Pennsylvania Game News - November 2011 - 10

everything Garry told me he could be. I started hunting Topper when he was seven months old. My brother, Mark, and I were getting ready for our annual pilgrimage to hunt with Elbridge Cleaves, owner of First Settlers Lodge in Weston, Maine. I wrestled with the idea of bringing 7-month old Topper; I thought he might be too young. But, I decided to throw him into the fire, and join the pilgrimage he did. I knew I’d made the right decision when we entered the first covert and shortly thereafter heard the beep, beep, beep of Topper’s Tritronics collar and saw him rock solid on point. I quickly moved up to him and a timberdoodle rose from the forest floor. Luckily, I connected and Topper quickly brought the bird to hand. It was then that I knew he was something special. That was the first of many points on that trip, as we had hit the migration in full swing, and some grouse, too. By the last day of the trip Topper was performing like a seasoned veteran. Topper and I have since chased pheasant, grouse, quail and, of course, our favorite, the timberdoodle on many hunts in many states. Topper never ceases to amaze me with his bird finding ability, but it’s his personality that has endeared him to me. Never have I met a calmer bird dog. There is no kennel for Topper, he shares the house with the rest of the family and his best friend, Cody, a West Highland terrier. Our house is frequented by many grandchildren, and Topper interacts calmly with them. On hunting trips he always rides in the front seat with his head on my lap or the lap of any “lucky” passenger who might be along. Whenever we hit many coverts in a day of hunting, Topper is out like a light on someone’s lap in the truck, but, once the truck stops, into the covert he goes — all business.
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The season had finally begun. The sun had come up, too, but I wondered for how long, because the forecast called for rain, heavy by midday. I hoped to get a few hours of hunting in before the rain descended upon us. Into the covert, Topper plunged, with me fast on his heels. The going was tough — good doodle cover is always thick, and early season mid-October in Pennsylvania can be especially tough with the leaves holding on until that last frost sends them to the forest floor. We had covered about two thirds of the covert when Topper stopped suddenly. He was on point. I moved up as fast as I could, but the doodle rose before I was ready and I tried to square up on it as it climbed into the thick morning air. My Ugartechea rose up to my cheek; I squeezed the trigger, but caught only air. The second shot rang out, but the doodle continued on its flight, evading the loads of number eights that were thrown its way. The last I saw of the bird, before losing it in the leaves, it was headed across the river to New Jersey. The first bird of the season had eluded me and my new gun, but I couldn’t have been happier. I’d been waiting for the chance to be out tromping the woods with Topper, chasing birds, for so long, it seemed. After repositioning my hat, which had somehow covered my eyes, I was back on Topper’s heels anticipating my next opportunity. I didn’t have long to wait. Topper locked up again not 20 yards from the first point. I moved in a little slower this time, trying to anticipate the doodle’s escape route. The bird rose, juking and jiving as it gained altitude. My side-by-side rose to my cheek, I squeezed the trigger, and this time the number eights found their mark. Topper was on it in a flash, and soon the first bird of the season was in my hand. I admired my trophy. I’ve been chasing these birds since I was old enough to hunt, and still I’m enthralled by them. We finished up the last bit of cover but
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Pennsylvania Game News - November 2011

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