I noticed a hole, the size of a basket ball, directly under a Mulberry tree. A hodgepodge of animal tracks trailed over and around it.  I stepped off the path to investigate.

 My knit hat got caught up on the low hanging branches.  I took it off and stuffed it in my pocket.  The area under the tree was littered with rabbit tracks and leftovers from breakfast.  Three corn cobs void of kernels and a dusting of seed hulls from the some dried field grass.  

I leaned forward in an attempt to see how deep the hole was. “Must be a rabbit hole!” I muttered, and then I took a step back.  

Not quite trusting it to be a rabbit hole…   

From behind the trees a Ringneck Pheasant ran out. It hunkered down into the ground. With a little wiggle, it leaped upward and flew north. I was surprised he was able to become airborne so quickly.

Uriah had been walking head of me; he came running when the bird flew across the field. He had a happy doggy smile on his face. Then he looked at me questioningly. 

I shrugged!  He took that as a yes and ran off across the field to find the Pheasant.

I called out.  “Good luck!” And I pulled my hat back on and looked around for more rabbit holes. “Don’t worry about me! I can fight off insane rabbits!” I muttered as I poked my ski pole into the snow. I really didn’t want to step into a rabbit or muskrat hole.  

Uriah kept running and didn’t turn around. He was hot on that birds trail. Uriah was good at was following a scent. His eyes may be fading, but his sense of smell and his hearing is perfect. For years, Uriah had my neighbor duped into thinking he was nearly deaf.

Uriah has always been a teenager with selective hearing, especially if he doesn’t want to follow orders.

 I carefully sidestepped back into the deep snow, then into my own footprints.  I continued on with my walk.  

I knew Uriah wouldn’t be able to catch that Pheasant. He never caught one before!

The only dog I had that could catch a healthy Pheasant was Samson. His father was a huge Black Lab and his mother was a Chesapeake Bay retriever, hunting was in his blood. Samson would never hunt and kill for fun, he enjoyed his birds alive. 

Years ago in this very spot, Samson had pranced up to me with a Pheasant in his mouth. He was so proud of himself!  He had caught a bird for me!  He sat down in front of me, and gently placed the bird at my feet.

That bird hadn’t moved at all. I thought it may have died of a heart attack. I leaned forward to check on it, then it woke up and flew up into my face! 

I fell backwards, as I pushed the bird away from my face!

The Pheasant fell to the ground! I thought I hurt it. I didn’t!

Immediately it jumped up and raced around me!

Samson leaned down to sniff it as it circled around in front of him. It did an awkward leap of faith up into the air and squeaked away at a low clumsily angle. It barely avoided hitting the ground, and flew straight into the heavier wooded area along the south end.

Pheasants are very clumsy birds; they would rather run than fly.

In the meantime, Samson sat quietly, and watched. Sort of! He kept lifting up his front paws up one at a time, like he was marching in place. But he stayed seated.

“He was alive!”  When I spoke, Samson stood up and wagged his tail. “Well, that’s a good boy!” I grabbed his big velvety face in my hands and hugged him. He wiggled and danced around.

At that moment, Uriah and Zeus ran up behind us. They wanted in on the fun. As they barreled up, the Pheasant made an odd sound, somewhere between a squeak and a cat coughing up a hair ball. It echoed off and around the trees.  That sound caught the attention of all three dogs. With a backward glance at me, they ran off to find it… again!

Memories… I wonder how much of their fun is imprinted on this land.

Smiling, I called out to Uriah.  I waited and listened. This moment’s Pheasant made that odd sound somewhere in the trees.

I could hear Uriah, crunching branches as he moved towards the sound. “Uriah you won’t be able to find him!”

I waited again. Not a sound.

 “Alright, even if you do find him, you won’t be able to catch him!” Still silence. “I know you can hear me!”

My feet were freezing, and the cold had gone through my pant legs. Time to head home! I shuffled over the ice and came out in the yard, where I waded into the deeper snow piled along the southern line of trees.  

