Matt loves to hunt geese, and we have plenty around the farm this time of year. They keg up in gaggles of over 1000, settle onto one of our newly planted fields and feast away. So hunting and hazing has become more than just a hobby around here, it’s now an official farm job. Which Matt, my hunting loving husband, hates (yeah right!). So the other day he came home with his limit, and threw them in the shed to be cleaned up later that day.
Now I have to switch to another part of this story that is equally as important as my husbands love for hunting, it’s Yukon (my dogs hatred of guns and therefore hunting, but love for dead things, especially geese.) It was a nice day so I had the dogs running around outside, just doing what old dogs do. Until I looked out the window and realized I didn’t see that darn gun shy dead goose loving dog anywhere! I just had a feeling, and when I looked in the shed I was right. The goose count was down one, and Yukon was no where to be seen.
I went and got Matt, “Yukon took a bird and he’s gone!” We split up looking for the darn dog, old dog #2 Diesel came with me one direction and Matt set out another. It was about 10 minutes later, I see Yukon heading as fast as he can across country towards the house. I’m pretty sure he got a good “talking to” from his dad because he barely even looked at me just headed straight to the laundry room to hide…he knew he was in trouble.
So Diesel and I went to where Matt had headed, he was pacing around through briars and tree stumps looking for this darn buried goose. We thought maybe the old dog #2 would sniff it out, but he seemed to be saying, “You know that I’m a retired goose retrieving dog right?!” So he just trotted along next to us not seeming too concerned with our search.
Then it occurred to me, what if we let Yukon take another bird, then maybe he would go and bury in the same place! I headed back home, coerced Yukon our of his hiding place, gave him a few pats on the head and set a goose right in front of him. “Take it away buddy!” He gave me a look of confusion, trying to figure out why dad was so mad, mom was so nice…what could it all mean?
I went into the house like I had before, going about my business hoping he would see that all he had to do was go bury another goose, in the same burial ground preferably, while Matt waited in the brush to find the secret spot. I waited about 10 minutes then went to head outside to see what had trasnpired. Yukon had taken the bird, but he hadn’t headed out across country, he brought it into the house and laid it right by the front door, where I literally almost stepped on it.
I looked over and there he was, looking for forgiveness with those big eyes.
Eventually Matt found the buried goose, and we all had a good laugh about that dang gun hating, dead goose loving dog, Yukon.
NuttyGrass 