Dusty, dogs, and memories.

Blog Forums Fly Fishing Dusty, dogs, and memories.

Viewing 7 posts - 1 through 7 (of 7 total)
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  • #3254
    Aaron Otto
    Member

    Inspired by a photo from Dusty, I decided to ask if anyone else had a four legged-fishing friend?

    #27202

    Aaron,
    I shot the image in RAW, big file, open to many possibilities from one more well versed in post production than me. I have been playing with it for days now, and have a dozen or so different versions. You can have it, or at least a burned disc with some untouched “Gus” shots.
    D.

    #27203

    Aaron,
    I forgot to mention the price of the images, seeing as how I am a world-renowned photographer and all…if I ever get to your part of the world, we have to spend a day on the water, preferably with a four-legged companion.

    Deal?

    D.

    #27204
    Aaron Otto
    Member

    You bet D.

    A

    #27205
    andrew brown
    Member

    The dog, my dog.  Lance.  He is large, not so much in charge, an under trained.  A happy-go-lucky kind of dog, always sporting a goofy grin and ready to chase his tail, to this day his absolute favorite thing to do.

    #27206
    Darrin Terry
    Member

    Nice, Andrew. It’s hard to do better than befriending a dog. Certainly the most loyal friend most people could ever imagine. I had to say goodbye to mine a few years back. Rough time that. :'( Your love for your dog is pretty obvious. That’s as it should be, of course. Love the pic, too. Good for you on letting your pop have time with your buddy.

    Darrin

    #27207
    bob bolton
    Member

    From “You Can’t Make a Living Tying Flies” on my web site.

    Appendix: Audubon Autumn

    Ever bird hunter wants a hunting dog. Somewhere along the line, when I got into bird hunting, I decided to get my own dog. I don’t know if it was Skippy, the bird eating dog, or hunting behind the Racke’s labs, or hunting behind Al Bryant’s Brittany, I decided to buy one. It wasn’t bad timing because our beloved family pet, Pepper, had passed on and we had an opening. I was put onto a breeder who specialized in Brittany’s. Long story short, in 1992 I had a bright bouncing baby Brittany brat. These dogs are terrible until they get to about a year and a half old. Liked to drive my wife crazy.
    When Autumn was about a year old, I took her out in a field at Stony Creek Park and started working her with dummies (not me, the one’s you throw). I tried a starter pistol over her and it scared her a lot. I had heard stories about getting dogs gun shy and that Brittany’s were particularly susceptible. So I quit right there and called Preston Mann Jr. and asked him what to do. He said, “Don’t shoot over her until she is at least 18 months old and bring her to me before you do.” This was to be the best advice I was ever given.
    When Autumn was 18 months old, I took her out to Preston’s place and we went out to one of the farms he leases for Farmland Pheasant Hunters – a club he runs for fair chase hunting planted birds on leased farmland. He brought 4 pheasants with him in a box. We went out in an open field of alfalfa about 2 feet high. It was late fall and the grass was already dormant. Preston wrung the neck of one of the birds and hid it in the field about 30 yards from Autumn and I. I released Autumn and let her find the bird and play with it a while.
    The next bird he pulled out the flight feathers from it’s wings, twirled it around by the feet a bit, and hid it in the field. I released Autumn and let her find the bird. She locked on point and we flushed the bird but it couldn’t fly very far. We let Autumn point, flush, and play around chasing the bird but she couldn’t catch it. Preston finally killed the bird and let her catch up and play with it.
    The next bird he just twirled it around by it’s feet a bit and again hid it in the hay. He looked at me and said, “You can’t miss this bird. You must kill it over her or all bets are off.” No pressure – right. Well, Autumn did point the bird, the bird did flush, and I did shoot the bird. At the crack of the 20 gage, Autumn flinched but the bird came down in front of her. Cool. One more bird, one more bang, one more flinch, one more bird dropped from the sky. A light came on in Autumn’s head. Bang


    bird. Cool. From that moment on Autumn would run towards gun fire. No gun shy dog here thanks to Preston.
    Later I said, “What do I owe you Preston?” “Nothing, just pay for the birds at the going rate and join Farmland Pheasant Hunters.” Autumn and I have spent many pleasant hours wandering some of those fields.

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