Molly’s First Grouse  Nobelles Molly Be Good)

It was Thanksgiving weekend, and this year my family and I joined my in-laws at their cabin in upstate Pennsylvania.  I was particularly excited as I had been planning on taking Molly (our 14 month old GSP pup) for her first Ruffed Grouse hunt.  Although, I had trained her on mock hunts with planted birds (as well hunting stocked Pheasants on State Game Lands) this was her first wild bird hunt.  Anyone who has taken their pup on a first time “anything” hunt knows how anxious I was for that weekend to begin.  We arrived Wednesday night after a long drive and after unpacking we had some downtime before turning in for the night.  I decided to take that time to explain my plans to my wife and father-in-law and mapped out for them where I was going to be hunting.  The next morning was Thanksgiving and I awoke to find it snowing and the kids already keeping my in-laws very active. 

It was about noon, while my wife and Mother-in-law were busy preparing the turkey dinner, when my wife suggested that all the men (meaning me, my two boys, and their Grandpop) should take the dog hunting.  No doubt this was suggested to empty the small cabin from all the noise and interruptions; howbeit, it was a proposition I didn’t mind as I am never one to turn down the opportunity to get into the woods.  So we all suited up in our blaze orange and boots and I assembled my 20 gauge and filled my vest with half a box worth of one ounce number 6s.  Normally, any one piece of hunting gear is enough to excite my young pup, but it seemed too much for Molly to bear as the entire party emerged from the back rooms.  When we all piled outside onto the deck, Molly bounded off into the woods and I had to call her back and put her on a sit/stay command so we could take some pictures.  Of course she looks like a sulking child who just had their favorite toy taken away.  But of course that’s a GSP’s way (smart, manipulative, and extremely loveable). 

So the four of us and Molly set off for her first Grouse hunt and headed for the last place anyone had seen our regal quarry.  Our walk took us down and along the creek, around some blow downs, through a pine stand, up the side of the mountain to an old logging trail, and back towards the cabin.  The whole expedition took about two hours and the falling snow had changed over to freezing rain.  The boys were showing there fatigue and my father-in-law volunteered to take them back in to the warmth and comfort of a dry living room and a lit wood stove.  I wasn’t ready to give up yet and Molly gave me the look that said she was going hunting with or without me.  So I did what anyone would have and started for the closest thicket full of wild grape vines.  Fifteen minutes into our renewed hunt Molly made a sharp left down the hill and stopped before an old hemlock.  I mounted my 20 and started to approach her, but be for I could take a step a grouse rocketed down the hill and she broke after it.  Since the bird was flying down the hill I had no clean shot with Molly in between us.  I followed the bird as it banked right into the stand of hemlocks and Molly lost her.  I called Molly back to me and cast her into a cross wind on the right of where we last saw the nervous grouse flush and I continued on the left hoping to pinch the bird between us.  Within a minute the grouse was found bunkered in a fallen log and Molly was locked up on it as I had hoped.  I approached and the bird exited and launched upwards heading for the safety of the evergreen cover above us.  One well placed shot and the bird was dead before it tumbled back to the earth where Molly was eagerly waiting to sniff, mouth, pick up and return to hand.  I gave Molly a great big hug and rub down and took the plump grouse from her mouth.  This was Molly’s first Grouse and a very thankful Thanksgiving for me.