Anotherone wrote:If you ever do write that book, I’ll be the first to buy an autographed copy. That’s something I could read over and over, real duck hunting life and times.
I tried writing and got a few stories like the first hunt with Blackie. He ran off...we both got lost. I gave up looking and then there he was.
Imagine the field...two lovers run to embrace...it was like that but his fur looked a Lil funny.
I gave him a big hug and pee you he'd chased a pole cat.
Brand new truck.
It's raining and cold.
Skunky dog what do you do?
He rode in the cab.
Guess what?
Skunk smell doesn't rub off onto your seats.
Who knew?
Aunt Betty knows.
Blackie was a hell of a dog. He'd dive and swim underwater to catch a duck.
I watched him go way down in super clear water at sanchris lake. Amazing critter. Pure rock dog.
I was completely clueless about training a retriever and just got lucky or something.
He fetched these.
Christmas day in 1997? It was Christmas and snowy.
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I still can't count very well.
Shot a shit ton of waterfowl with that old wingmaster.
I still have it but the pretty wood is long gone.
Ever go to a drawing and this dog is barking its ass off in somebody's truck the entire time? That would be Blackie.
He was an asshole.
I'd load up to go in the bronco and try to "air" him but no he's ready let's go now. Before the first stopsign he'd shit.
I'd go berserk and mop it up with his head. Thats why I called him shit head. If you set up a blind he'd carefully gauge the wind and shit upwind so I had to fake set up then move.
Blackie was a lot of trouble but he never lost a bird.
Shit head.
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