The Spark

 

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Train up a child in the way he should go, and even when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6

Most hunting retrievers are born with some level of hereditary natural retrieving desire, a spark inside of them that varies in intensity depending on the individual. The first few months of the process of properly training a high performing hunting retriever involves focusing almost exclusively on fanning and fueling that spark, nothing formal, you just want to find something that they like to go pick up and throw if for them a couple times a day. The focus here is to get them really excited about it, make it fun- no sitting, staying, or anything formal- just simply run, get it, and bring it back, but only let them make two or three retrieves at a time. This is going to be fun for everyone. Watching your pup make retrieves is going to be very satisfying, because that’s what you got him/her for, right? The key here is to ALWAYS stop with them wanting more, anticipating that next retrieve- something they want so badly. You will begin to notice after only a short period of time when you get ready to throw “fun bumpers”, that they will be begin to grow even more excited and anxious to do this thing they love so much- the thing that they are subconsciously beginning to realize that they were born to do. Before long, that spark inside of them turns into to a flame and soon thereafter that flame grows into a fire that fully engulfs their inner being. That fire is what is going to push them to endure the pressure and stress of formal training, work through sore muscles and fatigue while in the field, and ultimately drive them to jump into icy waters in the foulest weather conditions time after time to pick up your ducks with vigorous excitement and without a blink of hesitation. This process is most commonly referred to as building retrieving desire. 

I am from the school of thought that children are born with a similar spark inside of them, and it is up to us as parents to fan and fuel that spark towards the aspirations that we find most valuable. These aspirations can be a variety of things for people. For some they may be focused towards playing a musical instrument, some may be running the family business, some may be organized sports- I have seen two-year-olds hit a high fastball as consistently as some collegiate baseball players. Regardless of the focus, the spark is there, and as parents we should take responsibility for building that fire inside of them by making it exciting, keeping it fun, and enabling them to be successful- whatever that looks like. My grandfather was a lifelong dog owner and highly experienced parent. He has been quoted numerous times saying “treat your dogs like children and your children like dogs, and you will never have a problem out of either”, and I think that guidance is strongly applicable here. 

For me, “it” has always been hunting, more specifically turkey hunting and wingshooting. These are two of the most prevalent pastimes that have been most earnestly pursued within my ancestry. From my very early childhood I was surrounded by people, true mentors, who took the time to aid and enable my excitement, my fun, and my success afield. I look back and only wish I could personally thank all of the individuals who had a hand in those times, as it most definitely played a huge role in molding me into the person that I am today. For me hunting has always been the default, something that laid the framework for the thought processes behind how I approach many of the obstacles of everyday life to this very day. I do not hunt simply because I want to or because I enjoy it or because it creates an escape from the woes of society. I hunt out of necessity, because I have to, because I have absolutely no choice, because it is a compulsion that I am just as enslaved to as breathing or blinking. 

The Oxford English Dictionary defines responsibility as: a state or fact of having a duty to deal with something or of having control over someone. From my perspective, the psychological and moral development of my children is my duty, my direct responsibility as a parent. This goes for hunting as well- the ways that they are taught as a child will serve as the default or baseline that they refer back to for the rest of their lives. I was extremely blessed and fortunate to have great mentors growing up, first and foremost my father, who had been taught the right way and took the time to go to great lengths to teach me the right way with regards to ethics, tactics, and the development of a focused, methodical skillset in the field. 

As a parent of young boys, the baton has been passed and the responsibility to aid in building that foundation within them lies directly on me. This is something that I dreamed of for a very long time, and since becoming a parent that I lay awake at night thinking about. I want those boys to be afforded the same opportunities that I was as a young hunter, opportunities that aided greatly in my development. I want to help them set the declination on their moral compasses, and aid in the development of their skillset not only as hunters and woodsmen, but also as conservation-minded outdoorsmen who feel obligated to further the resource and understand that the harvest that we so enjoy as hunters is a simply a conservation tool that is used to manage a resource that we have been entrusted with for a short time. I want the tactics that they employ and the methodology behind the decisions that they make afield and in life to be rooted back to the right way, because there is a right way and a wrong way to do everything, and I want them to be able to readily differentiate between the two and make their decisions accordingly. I want these things to teach them all the life lessons that I have been able to take away from the outdoors. I want all of these things because this is how I was taught from an early age, and I have a lot of eyes looking on, both earthly and heavenly, that expect me to instill all of this within them, which is, quite honestly, one of the areas where I feel the highest degree of self-imposed pressure as a parent. I want so badly for them to love it the way that I do. I want so badly to teach them all the right ways. I want, one day, for them to hunt out of necessity and for hunting to be a compulsion that they are just as enslaved to as is their dad- an extremely tall order that is totally overwhelming to me. 

