Beating the Alarm

By Stephan Papp

I had beaten the alarm. Feeling smug and right, it meant I had a chance to sneak out of the bedroom without waking my dear wife. When the need is great, my ninja skills are palpable. All preparations had been made the evening before. The decoys were bagged and put in the car, as were waders, shell box, jacket, hat, and gloves. Calvin’s dog food had already been placed in his bowl and placed on the counter. The metallic ring of kibble would no-doubt wake the puppy, Hazel.

Calvin slept at my door. He had beaten the alarm as well and greeted me with a sweeping tail wag. I tiptoed through the hall, avoiding the squeaky floorboards. Heck, I’d even trimmed Calvin’s nails. He gobbled down his breakfast while the coffee perked. Finished, he looked up at me, whined, and was ready to go. I poured a thermos and we snuck out the backdoor. Our exit was flawless!

On paper, it was to be a fine day. Ducks and geese in the morning with the Dane, then run through a field or two for the pheasant opener at nine. Perhaps we’d hit a Western Wisconsin triple, ducks, geese, and roosters! The weatherman said this October morning would be brisk in the morning and warm up beautifully by the afternoon.

October in Wisconsin is truly a remarkable month. I can’t think of another in which we have such a pleasant concoction of cold, warmth, and color. Sure, May is lovely. Coming out of a long winter, it is welcomed indeed, but the outdoor opportunities of October have ownership over my heart.

Walking around the house, my old friend’s tail wagged. He gave me that golden smile, with tongue lolling, and sat on the street at the back of the car. No more jumping for this fella. I hoisted him up and placed him in the back. Cal helped me by jumping up at the same time, thus making the job easier on both of us. With a scratch of his ears, I closed the back gate and got behind the wheel.

The sky was a mix of twinkling stars and patches of cloud. Amidst a deep purple sky, Deer were afoot, as were rabbits, skunks, and other critters. Autumn was in full swing. All were awake, doing whatever was necessary to prepare for the coming winter. I wondered, would the ducks follow suit?

The crunch of gravel on the tires let Calvin know we’d arrived at the Dane’s abode. I opened up the back gate. Typically, he’d lunge out, zip through the yard before urging me to hurry up. I lifted my old friend as gently as I could and placed him on the ground… where he zipped around the yard and urged me to hurry!

Grinning, I donned waders, slung the decoy bag, gun, and gear, and plodded to the lake. The Dane was already off Mitchel’s Crossing and waiting for us. Kreuger joined us on the path to say hello. Both dogs were wagging away doing their hello rituals. Thankfully, they did them quietly, as there were geese on the lake. It seemed I wouldn’t be putting out decoys for a while.

I took a position against a tree at the lake shore just right of the Dane. No hello’s, just a head nod and shake towards the direction the geese were roosting. As dawn and legal light approached, Krueger explored the area behind us. Calvin sat between the Dane and me and soaked up another beautiful sunrise. His noble head was up, nose catching the scent, and eyes alert for whatever was on the water or in the skies. He was ready. Kreuger soon returned as well.

Before long, geese began swimming from various places on the water. A flock of some twelve or fifteen meandered several hundred yards in front of us. They began to call. As their music crescendoed, wings beat the water, and they took flight. The grace and beauty of those large Canadas reflected off the lake water as they flew away from our crossing. The lead goose shifted, banked, and the flock came. Calvin tensed. Shoot, we all did! The birds came in on a string, flying low and just right of us. I called the shot. As the echoes reverberated across the lake, a couple branches rained down on my head, but no feathers. No geese. The Dane and I flat out missed.

“Well, that wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” I chuckled.

“Nice shooting, Austrian!” said the Dane.

“Why are you reloading all three? I only have one shell,” I replied.

“Fair enough.”

We moved quickly, as the entire lake came alive. Another flock from a corner bay came from our left, hit the middle of the lake, and took the same line. This time we connected! My goose crashed through the branches to land three feet from my right. Calvin rushed to the bird, grabbed it, and brought it to me. He was a little confused that it wasn’t in the lake.

