None to pleasant, but I have tasted worse

Sometimes hunting leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

My friend Edub and I were up north a few days ago in search of pheasants. He was hunting behind his big running German shorthair Streak and I was trailing Ace, my 4-year-old springer spaniel.

Edub and I headed in different directions when we left the truck. He and Streak started working the thick cover along the creekbank while Ace and I walked through a long, wide strip of uncut alfalfa.

Eventually, Ace put up a couple of roosters and I shot one. We made a wide loop, didn’t see another bird, and got back to the truck in about an hour.

Edub and Streak got back a few minutes later, having had no success.

We decided to load up and try another spot. But first Edub said he wanted to see if Streak would eat.

Unlike my springers, who inhale their food, Streak is a finicky eater, especially during hunting season. So it was a bit of a surprise to see her gobble down the bowl of kibble Edub offered her.

After she finished, we put the dogs in the back of the truck and drove a few miles up the creekbottom.

I had taken the dog boxes out of the truck a couple of days earlier and replaced them with a single dog bed. When I dropped the tailgate and the dogs leapt out I was hit with a spray of wet, undigested kibble.

Streak may have emptied her bowl, but the food didn’t stay with her long. A trembling bundle of muscle and sinew, she wanted to hunt, not digest food.

Edub and I pulled the soiled bed out of the truck and shook it off.

Then we again headed out in different directions.

I chew gum when I hunt, popping a piece in my mouth when I leave the truck and sticking another in my pants pocket as a spare.

This time, however, I forgot to grab a new piece and didn’t realize it until Ace and I were far from the truck.

“No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just chew the extra gum in my pocket.”

I wear shooting gloves when I hunt, and with a gloved hand I reached into my pocket and grabbed what I thought was the gum.

It wasn’t.

Instead I popped a piece of undigested kibble into my mouth.

It didn’t stay there long.

I spit it out, searched my pockets for a piece of gum and found none. Ace and I hunted another hour. I shot two more roosters and then hiked back to the truck, all the while trying to ignore the taste in my mouth.

But you know? I’ve tasted worse.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]