Editor’s note: This is part of an ongoing series by members of TU’s Sportsmen’s Conservation Project. For more, visit www.oursportingheritage.org, a site dedicated to protecting our backcountry resources.
The whistling crescendo of rushing air was not only startling, it was almost unnerving. Like an eerie formation of B-17s, they loomed into sight, straight on over the ponderosas. Twelve o’clock high, as they say. No time to gawk or even take cover; I needed to make good on my promise.
We who live with gun dogs stumble through life up to our lanyards in hopeless debt. I’m not talking about the inescapable vet and feed bills; those obligations can be paid off. But how do you repay a companion who happily produces 110 percent every day of her life, often in the most gawdawful weather or obscenely vertical terrain—in a quest just to please you?
Realistically, you cannot. But you have to try.