We're Going to Kansas!

My Brittany, Scoop, never made it from Michigan out to one of the pheasant-rich states of Iowa, Kansas or South Dakota. Despite many good intentions and the fact she lived 16 years -- through my final college year, getting married, the birth of my two sons, and even the name of her breed changing from Brittany Spaniel -- our fantasy road trip never materialized.

We did enjoy bagging our share of ring-necks in a state where old timers swore there were none left. "I guess it'd be ok if you want to hunt pheasants if you want," would say the farmer in stained coveralls when I would inquire about hunting privileges where I'd find him working in the barn across a dirt drive from a sagging, paint chipped house. "But don't expect much."

Oh, I wondered how good it would be to follow that tenacious orange dog as she quartered a field where we could expect much.

I've heard stories from hunters who have gone to the promised land of pheasant hunting. "Just drive up and knock on doors where the cover looks good -- it's easy to get permission to hunt," they've told me. Pheasant and quail, limits on both if you want to walk that much.

Sage, my 9-year-old German Wirehaired Pointer, has seen far fewer wild pheasants than her predecessor. Sparty her two-year old "little brother," they're from the same kennel but not siblings, has had more experience with woodcock and ruffed grouse during trips to the large tracts of public woodlands in northern Michigan than with wild pheasants around his southern Michigan home.

That's all about to change: Next fall, we're going to Kansas!