The second goose fell back behind us in the marsh grass. Kruger and the Dane took to the footpath to get ahead of it. Cal and I took to the grass. Both dogs worked beautifully. Krueger sped zig-zag, criss-cross. Grass rippled in his wake. Calvin tested the air and methodically made his way nearer the Dane. The goose hid somewhere between. Both dogs located their quarry. With a goose in our hands, we went back to the blind, sipped coffee, and waited for fowl. I wouldn’t call it a worthless wait. The coffee was hot and the company... only so-so.

Geese flitted from numerous locales across the horizon, but none came our way. We called it quits and lit out for pheasants. Calvin slowed on his way back. I lifted him to the back of the car and we took off. Even slowed, he was all smiles and ready for more.

Matt joined us at the specified field. We took our allotted spots and made our way. Calvin worked the first section of cut corn and scrub. Krueger and the Dane were to the left of us, with Matt to our right. Within the first few minutes, a couple of birds got up and flew off ahead of us. They offered no shot. Walking to the spot, Calvin sniffed and worked into the thicker grasses.

He soon slowed and looked for me to take the lead. I understood. He’d done his job this morning. With him at my heels, this hunt was a bonus. Cal was hurting, so it’d be Krueger’s day. His time to shine and he did too.

We made our way through the grasses and connected with the Dane near cattails. As we neared a funnel, Kreuger got birdy. We had grassland to the left, a pocket of shrub/scrubbed trees center, and the cattail marsh right. Nearing the trees, Krueger locked up on point.

“Get ready!” said the Dane. He was to my right and just in front of me. I took a safe position on the opposite side of the trees. Matt was too far over. Krueger held a perfect point for seconds that felt like hours. The Dane and I took a step. The rooster jumped just ahead of me. I swung through the target, led him, and dropped him. It was the most beautiful point I’ve experienced. Kreuger made a beautiful retrieve. With the bird in my hand, I held it out to Calvin. He gave the bird a lick and whined. He stayed at my heels as we trudged ahead.

No more pheasant that morning. We slowly plodded back to the vehicles. I poured water for the dogs, visited with my friends, and looked as Cal rested in the grass. He was tired. Had I known it would be his last retrieve and bird, I’d have perhaps savored the moment more.

That’s life though, isn’t it? The unknown and unexpected. We hate it but need it. Doesn’t it give a reason to get up in the morning? A siren’s call to meet the day! If we were to know how it all ended, what would be the point? I knew my friend was aging, and would need to slow down. I just thought there’d be more time.

A couple of weeks later, a large tumor formed along Calvin’s left shoulder. It happened so suddenly, we thought perhaps he had dislocated or had a deep contusion. A trip to the vet confirmed the news. In fact, Cal had two other types of tumors forming at other places underbelly. There wasn’t anything to do, save make our guy comfortable.

The beauty of that October day was savored, as winter came to Wisconsin with a roar. We were hit with powerful prairie winds, storms, and snow. In fact, I can’t remember a colder deer opener. The bottom line is I was gentle with my dear dog and was unable to get him to the marsh.

Before long, the last weekend of duck season was here. I had hoped to take Calvin to a spot where he’d only need to walk a hundred and fifty yards, with easy terrain. The big water was open that Friday but a fierce storm was coming, promising winds of fifty to sixty miles an hour Saturday. My sons wanted to come along for a final hunt. That weather report put Saturday to bed. I didn’t want to put any of the three in that kind of weather. I was hoping the fierce winds would keep the ice at bay. We’d go Sunday morning.

I’d beaten the alarm again but didn’t feel smug or clever at all. I felt something different… duty? Honor? It hadn’t clicked yet. I opened the bedroom door. Calvin laid at the foot and greeted me with a sweeping tail wag and swing of his head. Scratching his ears, I tiptoed to miss the squeaky floorboards. Calvin’s breakfast was waiting, already poured, and set upon the counter. It wouldn’t do to wake the puppy and have her whining to wake the house. The coffee brewed, as my son, Brandon crept quietly downstairs. All the gear had been stowed the evening before.

