Yipping all the way

Bird season opened last weekend and I was hesitant to take Jem hunting. Now 12 years old and limping like Chester on Gunsmoke, the old springer looked like a dog that should be retired from the field. I doubted he’d be able to keep up with me, let alone the other dogs, but it was his birthday and there was no leaving him at home.

I should have known better.

He’s always had a big motor, and a hitch in his git-along was little hindrance. I still couldn’t keep up.

While Ace and Ruth worked back and forth through the short grass, Jem took a straight-line approach, quickly getting out of r...