We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
My NYC daughter's Yorkie pup is three months old. (That white thing is a Christmas hair bow.) Pees on the floor, gets up on her hind legs to challenge our big dog - gets right in his face. Sort-of does "Sit" and "Stay" thus far, but not really "Come" or "heel."
Back at the barn after a long days' hunt today in the Hudson Valley with a pal and his business partner. Venison stew for lunch with a Bloody with extra horseradish, shot lots of birds over my pal's excellent Lab, saw three Bald Eagles (one of which, we suspect, stole a bird from our bird pile), smoked a cigar, had a few good beers and some very good conversation too. I shot quite well today, which I do not always do. I always find that an Irish Coffee or a Bloody helps my shooting.
Advent is hunting season too in this neck of the woods.
Thanks, pal, for hosting such a fine day. Les tres riche heures du Bird Dog, blessed as he is with good dear friends who like to do things. (On the other hand, he did chastise me, gently, a little for not monetising Maggie's Farm.)
Several neighbors kindly stopped by last weekend and dropped off the NY Times Sunday Magazine. The cover had a picture of ME! How exciting. Not quite as exciting was the article about how, in my current state, I may well be doomed. The article offered several solutions on how my breed may be saved.
I've owned a bulldog for 17 of the last 18 years, and currently own my second. I grew up with collies, german shepherds, and golden retrievers. Never did I expect to fall for a breed such as this. In fact, the original purchase was a Christmas gift for my new wife who loved the breed. We lived in an apartment, and they are excellent apartment dogs.
Neither of my dogs have had major health problems. More importantly, regarding the article, I've never met a breeder who would disagree with some of the commentary the article provided about the breed. All of them are upfront and honest about the difficulties bulldogs present. I purchased my current dog from Cody Sickle, who is quoted in the article. He is well known for producing healthy dogs. My vet is a former breeder, and his partners have all adopted the bulldog as their 'specialty'.
The key point of the article, however, is that the standard needs to be changed. Here, unfortunately, breeders and the AKC have not taken the necessary steps. Undoubtedly, the breed needs some refinement and some steps should be taken. But can you really question the majesty of such an animal as this?
I've seen all kinds of talented bulldogs. Skateboarding bulldogs, skimboarding bulldogs, bulldogs that run obstacle courses, they are all exceptional. But I think I'm partial to this one.
Our contributor Gwynnie will not be seeing this sunset from his duck boat in the reeds this fall, due to (non-serious) medical repairs.
Nice weather and clear skies are terrible for duck hunting. What you want is wind and snowy sleet, because when you are uncomfortable, the ducks are too - so they fly around. Otherwise, they sit and loaf and work on their tans in huge rafts out in the middle of the lake. Photo is not the lake itself - it's a good-sized bay on the lake.
Sunset is quittin' time. When he gets back to the lodge, he would typically clean up and dress in tweeds and a bow tie, and have a couple of single malts and a Habana ceegar in front of this fireplace before dinner. And probably some ancient port and another ceegar after the pumpkin pie with Maple Syrup on top, at the evening post-prandial confab at which non-PC jokes and lies predominate. Women not allowed as guests here. Jimmy Doolittle used to sit in front of this fireplace on his duck hunting trips (It's easy to tell that I'd like to be there now):
Somewhere in either Tolstoy or Dostoevsky there is a comment about the remorse of the hunter when holding a Woodcock in hand. You have noticed that our head image on Maggie's now is Woodcock hunting.
I have frequently felt something like remorse, when, on picking up a wounded one, I have met the forgiving expression of its full and bright, yet soft hazel orb. How many of the beauties who dazzle and enslave us would be proud of such an eye.
Skinner's charming section on the Woodcock, written back before hunting seasons were instituted, is here.
The Woodcock is a fat little shorebird, fatter but not much larger than the American Robin, who renounced the shore and took up residence in our Eastern woods and swamps.
Like all shore birds, they are ground-dwellers and ground nesters, and do not perch. Because of their camoflage, their habit of feeding and being active at dawn and dusk, and their trick of freezing when approached, they are not commonly seen except in early spring, when the males perform their remarkable aerial mating dance at dusk.
Their long bills are hinged near the tip for capturing earthworms which they probe for in the soil and forest litter. They are thus necessarily migratory, to the Southern US.
A few other details: Woodock is the only "shorebird" which is a legal game bird in the US today. They are not widely hunted, but they make excellent sport and their liver-flavored breasts are a rare gourmet treat. The French especially favor the brains, on toothpicks. People who don't like to eat them should not hunt them. Their habitat overlap with the Ruffed Grouse makes a typical mixed bag for Ruffie hunters. Because of their small size and cute appearance, many hunters will admit a mingled sense of dismay and pleasure when they bag a Woodcock. Unlike grouse, they cannot be hunted without dogs, because you would never find them. A decline in Woodcock numbers has been noted over recent decades, which may be due to habitat loss, but the cause is not certain. They are fond of overgrown fields and orchards, wetland edges, and transitional young woodlands, especially birch and aspen. The European Woodcock looks like ours, but is larger. Woodcock's heads are oddly-arranged: their brains are upside-down, and their ears are in front of their huge eyes.