We put on our boots and jackets and slipped out the backdoor. Calvin’s tail wagged as we walked to the front of the house. That golden smile was on full display. He sat at the rear of the car and whined with tongue waggling. I gently picked him up and placed him in the back, scratched between the ears, and closed the door.

We picked Wesley up from his apartment and drove to the river. Calvin was so excited to have the boys with. They gave him plenty of pets and such on our drive. We were later than I’d wanted but I figured we didn’t have far to walk if our luck held.

The morning was bitter, cold, and calm. The wind had died out during the night, bringing an arctic air mass that shut a good chunk of schools down for several days. As it was, when we hit the boat launch, there was nothing but a gray expanse over everything. The big water had frozen over. I let Calvin down gently. We donned waders, I grabbed gear, and we made our way to a point off of a large bay. Maybe I could cut a hole? Unfortunately, there were two rings of ice. The near shore had at least six inches. Sixty yards further lay the second ring. We had been iced out.

There was one last opportunity, but it’d be a hike. The river outlet. Could my dog handle it? I looked at Calvin. He was all business, eager, and strong. He made our choice.

A short drive brought us to a familiar place. Calvin urged us to hurry along. Two other vehicles were there. I had a sneaking suspicion where they’d be. It was my hope, we could find a spot.

The dawn was in full swing as we marched along the river bottoms. The river to our left was crystal clear. Bald eagles, disturbed by our presence, left their nests and flew along the river’s course. Nearing the outlet, a trio of hunters had spread decoys, yet they were a good five hundred yards from the mouth. After saying good morning, and explaining our situation they had no problem with us hunting ahead of them. Telling them it would be my dog’s last hunt brought a pang of emotion to my gut. I knew they were my words coming out but it felt like someone else speaking.

Another few hundred yards ahead but on the other side of the river was the second group. There was no place to set decoys without interfering with the others. I made my way over, spoke to them, and asked if they would mind us sitting on the brush over the frozen bay. I again let them know it was my dog’s last hunt and we wouldn’t shoot at any birds working. They chuckled when I said we would clean up on anything they missed.

I truly appreciated the kindness both groups showed us that morning. True sportsmen and women are class acts. As it was, the beauty of the scene permeated everything. Wesley and Brandon sat with Calvin and snapped photos of the backdrop. Divers were working the main channel of the Mississippi both low and high. Calvin watched those glorious migrators in flight with his head alert, ears cupped. He sat at my side. We took it all in.

Oh, how I wish I could say a flock of red-legged mallards poured down from the heavens. I wish that the report of my Remington had rung out over the Mighty Mississippi, and a fully-plumed, plump drake lay kicking on the ice as my partner, my dear friend, Calvin ran out, picked him up, and brought it back to me. It didn’t need to in order to be a great hunt.

As we packed up and began walking back, Calvin was strong! He worked the shoreline. He zipped through the grasses and trees. He pushed ahead along the river trail making our way back to the car. He leaped over several logs along the path. Oh, he was happy. I don’t know where the tears came from, but they slipped from my cheeks and splattered along my Remington.

Back at the car, Calvin sat in the sunshine. The boys and I poured a cup of coffee. We offered some to our boy. He sniffed it, and opted for a chunk of ice. We toasted our boy Calvin, packed the gear away, and I helped him into the back of the car one last time. We logged over 9,000 steps that morning. Nearly four miles!

We said goodbye to our golden boy one month later, to the day. As heartbreaking as it was, He will still be with me moving ahead. Not only in my heart, but I carved my first mallard drake afterward. The urn I carved, painted, and floated will be part of my rig henceforth.

With the puppy, Hazel in training, I can’t wait to bring Calvin with me next season. We’ll see if together we can continue to beat that alarm.