"Well, since you put it that way and I guess I can smell the grouse from the rear as well as the front.  It will just take me longer", thought Uncle Jerry as he waited for Friend to pass him.

The two tramped along as quietly as could be, several times Uncle Jerry started to run off the road to go after enticing smells carried to him by wayward breezes. But each time a sharp reminder from his friend or his own memory of the excitement of chasing real game stopped him and kept him in his assigned place.

After what seemed like an eternity Uncle Jerry scented a grouse!  He knew instantly that it was just ahead and he surged forward in a crouching run!  As he went by, the human reached and grabbed Uncle Jerry by the back.

" Stop!  Where do you think you're going?” Friend asked.

Uncle Jerry didn't have time to try and explain and he was not to be denied!  With a twist and a wiggle he was free and charging after that enticing scent

After only a few yards a large willow grouses burst upward from the side of the road and flew to the lower branches of the closest tree!  Uncle Jerry knew the grouse was beyond his reach, but with the instinct of his ancestors he knew that as hard for him as it was, he should now be quiet and move around so that the bird would keep watch on him and forget to fly.  That is exactly what happened!  Friend quickly brought his gun to bear and as quickly pulled the trigger. Bang, went the gun!  Whoosh and whir went the grouse as it quickly jumped into the air and flew off into the forest.

Uncle Jerry started to follow the grouse but quickly realized that it was no use, that bird was gone!  Instead, he turned and with a disgusted look he just quietly and reproachfully stared at Friend.  "Gee, I'm sorry about that," said Friend, " maybe it was a faulty bullet or maybe my sight is crooked".  "Yeah sure", thought Uncle Jerry, "or maybe you just can't shoot straight."

The two friends started off once more.  They walked and walked and as they walked they talked.  Well at least Friend talked and Uncle Jerry listened, his replies being upward glances and short wags of his short tail.  Somehow the hunting became secondary, almost forgotten as the two trudged along communicating in words, in body language and in silence.  After awhile they came to the end of the road and climbed the big hill to the road above and started the return trip home.

Suddenly Young One stopped and quickly brought his gun into firing position!  Almost as quickly Uncle Jerry realized there was another grouse just in front of them in the middle of the road.  Without hesitation and without thinking Uncle Jerry charged forward, barking his loudest.  The grouse rose into the air on a whir of wings and disappeared from sight over the hill and down into the trees below. "Jerry!" cried Friend.  "Oops", thought Uncle Jerry as he gazed longingly down the hill.  "Jerry what did you do that for?" cried Friend, "I had him in my sights and you scared him away!"  Uncle Jerry thought, "Yes I did and the fact that he probably would have missed anyway will never enter his mind, so I better pretend that I’m sorry."

With that Uncle Jerry allowed an embarrassed expression to come on his face and slowly with head hanging walked back to his young friend.  Friend glared at Uncle Jerry for a moment and then his face softened and he said, "Oh well that’s OK we each had a turn messing up and the grouse are all happy and we had a good afternoon, so what the heck, lets go home".

Uncle Jerry immediately gave his best doggy smile and headed down the road, his head high and his tail at a jaunty angle.

"Yes", he thought, "we did have a good afternoon and I always thought looking for and chasing was the best part anyway."

 

As I finished organizing and tidying up all the preceding pages I suddenly was impelled – by a noise or a feeling – to go and open the front door. There was nothing nor anyone there, but as I hesitated I distinctly felt a push on one leg and suddenly something like a lick on my hand! Did I also hear a dog’s whine?

Of course not, how could I? It was just my imagination being poked by what I had written.

Wasn’t it?

John Little