Only another 10 days to go before it's over ...... and now the tone of the assembled company has changed. No more the wondering whether days will be long or short, good or bad (depending on size of bag and quality of Guns), or the going heavy (squaddy as they say around here) or cold: instead there's an air of excitement about and the banter on one of our 'shoots' has taken on a somewhat macho tone....... "There'll be no prisoners taken...."; "High or low, we'll get 'em....."; "We'll not stop till the last light's left the sky...." Almost-sane men are displaying signs of edginess and anticipation that borders on the fanatical! Even on the more 'restrained' shoots there's talk of who got what last year and whether they'll do better this......
"What are they talking about?" Cocking Day! That's what. The traditional end to the shooting season: The Very Last Day. A reward for the Landowners but more so for the Keeper and his friends' - the special ones who've eased his path through The Season - and the faithful beaters with a good eye, a steady hand and skill with a shotgun - a day when the Keeper can choose his Covers and shoot as many cock birds as will fly up in his path. It's a (usually long) day for the fit, fearless and hardy. But it's not only about killing. The cock birds need to be culled ('ware the Gun who shoots a hen bird on Cocking Day) in order to make way for the hardiest who will go on to breed, passing on strong genes to the next generation and ensuring that natural forage and corn are not wasted on the weak and infirm (particularly now with the latter selling at £200+ per tonne!). There'll be pigeons, jays, magpies, crows and rabbits shot too, but the focus will be on the cock-birds. But more of that anon....
Until then the BGiatW continues to work hard. We've had one or two faux pas - when the adrenalin pumps so hard it deafens him and drives all reason and training from his head - but they've been few and far between and, I suppose, just go to prove that he's a "normal" spaniel. On our last Drive yesterday whilst hunting along an ancient hawthorn hedgerow there suddenly came the most agonising screaming; I rushed the 10 yards or so to where it was coming from and found the Dog trying with all his might to pull what at first appeared to be a large hare from the depths of the brambles and thorn; the creature continued to scream harshly and, on closer inspection, I realised it was a Muncjac deer so told Gunner to 'leave' which, with some relief, he happily did. And we continued on our way.
"What was that noise?" "Was that a dog in a snare?" "What was all that about?" all the guns were asking among themselves at the end of the drive.
"My dog trapped a Muncjac" I told them nonchalently "and wouldn't let go". "No wonder he was making such a noise, is he alright?" Several of them said.
"It was the deer making the noise" I replied "not the Dog!" Well -some of them were pretty impressed with his courage and one or two of them went on to recite tales of dogs they'd known who'd been torn apart by Muncjac deer.
"My old dog got the wrong side of one of them and ended up having to have 26 stitches in her neck." said one of my colleagues. Apparently the males defend themselves with their tusks rather in the manner of Boars!
Plum, the Keeper, meanwhile - disappointed that we'd not caught it -exclaimed: " Cor gel you should've thrown yersen in there after it; I'd 've shared it with ye fer dinner!". "What? Head first into all those brambles and thorns?" I replied.
"We'd 've all helped wipe the blood off your face." he replied
Didn't I say end-of-term fever was setting in......?
No comments:
Post a Comment