September, Finally

Finally. September has finally arrived. Combines are beginning to awaken from their slumber, pumpkin lattes are just around the corner, and the door to my gun cabinet is swung wide open.

Aldo and I returned to the site of his first bird retrieve – a farm in Northeast Kansas – where, if you park the truck just right, you get to feel like you’ve actually removed yourself from the rest of the world. The dove migration hasn’t quite picked up there, yet, but the weather was cool in the evening and tolerable in the afternoon, so we made camp with no agenda. Despite the bulk of the dove population still residing somewhere north of us, Aldo and I still managed to bag a few doves. We even, much to my serendipitous glee, shot a dove right over the same pond Aldo retrieved his first bird (which was also a dove, two seasons ago).

I stood on the bank of that pond on Friday night. Shotgun in the crook of my arm, smoke curling from one of the barrels, and I watched Aldo proudly trot back to me with a mouth full of feathers. I thought about the last time we did that together, there at that pond. How I had stood in the same spot and pondered whether or not I would ever “succeed” in raising and training a bird dog. And then I smiled. Dang, we’ve come a long way. Aldo and I still have plenty to work on as a hunting team, but I let myself table those critiques for a moment and I just allowed that smile to grow on my face. Hunting season is finally back.