I started exposing both of my boys to the hunting lifestyle at a very, VERY early age. I have video of both of them listening to a recording of a live hen turkey yelping when they were lying in the hospital less than twenty-four hours after birth. A little bit silly? Maybe. Too early? One could argue that it was not early enough. The timeline of fetal development shows that a baby can begin to hear sounds outside the womb at as early as twenty-seven weeks, and I can assure you that those boys, both born within a few days of the fourth of July- three years apart, heard as many hen turkey and mallard duck vocalizations as they did classic country music songs prior to their birth. At just over six months old, my oldest could owl hoot better than some of the veteran turkey hunters that I hunt with regularly, and that is no disrespect to any of them. At under a year and a half, he could produce a serviceable simple quack on a single reed duck call, and he was yelping with his natural voice several months before his second birthday. As he got older and began to put together his own legible sentences, each time I would come home from hunting, he would greet me outside, and we would have to call the imaginary ducks or setup beside a tree in the yard and yelp to an imaginary gobbler- which we always successfully harvested. He was always ready to help me prepare the gear, work the dogs that I had under my care for training, or do essentially anything else that pertained to hunting. I tried to make it a point to let him “help” in any capacity that made him happy and did my best to continue to enable his interest to grow. 

Labor Day weekend is a time of year that is most highly anticipated by those who hunt in any capacity. Anybody with the sense that God gave a slug is ready for the end of a long summer and all eyes are fixed on one of the simple pleasures of life that come with Labor Day weekend in the south- the opening weekend of dove season. This weekend is a staple that is steeped in southern heritage, where family and friends, some of which you haven’t seen since this time last year, all converge on various remote locations across the south to fellowship, to scratch an itchy trigger finger on something wearing feathers, and to welcome the dawn of a new hunting season- a New Year celebration of sorts.

Opening weekend of dove season has always been a very special time for me. We have lifelong family friends that have always had incredible places to dove hunt, have always encouraged our attendance, and have always recognized and embraced the foundational building blocks that an early season dove hunt affords a child. A dove field on opening weekend has been the first formal hunting experience for millions of hunters. The warm weather, the fellowship that takes place before, during, and after, the typically lively nature of the hunt, and the absence of the necessity to be totally still and quiet for extended periods yields an environment that serves as a great first experience for a young hunter, one that is easy to get on board with and anticipate. 

Many of these reasons make early dove season a great opportunity to get the entire family involved. My wife and mother to our two boys started hunting with me early in our dating days. She had proven herself proficient with a shotgun within just her first couple real experiences handling one. Her proficiency is manifested in the dove field. I have shot doves since I was big enough to point a shotgun without help, and she is as good or better wing shot than me and many of the others that I regularly hunt with- not stemming from a life of concentrated practice, but just out of sheer natural ability. While she may not harvest as many from a numbers perspective, almost always her dove-to-shell ratio is as high or higher than mine, and it is truly a spectacle to witness firsthand. Naturally, dove season is something that she enjoys immensely as well, and she is always ready to take her abilities to the field anytime she is able. 

Just after his third birthday, I began to feel that my oldest may be to a point where he was ready to enjoy this experience. To this point, he had watched enough hunting on television and seen enough dead critters brought home by his dad and others to gather his own understanding of how the animals were harvested and had seen their harvest justified by creating many meals for our family. This gave me a confident solace knowing that the bloody part would not stifle his little spirit. He was also to a point where he could be trusted to wear hearing protection without feeling the need to remove it every twelve seconds and had been exposed to live gunfire in a controlled setting which he had embraced with excitement. Lord knows he had expressed his desire to tag along on my hunting adventures enough times to which I always replied- one day, buddy. Anxiously, I finally felt that one day was now soon approaching. 

We are fortunate to have a local sporting goods store that stocks camouflage clothing in his size. A couple days before the opener, with my anticipation at an all-time high, we loaded up the family and took him to find just the right set to get him outfitted. Standing in the store, as I helped him pull on his camo pants, I asked him- Hey buddy, you want to get up Saturday morning and wear this camouflage and go dove hunting with mama and daddy? His eyes got big as he looked up at me and said excitedly- Yes sir! The constant barrage of questions and inquiries on when and where we were going dove hunting began. He was as excited as I had ever seen him to that point. He spent the next day and a half modeling his new suit of camouflage for any and all visitors to see. 

The evening before opening day, he helped me load the gear as he always did. Seats for everyone, including a small collegiate logo folding chair for him, shotguns and his pop gun, shells, shell belts, e-collar and whistle, water cooler for the dog, I carefully checked items off my list as we loaded them in the truck. His excited mind fired away in an almost constant interrogation. It seems that young children ask questions for a few reasons- one: because they are bored, two: because they are unsure about something, or three: because they are excited about something and want to inquire about certain details hoping to ensure that they happen. Many of his questions seemed to stem from a combination of the latter two. Is TK going dove hunting with us? (TK is our nine-year-old, highly accomplished hunting retriever- also a deeply loved and respected member of our family which our son has always referred to as his “brother”) Where will TK sit? Is Papa (my dad) going with us? Why will it still be dark when we get up? Is mama going to shoot doves too? The questions snapped through his little mind like the reel from one of the early motion pictures, as he anticipated his hunt that lie ahead- eager to gain clarity on the unclear but also seemingly trying to will certain details to fruition. With as much patience as I could corner, I tried to answer each with sufficiency.  

