Chesapeake Bay Retriever

Well there we were: traipsing in and out of the brush, looking for any game that might give Bayleaf some much-needed exercise in retrieving. Hunting in the northern part of Hansford County, we were hoping for a bouquet of pheasants, as they are called in groups or flocks. I hadn't seen or heard even the slightest sign indicating that they were anywhere close by. But knowing how these beautiful birds are masters at hiding, I just had a feeling they were there, somewhere.

As Bayleaf and I emerged through the dry grasses that grew along the open field, only one hen took flight, and that was in a rather nonchalant, unimpressed kind of way. No matter though, it was the cocks I was after and I figured they were more than likely to keep hid until the last possible moment. By the way, these magnificent birds have a way of taking to the horizon just about the time your next step would be on top of their head. That's when your heart will pound against your chest and make you shake just below your knees. Their plan seems to be to rattle you so much that there is no way you can get off a decent shot.

Anyway, I figured the pheasants were down near a cattle pond that freezes over during late December and January. I decided the best way for me to get off a good clean shot was to ease on out onto the ice and wait for Bayleaf to do some flushing. As I carefully walked out on the frozen pond, I gave Bayleaf a flushing command that he should have followed. Instead he stayed poised at the edge of the pond and would not take his eyes off me. I was becoming a bit irritated with his lack of response and made it plain from my tone that I meant what I said.

It was at that moment that the ice under my feet broke through and I went straight down. My rifle went sliding towards the bank and ended up at Bayleaf's feet. I was doing all I could to grab on to the ice and pull myself up above the freezing water, but to no avail. I was getting weaker by the moment between the cold and the weight of my quickly saturating clothing. I thrashed around and made a last effort to grab onto something. Unexpectedly, I discovered my hand wrapped around the butt of my rife. Bayleaf had a hold of the strap in his strong muzzle. Bayleaf gave me all the resistance I needed to pull myself out of what might easily have been a watery grave.

It was then that I came to know that retrieving birds did not do justice to the intelligence Bayleaf has. I will forever be grateful to this wonderful dog--what a treasure, and what a memory!