I don't know if you've ever heard of Mark Derr - most people haven't but he's written a couple of books about dogs and one about Davy Crockett - all of which are very good. He's of the opinion that most anthropologists and other social scientists are wrong about the dog/man team and how it formed. He has had this idea about it being a matter of co-evolution rather than co-dependency and has written a new book about it: How did the wolf evolve into man’s best friend?
One could argue that co-evolution/co-dependency is the same thing, but I think he makes some important distinctions in how the wolf became the dog.
I do take issue with the main thrust of most of the dog/man analysis in that I don't believe the wolf ever truly left the dog. Most dogs, if left to their own devices and survival, revert very quickly to a feral state very similar to the classic wolf pack. The difference between feral dog packs and the wolf pack is that the feral dogs have a rather loose organization with more than one top dog and those aren't always breeding pairs as they are in a wolf pack. In fact, the feral dog pack behaves much in the same way Derr describes when he was doing his research on the wolf researchers.
I love his commentary about The Dog Whisperer" - Cesar Millan. The guy is a good trainer no doubt, but he's got some rather outdated ideas about human/dog interactions.
In any case, I've read his other two dog books "A dog's history of America : how our best friend explored, conquered, and settled a continent" - 2004 and the first "Dog's best friend : annals of the dog-human relationship" - 1997. Highly recommended if you can find them - I think they are both out of print.
Anyway, the article is very good - enjoyed it. Hope you do.
Every red-blooded American kid should know how to handle firearms. And a lot of other things, too.
As I always say to my critical sisters, it's more morally consistent to kill your own food than to buy it at the supermarket after other people kill it.
Happy Hunting season to all Maggie's Farmers, whether you participate in the fun, or not.
It's the time of year when we re-link our world-famous Boots and Wellies opus as part of our series of All You Need to Know For Snow (and mud) season.
It's also a good time of year for another free advt for Sierra Trading Post. Good discount outdoor gear, plus sneakers, etc. Often, good deals on dress shoes and work shoes, too. Some folks collect knives, or guns, or knick-knacks. I collect boots because happy feet make for a happy man.
I also collect boots because, as many unhappy feet learned the hard way, your winter boot size is probably not your foot size. You will put your wool socks and maybe liner sox inside them if you plan to spend any real time in the cold.
You gotta size 'em for your socks and not for your feet, in the north.
Our editor mentioned not being able to quite grasp the idea of freshwater stripers. Well, here is one I caught yesterday morning on Lake Murray, 26" - 15 lbs. Caught a total of four over a half hour or so - all in this range - 25 to 26", 15/17 lbs.
I was definitely on the wrong side of the bite, so I switched from bait casting to fly rod. Used a Ugly Stick 7' fast action rod (home build), Galvan T-12 large arbor reel, #12 weight forward sinking line, 5 yards of 48 lb lead core line, 6' 20 lb florocarbon tippet and one of my jig "specials" - 1/2 oz, lead core, foam covered jig head/hook with chartreuse/white bucktail with some transparent yellow colored foil for flash. All topped off with a 6" curly tailed grub.
Now I can here you thinking all the way down here - that's not fly fishing - that's bait casting. No it isn't. Its the same technique used to get the lure down to the fish as you would use on a stream, pond or small lake - it's just heavier with more "umph" if you will. The whole idea is to get the lure to present properly to the fish you're targeting. It works the same if its a nymph, dry fly or foam bass bug.
Wood stove heat, two bedrooms, and lights and a hot shower when they turn the generator on at 5 am. They serve a heck of hearty breakfast - lots of bacon, meat, eggs, pancakes, and home fries - and a tasty, simple supper. They will cook whatever you bring them from the woods. BYOB - and we do. No phone, no cell service.
Our usual hunting cabin at Bosebuck Camps, 13 miles down a rutted dirt logging road with Moosies usually trotting down it, not far from the Quebec border.
Dogs in the lodge, dining room, and on the beds, of course.
Support your local DU Chapter this year. It's for conservation, not greenie silliness. Attend your local event. It's good fun.
We always have a good time at our annual dinner. Basically all guys, except for the delightful raffle gals. Our DU dinner is old-fashioned, but we realize that the fellas like a guy's night out.
It must be late summer, and I have hunting on my mind.
