This past hunting season, I was invited to join a dove lease just outside of Ingleside, Tx. for pennies compared to the other leases in south Texas.  I was extremely skeptical.

“For only two hundred bucks, you’ll be able to hunt doves, quail, deer and pigs for the entire season, and its only a thirty minute drive from Corpus.”

Right away I thought of an old abandoned parking lot or maybe we would be in his back yard shooting grackles of his fence.  “C’mon! Whats the catch?”

“No catch.  I am being straight up.  Would I cheat you?” 

I told him I would have to see the property before I throw down the cash.

“Well, that might be a problem”, he says.  “There are only five spots, and four are filled.  The last one will go quickly.”  I began to notice the other hunters circling us like a bunch of buzzards ready to dive on the piece of prime rib that is this lease.

“Well, tell me more.”

“It’s an outstanding piece of property, with two stock tanks that have never once been dry in my thirty plus years of existence.  Add to that acres upon acres of waist deep goatweed so thick we will need to cut paths through them just to walk.  I have never had a bad hunt while out there, and always get my limit.”

Naturally, ideas of twenty minute limits, and my lab, Daisy, dead tired and covered in feathers were all I could see.  I could not write that check fast enough. Sorry buzzards!!  I walked away feeling like I had just bought a brand new Porsche for twenty bucks!  A part of me ALMOST felt bad for the guy who I had just swindled, to get myself on the most outstanding dove lease in all of south Texas.  Next came the preparations, and I studiously spent the next two weeks cleaning my guns, and checking my gear.  Daisy and I spent numerous hours throwing and retrieving bumpers.  I did not want to be that guy on the lease who chases after his very poorly trained dog, yelling obscenities, cursing the very existence of the dog he loves, and of course providing great amounts of entertainment for all the other hunters who have already limited on doves, and are now working their way through a limit of beer.  Daisy, it seems, knew about the great opportunity I basically stole for us, and performed in training sessions flawlessly.  Good dog. No, great dog!  This is how I anxiously spent the two weeks until opening day.  Finally the day was upon us.  I rushed home after work, grabbed my gear and the dog, and hightailed it the thirty minutes to the property.  When I arrived, there were three other hunters already setting up in what they thought would be the “best” spot.  I quickly introduced myself, and ran to a spot by one of the always full tanks.  Daisy was in the lead, and she went up and over the bank.  As I approached, I realized I wasn’t hearing any splashing.  Where is my dog?  Surely she could find water in a tank that has been claimed to be overflowing.  I crested the rise, and stared out at a veritable mud flat.  And Daisy, stuck to her chest in mud, five feet from the bank where she landed after jumping in.  She looked to me as if to say, “C’mon dad, get in here and get me out.”  I was surprised.  I lost both my socks, and only had to pull my boots from the mud twice before I retrieved my retriever.  I was covered in mud, but still excited about the hunt to be.  Daisy, however, was not.  My dog is a great hunter and companion.  But still she is a female, and every woman I know HATES to be dirty.  She began to jump, shake, roll around, and crawl to get the cement like mud off of her.  As I was watching/laughing/trying to get her to come to heel, a single dove lazily flew in front.  I jumped up and only used one of the two barrels of my Beretta.  The bird went down and landed with a thud fifteen yards away.  Perfect shot!  I sent Daisy who can’t seem to get there fast enough.  She picks up the dove, and proceeds to return to my side. What a GREAT dog!  It turned out to be the only bird in the area for the next three hours, so Daisy and I made our way to the trucks.  Everyone else was there, beer in hand, guns leaning against a tree.  They had been there for the three hours I wasn’t.

“How did y’all do?”

“Oh, we killed a twelve pack and are on our second.”

Great!  This is a $200 beer drinking club!  Oh well.  I lean my gun against the truck door and grab a can.  When in Rome…  And to top off the night, one of the other dogs got into my game bag and ate my one single dove!

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