It was a pretty Sunday afternoon here in the hillbilly triangle where Idaho, Oregon and Nevada meet. My girlfriend unit said "get your lazy ass off the floor and let's go shoot some of God's creatures!" I slipped on a pair of ratty Carharts and a rattier pile sweatshirt. I asked the dogs if they wanted to go hunting and they started dancing on their toenails....
We all piled into the truck and headed over to farmer McNutbar's 1200 acre spread. He is incredibly lazy about controlling the weeds on his ditch banks, may God bless and keep him safe. It has been raining here lately and there is still 400 acres of corn standing. I figure that most of the pheasants were in the corn, but we always kick a couple out of the Kochia weed.
About 100 yards down the ditch Magda goes on point on an 18" culvert pipe. She was trying to crawl into it (it was half filled with mud, dirt and gravel) so I knew it wasn't just a bird. I pulled her out and got down to see what was in there. Ha, just as I suspicioned! Big ole Tom tooty pat silhouetted against the far opening. I said "get ready girls" to Magda and Petra, and stung the cat with a light load of birdshot (nothing penetrated that thick winter fur). Cat came flying out of the culvert, pissed as hell for a nanosecond, then he noticed Magda and Petra coming at warp factor 6. Battle was joined. Watching my Magda and her daughter Petra tag teaming a loathsome (aren't they all?) cat fills my heart with joy. They had him stretched pretty good after a minute. Petra slipped off its ass end. Magda quickly shifted her bit site from the head to the back just behind the front shoulders and did her unhinged head trick where she whips poor old Sylvester back and forth about three or four times per second. A slow-motion camera would reveal her head tracing a small figure of eight pattern (just like Christy Yamaguchi doing her compulsory figures at the Winter Olympics). All the vertebrae popped, and that was that.
About five minutes later they went on point. I got ready to shoot a rooster, but no! , it was another kitty cat! Well this deal turned into a full five minute battle Royale. That cat was stout of heart, stout of body, and fast of limb. Till the day I die the picture of Magda with the cat's head in her mouth while the cat raked her muzzle with its claws will be etched in my mind. Petra was doing a great job flying in the wingman position. She had a good purchase on the cat's rear end, and pulled mightily. They would have to let go from time to time as their slavering jaws made Mr. Pooty Tat kind of slick and hard to hold onto. The cat got a little stiffer and slower each time. Finally it lost its concentration for a fraction of a second. That was all it took. Magda repositioned and chomped down on the back of its head and neck. Those steel jaws moved inexorably closer together until the skull collapsed, and that, again, was that.
JCN
PS They pointed two pheasant a little later, but that was purely cool down activity from the main events.

Fine story, well written.... GREAT DOGS! < !--color--> Your slo-mo replay commentary is of the highest caliber...most excellent. I've never seen a bird dog that didn't have to shake it out a bit before getting down to particulars. I'll bet the pheasants still out there are greatful. Sorry they were "weed wions", they don't cook very well, tough as all get out.

Dan

Pres., TYHC

www.ShakeN.Bake

Lawndart, you, sir, have two very well trained dogs! Good job!

Rick

clay

They are most certainly "man's best friend"
And in some situations, mans only friend. They hate cats as badly as we do!

Last night I thanked God for allowing Magda and Petra into my life.

I first got hunting dogs to make my hunting more efficient. Now the biggest reason I bird hunt is because my dogs love to do it. We each go through all these phases in our lives. Each change is like when a cucumber gets turned into a pickle. There ain't no going back.

JCN

Very true my friend, very true.


Dan

Pres., TYHC

www.HAPPY.THANKSGIVING