This is my muddy-legged huntin' Standard Poodle, gazing out the cabin door after a long day in the woods and bogs a few years ago. Don't laugh: he points hard, and retrieves. Bred from a line of hunting Standards, and my second from that line. Used to hunt pretty close, but lately ranges too far yet will loop 20 yards left or right on command. Will chase a damn deer in a swamp forever, dang it. That's what whistles and shock collars were made for. He's been good with whistle commands, but I haven't practiced with him lately. Also known to point on mice. Love the guy despite imperfections, and well-aware that any dog's imperfections in training are really the master's laziness.
"Find the bird." He will do that with the greatest of pleasure, but it might very well be out of range if he puts the bird up or points on it. Loves the job, loves the hunt. Like most field dogs, cannot understand how any human can miss a bird. "No bird, no bird." They look at you like you're an idiot. You are supposed to be God.
I cannot clean a shotgun with him in the room. He goes berserko with excitement. All hunting dogs know the difference between hunting gear and ordinary outdoor stuff.
There is no work-out like a few days over hill and dale and busting brush in Maine near the Quebec border, pursuing the Ruffed Grouse (they call it pa'tridge up there - or "chicken") and Woodcock. Gosh, I just love it, even though you occasionally annoy a cranky moose.
As a very casual fisherman now - but an ex-avid fisherman (I no longer really care whether I catch anything or not as long as I can be out on the water), I kinda wonder.
It was after morning recess in Mrs. Winter’s sixth grade class at Mapleton School. I remember the moment precisely, when the boy behind me, right in the middle of the lesson, leaned over his desk and my shoulder to whisper in my ear that if I’d take a nickel down to Woolworths at Broadway and Pearl, I could buy this fishing “thing” with which I could catch lots of fish out at East Dagues Lake.
Well, so are all dog breeds, until someone gives them a breed name. But Brittanys aren't really true Spaniels (here are the main spaniel varieties - more of 'em than you might have thought), which is why we call them plain Brittanys. They are more pointers, or setters, or something. A mix of various random things that happened to come together well.
Who cares what you call them. In our neck of the woods, Brittanys are the best all-purpose dog for the field, and maybe the most popular gun dog. They point birds, they retrieve, they do not mind water retrieves; they are bundles of energy and affection, and they are easy to train - a cross look is usually enough to get your point across to these emotionally-sensitive critters. The larger American version can handle the large spaces.
But you need at least two of them. One Brittany isn't a fully happy dog. They need the exercise and the company they can give each other. Every hunter, or every human, can use a few sweet Brittanys around the place.
A group of them is called a "Singular" of boar (although the use of the term is disputed; see James Lipton,An Exaltation of Larks, Penguin
Books, 1991). An alternate term is a "Sounder" of swine.
Lovely day of fishing with "Gwynnie" today on his beautiful stream. Is there a name for the color of the earliest spring leaves in New England, that easy-on-the-eyes translucent yellow and green?
A darn shame Capt. Tom couldn't join us to offer me some fishin' tips and some photo tips.
Pool on the stream. There's a Red Tail nest down a little ways. We saw a Bald Eagle en route. Woods were full of singing flycatchers, warblers, and thrushes mostly headed further north. Atlantic Flyway.
Brought home a good-sized Brookie who obviously thrashed in the leaves for a minute. I considered a new recipe - oak-leaf-encrusted trout. Will cook him up for dinner tonight for Mrs. BD as an early Mother's Day treat. Orange flesh, like Salmon.
(No wonder Dunkin Donuts pays Maggie's $5 million/year for publicity...it's a good deal for them. Next, we'll work on a similiar deal with HARPOON BREWERY, makers of delicious brews. Consider it, fellas - Maggie's is an elite market!)
I went fishing this morning, but after a short time I ran out of worms. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a cottonmouth with a frog in his mouth. "Frogs are good bass bait" I thought to myself.
Knowing the snake couldn't bite me with the frog in his mouth, I grabbed him right behind the head, took the frog, and put it in my bait bucket.
Just then, I realized I had a problem, how was I going to release the snake without getting bit? So, I grabbed my bottle of Jack Daniels and poured a little whiskey in its mouth. The snakes eyes rolled back and he went limp. I released him into the lake without incident and carried on fishing using the frog.
A little later, I felt a nudge at my foot. There was that same snake with two more frogs in his mouth. Life is good in the South
The Woodcock is a fat little shorebird, fatter but not much larger than the American Robin, who renounced the shore and took up residence in our Eastern woods and swamps.
I don't know if you've ever heard of Mark Derr - most people haven't but he's written a couple of books about dogs and one about Davy Crockett - all of which are very good. He's of the opinion that most anthropologists and other social scientists are wrong about the dog/man team and how it formed. He has had this idea about it being a matter of co-evolution rather than co-dependency and has written a new book about it: 
Happy Hunting, 
It's the time of year when we re-link our world-famous 
Well, so are all dog breeds, until someone gives them a breed name. But Brittanys aren't really true Spaniels (here are the 
