The Exorcism

I exorcised a demon yesterday, Halloween Eve.

It was a last minute walk. A fading afternoon, last *critical* to-do crossed off decision to go back to my roots. Back to why I came back to Minnesota. Back to just me and the dog and the gun and a walk on new ground. Leave the phone in the truck and cast off. Just how I started this journey with another dog and another gun in another life ago.

I haven’t let go of losing that old dog, not yet. Probably never will. Mostly it’s the memories of her antics and shenanigans and the feel of her thick fur in my fingers on long drives. But in the field, it’s her teamwork and reliability that haunts me. Her ability to summon should-be-lost cripples from the depths was other worldly. She spoiled me with confidence. With something I could count on.

The Kid is all point and run and jet fuel. I’ve had to rein her in bird drunk a few times this season. The Ol’ Girl was more diesel – low end torque to get the job done.

I cut loose from the truck in that prone to make mistakes state that is rushing, distracted by business and life and desire for what could be. I remembered to leave the phone, I forgot to grab her collar.

Every hunt since the Ol’ Girl went with the wind I’ve brought her with, collar clipped in a mountaineer carabiner run through a strap in the back of my vest. When not afield it’s slid over my shift lever. She always loved the truck. Wherever I go, there she is.

Even scars grow beautiful if you look at them long enough.

I made it 10 minutes before I realized the familiar weight pulling me backwards wasn’t there. 10 minutes before I chastised myself for not having my shit together, for not focusing, for juggling too much, and all the other negative self-talk that comes in a moment of shameful disappointment.

The Kid is used to this and she forgives me. She checked in and off she went around the edge of corn and grass and hill, focused, as I should have been, on the task at hand with her head in the wind.

Nothing brings clarity of purpose like a dog on point, head and tail intensely focused on the goal ahead.

Thankful for the cackles on the rise I fought the sun in my eyes to draw on the hard left to right crosser.

There was the haunting again. Typical third shell connect coast out crash landing across the valley runner while The Kid chased the rest of the flush in the other direction.

My heart sank and I took off running, eyes boring a hole in the crash site. And then, The Kid is there. Point. Pounce. Point. Tail on full throttle track. Point. Wing beats. Pounce.

Hope.

Nothing.

What do you mean, nothing?!

Haunting.

Fuck.

And then a big girl move. Up and over the dike and into the drainage. Searching. Pointing. Birdy tail again. Another point. Moving again.

Nothing.

I stood on the dike and told myself it was over. Another one that got away. Another loss. Another notch in the ‘should you really be doing this, Mike?’ list in my head.

I remember the confidence the Ol’ Girl brought. Knowing and not having anymore make the lack of it worse.

And then The Kid is gone. My view only canary and cattail and gone subterranean shorthair.

I want to be a patient person. But, in these moments, when emotions are high and loss is on the line, I’m not. Just disappoint me and get it over with.

Movement.

Wing and tail and lolling white neck and multicolored crown carried by liver speckled bird dog resurrected. Phantom pheasant vanquished.

Doubt assuaged. Mouthful of feathers. Confidence restored.

We all want the fairy tale, the easy money, the effortless forever love, the complete package, the ‘once in a lifetime’ bird dog.

The trouble is, too much emphasis on the ideal and too much focus on what was and it’s easy to miss what’s right in front of you.

She fell quickly to snoring in the front seat as dusk fell and the truck pointed back to life. I found that thick fur and softly buried my fingers for a moment, a silent good girl for a job well done.

I rounded the corner on the section line and stared out over the grass. The next thing I felt was the faux leather orange rubber and cold metal buckle just behind the steering wheel.

And there, over the prairie slid a Red Tail riding the current and making moves, free to go wherever it wanted, a familiar comfort baptized in the wind.