and our hair tangled, battered by an unseen force. We cut winding paths through the cattails, coulees, and brush at harrows edge; and still the birds held. Bird dogs disappeared, and voices were snatched from the air before they reached expectant ears. Our numbers were few, and made lonelier by the obstructions to our view.

Eyes searched for a flicker of movement in a land that swatted, swiveled, and swayed. We longed for a royal flush; but the air remained barren of beating wings. And it’s not until after I passed, that behind my back cunning and color took a chance, bursting forth in one last heroic flight towards that Montana sky.

A shotgun report, a cartwheel to land, and I sink to my heels in a posture of patience; allowing the return of my quarry to come at his chosen pace. 11 years of bird-dogging have greyed Jack’s face and stiffened his four-legged stride, yet with gentle jaws he nobly presents my feathered treasure at my feet.

Eye-to-eye, I murmur my heartfelt thanks for the kingly bestowing of a gift he doesn’t have to give. He sits to solemnly accept my praise, with a sharp focused gaze undeterred by the wind blown feathers tickling his stoic lips. I wonder if the Griffon pup waiting in the truck, has eyes to see all that she has yet to be.

I’ll drive 16 hours for a weekend of pheasant hunting with you in the 30 mph winds of North Dakota anytime Dad. I don’t know if little girls ever outgrow that 10-year-old determination to show their Dads how tough they are; but I’ll climb down in the coulees to flush birds out of the brush all day to hear you yell, “That’s my girl, Kate!” as we both pull roosters from our bird bags, your booming laugh and the wind-waved wheat swirling around me. Thanks for telling everyone at camp how proud you are of me, and also that you didn’t beat me enough growing up. Thanks for the invite, bear hugs, beautiful birds and always checkin the oil in my car before I hit the road. I love you.