After forcing myself to sleep through the anticipatory anxiety, the short night passed and my internal clock jolted me awake five minutes before my alarm was set to sound. My wife and I both dressed and poured the coffee before entering his room. I slowly cracked his bedroom door open in an effort not to startle him at the early hour. No sooner than the latch cleared the door facing, he popped up in the bed, excitedly chattering like a songbird at first light, eager to get the day going.

We made our final gear check, loaded into the truck, and started our fifteen-minute drive. His questions slowed as we passed from the well-lit streets of our hometown into the remote darkness, likely stifled by his growing nervousness about the new experience that lie ahead. I tried to quietly soak in every minute of that drive. I can remember riding in the front seat of my dad’s Ford truck as a child, not much older than him, as we headed down the same highway to meet up with many of the same people for an early morning dove hunt, my excitement always redlining the whole way. I can still hear ballads on the radio from the seventies and eighties that take me back to those exact moments, memories that I will cherish until my final earthly hour. 

Upon arriving at the predetermined meeting location and with “Papa” parking right alongside, we unloaded the side-by-side utility vehicle and transferred over all our necessities. We walked over to the group of regulars gathered in the yard nearby, all familiar faces comprised of many individuals who have been convening on this property on opening day for decades and some longer. After exchanging pleasantries with everyone we made conversation and greeted new arrivals, as we awaited seeing light. Hardly ever short on something to say, he stood quietly at my side taking in all of the banter among the group. Nearly all of the group came to get a “five”, introduce themselves to him, and told him how excited they were for his first hunt, nearly all of which were awarded with a hasty five, his continued silence, and a nervous glare. Periodically he would pull at my pants leg and ask quietly Daddy, when are we going dove hunting? We have to wait on it to get daylight so we can see them buddy, they aren’t awake yet. I would reply, which provided an even more quizzical look followed by another two or three minutes of silence on his behalf. 

Soon groups began to disperse, and we loaded onto the utility vehicle to head to our spot. We made our hide in a strip of Johnson grass that separated a recently harvested corn crop from a field that had been plowed to nearly a powder. Directly across from us about a hundred yards away “Papa” set up his position as well, and I am certain looking on from his perspective resurrected a flood of memories from over thirty years ago when I was hiding in the weeds near his bucket for the first time. I cannot imagine how incredibly exciting, rewarding, and ultimately emotional that he must have felt. 

We put TK on place in the edge of the grass to the left of where we all sat with mama on the other end and the two of us in the middle. Mama was far more concerned with capturing photos of the early moments of the hunt than she was collecting her own bag limit, as was I, but I tried to maintain some level of focus on what we had come to do. I switched on his noise cancelling headphones and placed them carefully over his ears from behind. Turning him around, I found his face totally expressionless as he soaked in what was unfolding all around him in the gathering daylight. Can you hear me buddy? …Yes sir. He said quietly as he continued to scan his surroundings. Ok! You ready? …Yes sir! He said slightly more excitedly. Ok, should be anytime now, so help me watch for them, ok? …Ok! He replied as I handed him the same pop gun that I had drug through the mud more than thirty years before.

We began to hear the first shots of the season fire off from some of the others that lined the perimeter of the field, and within a minute or so I saw the first one swinging our way. Instinctively, I shouldered my shotgun and tracked the bird passing left to right- my favorite shot. I allowed the dove to pass over our line of grass ensuring that his trajectory would carry his fall into the clean, open ground ahead of us and squeezed the trigger, dropping him in plain sight. 

As I turned and looked back at my little boy, time seemed to stand still for a moment. The brightening eastern sky lit his face like a light bulb, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised, and his eyes were as wide as a harvest moon. He was totally immersed and completely captivated by finally experiencing what he had so anxiously anticipated. It could not have been more than a handful of seconds, but I wish it could have been a handful of centuries that we were allowed to live in that moment. In that instant, looking into his eyes I visibly saw the spark inside of him ignite into a small flame, a flame that I am looking so forward to fanning and fueling for many years to come in the passing along of a heritage that has been passed down from many generations of people. All of these people he would have been very fortunate to have met, and they all would have been positively delighted to have met him. My maternal grandfather was an absolute expert wingshot by many regards, who had, sadly, passed away many years before, and I could not help but imagine how tickled he would have been seeing his great-grandson out here enthralled by one of our beloved pastimes and witnessing that fire igniting inside of him right before our eyes. However, I feel certain that the Lord told him what was coming, and that he was sitting on a bucket nearby. I will be forever grateful that my dad and my wife were both there to share in and add to these first moments.

To poach a very relevant quote that I have heard in the past: children spell love T-I-M-E. To a child the dedication of your time is more valuable than all the riches in this world. Families who are able to spend time with their children growing their interest toward the aspirations that they hold most dear are the richest people in this world, regardless of what their bank statement reflects. I am ambitiously hopeful that the Lord will continue to bless me in a way enables me to share my love for my children by spending time teaching them to hunt the right way, to enjoy the resources that He has provided, and to love the outdoors- the ways of their forefathers. The burden to carry on these legacies lies heavily on my shoulders, I can only hope that some of them will be close by to help me carry the weight.