Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
It's partially my fault.
Storm charges after any and every squirrel he sees.
I could've nipped that early in his puppy year, but I liked that charge toward any squirrel marauding the bird feeder on the front porch.
The rodent bastards at my feeders drive me nuts.
So now I have to live with Storm charging after every squirrel, even those in a wilder setting like the one around the town pond.
This morning Storm treed one squirrel and stood there looking at it high in the canopy.
It took me back years.
My all-time dog was Trover.
He was the son of a half-breed fox terrier I found while working as a teen.
Trover was much calmer than his mother, probably because he wasn't abandoned.
At any rate, Trover liked to hang close. So he became my first hunting dog. Rabbits would freeze between us.
But where Trover really thrived was as a squirrel dog.
He would range ahead of me, tree a squirrel, then sit there and stare at it. After that, it was only a matter of me finding the squirrel in the canopy.
The handful of times I bagged a limit of squirrels was with Trover. I think that also cured me of hunting squirrels very seriously. Cleaning half a dozen squirrels in no fun.
And I am sorry but I have tried all the tricks over the years for cleaning a squirrel and it is too much like work for the bit of meat yielded.
Maybe I should give Storm a try as a squirrel dog. He is useless for hunting anything else, but maybe ranging around treeing a squirrel is his lot in life.