The Kite

"For me, hunting is a natural fact rather than a choice." -Roberto Baggio but also Gracie

^ Miraculously, one of my daughters had the quick wits to grab this shot of Gracie as she pursues her biggest catch of the day. 

It had been a long and intense day for a bird dog. As we explored the wide grassy meadows high above the crashing waves of Puget Sound. my dog was tantalized by a never-ending assortment of birds. 

Swallows swooped .

Seagulls soared.

Ducks bobbed about on the waves.

Osprey, eagles and herons coasted above our heads.

Each of them chirping and crying and screeching and whistling to beat the band.

And Gracie was riveted by them all.

* * * * *

Now a word about bird dogs. Irish Setters are trained to track and find their prey - typically birds - and then to hold a certain position that signals to their humans that they've found something good.

Body freezes.

Eyes zero in.

Tail sits high and still.

And one of the front legs comes up off the ground into the classic "setting" pose.

An Irish Setter well trained for the hunt never gives chase.

But the setters I have known - Gracie included - do tend to tremble with excitement when they're hot on the trail. It's a fascination for me to watch my dog in this almost hypnotic trance, every fiber of her being focused laser sharp on her quarry, waiting with infinite patience for me to shoot the darn thing. Which of course I never do. So my good dog stays locked in place, pointing and trembling with the thrill of a good hunt, until she's quite ready to move on. Then the next bird appears, and we do it all over again.

Thus our afternoon on the bluffs had passed with Gracie tracking one bird after the next, her sweet hunting bred brain cells awash in whatever chemicals saturate a bird dog's brain. And I marveled again and again at her amazing patience and stillness. Despite the adrenaline that surged through her body, she never once broke her considerable chill.

Until the very end of the afternoon.

* * * * *

We were headed back across the open field toward the parking area, Gracie trotting along beside the four of us as we tramped through the tall grasses, her long leash slack and dragging behind.

Suddenly, a piercing, whistling, fluttering sound filled the air behind us.

It was as if some giant bird was lifting off the ground, beating its wings and calling to its companions.

And for the first time all day long, Gracie came unglued.

She gave chase.

In a flash, she turned a 180 and bolted back the way we'd just come, running as fast as I've ever seen her run.

As the rest of the family quickly jumped clear of her rope, praying for the safety of their ankles, I called her name, sharp and loud, three times fast. 

Gracie. Gracie! GRACIE!!

That was enough to break the spell. I noticed her pace ease off just a bit, and she subtly changed her path from an arrow shot to a gently curing arc as she circled back to me, panting and heaving and grinning with mad delight. 

* * * * *

Maybe she came because I called to her.

But I suspect that she changed her mind about her mad dash when she got a better look at her prey.

Because the creature that finally broke my hunting dog's chill was not a bird at all.

It was a kite.