Quail season not the same without faithful companion

In the days and weeks leading to the opener, I usually can be found reading up on hunting tactics, perusing newspaper ads for sales on ammo or throwing training dummies for my hunting partner.

Not this year. This year the feeling just isn’t the same.

Ten years ago, I received a phone call from my then brother-in-law Brad. “Hey, Doug, remember Brinkley, my dog? Well, you can’t have him.”

Brinkley was a quick-minded Labrador retriever with a shiny black coat and eyes that sparkled with the excitement of just being alive. I was impressed with his desire to retrieve and most of all to please. He was less than 5 months old but already showed the quality of his breeding.

“This dog,” I thought then, “could be a great dog in the field. Too bad Brad doesn’t hunt.”

Brad continued, “You can’t have Brinkley, but he does have a sister! If you’re interested, and can meet us in St. George, you can have her.”

Arrangements were made, and a few days later my boys and I met Maddie for the first time. She was beautiful, intelligent, full of energy and bold enough to walk away with three people she didn’t know until a few minutes before. She was just 6 months old, but these traits would show themselves again and again through the coming years.

During the next 10 months, Maddie and I worked hard to get ready for her first quail season. She learned quickly and responded well to voice commands and hand signals, but there was one command she obeyed only when she wanted to. As long as I was nearby, she would stay when told, but as soon as I walked away, Maddie would quietly sneak up on me until she reached my side.

We worked on this for months, perhaps years, but somewhere along the line I gave up. How could I complain when all she wanted was to be at my side?

A dog’s first retrieve is kind of like a child’s first step; they are hard to forget. When the sun came up on the next quail opener, Maddie and I went to work in the McCullough Hills south of Las Vegas.

It took us awhile to find them, but we finally managed to flush a handful of birds. I picked out a bird flying right to left, and, as it had so many times before, the old 870 bucked against my shoulder. The bird folded and fell to the ground.

Maddie had a good idea of where the bird fell, but when she got there it was apparent she couldn’t pick up the scent. Frustrated, I walked her around the bird for two or three minutes before she finally realized it was there.

Through the years, Maddie’s nose didn’t improve a whole lot. It usually took her awhile to find most birds, but she eventually would.

I just had to be patient and let her do her thing. After all, she was always patient with me, especially when I missed an easy shot. She might give me a look that said, “You couldn’t make that shot?” But, as always, she never left me.

Not until August, when time and illness finally caught up with her.

Perhaps when the sun comes up Saturday morning, she’ll be out looking for quail somewhere in the great beyond where birds are forever there and waiting for my command, “Fetch ’em up, Maddie.”

Freelance writer Doug Nielsen is a conservation educator for the Nevada Department of Wildlife. His “In the Outdoors” column, published Thursday in the Las Vegas Review-Journal, is not affiliated with or endorsed by the NDOW. Any opinions he states in his column are his own. He can be reached at intheoutdoorslv@gmail.com.