That was when Uriah came out of the trees.

Happy!  But empty handed…or empty paws!    His big eyes stared at my pocket, as he waited for his biscuit.

We both stopped when the Pheasant coughed in the trees…

Early Tuesday, afternoon I headed outside to get the mail. I stopped, about forty feet from the road. When I spotted some large, bird tracks that crossed the driveway, south to north.

I followed the tracks to the south, the way they came into my yard, and looked over the fence into my neighbor’s yard.  I couldn’t see where the tracks started from. But, I could see a large number of bird and small animal prints around the trees. I noticed only the large bird had separated from the rest, and walked a four toed pattern under the wooden fence.

I retraced my steps back to the driveway and hesitated. Should I just collect the mail and head back to the house?  No! This was bugging me, that bird could need help.  I decided to follow the bird’s claw prints across the front yard.

 Uriah came over and sniffed at the snow, then followed me.  

I found a couple of feathers. They were stuck in the snow a few feet north of the driveway.  Reddish mottled brown with a soft gray tuff closer to the tip, about two to three inches long, I slipped them into my coat pocket and kept following the tracks in the snow.  They guided me across the front of yard.   That bird had walked a zigzagging pattern, headed north, and kept to the harder packed snow.

I reached the property line on the north end. Slipped between the evergreens and stood on a sizable chunk of plowed up dirt, and stared across the field. Uriah stood next to me and waited.

 I took off my right glove and readjusted my hat.  The temperature was in the lower 30’s, without a wind. I wiggled toes, to check how frozen my feet were, they weren’t cold. And my fingers were still warm. I wasn’t cold at all!  This gave me a reason enough to move on with my quest.

I was thinking the bird might be a hawk and he was hurt. Why else would a bird take a walk?  He could have a broken wing!  Or he may have been clipped by a car driving by too fast!  I shook my head silently. No! If the bird had been hurt I would have seen a blood trail.

It might be a pheasant!  I usually see a few of them running in the snow, or startling me when Uriah flushes them from the tall grass.  Again, I shook my head; the tracks didn’t have lines formed from the birds trailing tail feathers. And this bird had four toes. I thought a Pheasant’s tracks usually showed only the front three toes.   

 I replaced my glove, and made sure my footing was steady. “Well, Uriah, should we head back to the house?  Or…Should we see what type of bird left those tracks?”

 I left it up to Uriah to decide what we did next.

I use my old ski poles as my walking sticks,  I grabbed them both in a way that said I was finished standing around. Then I looked towards my dog. 

Uriah sniffed the ground, glanced up at me and started to walk on ahead. Now he was following the tracks, and I followed him. 

I carefully stepped out on a wash of tiny black icebergs, small points of back earth, which stood out above the snow.

Tracks of coyotes, a fox, and raccoons crossed my trail heading off to the east and west. Tire treads cut through the snow from an off road vehicle, probably the neighbor who I saw on Sunday.  His tracks headed across the road into the farm field. The animal’s prints looked fresh, possible early this morning.  I thought, maybe they were chasing the bird. But no, the tracks crossed each other. I doubt they actually saw one another.

Curiosity had me moving on.   I was beginning to think I was following a drunken chicken

The bird had walked towards a couple of very old, gnarly Oak trees.  Scratched in the snow then turned towards the road, and walked in the ditch, until he headed out on the road.

I called Uriah back, and made him sit. I waited for two cars and a truck to pass by. Once it was clear, I allowed Uriah up and out of the ditch, so he could stand next to me on the blacktop.  I could see that something had been hit by a car recently. It laid still another twenty feet to the north on the opposite side of the road. The car that hit it, had been heading south.

I made sure there wasn’t any traffic in sight. Then, I told Uriah to sit and wait!   I approached the carcass. It was a rooster, a big roster. With a red Comb, or was it a male ring-necked pheasant? No, it looked like a rooster…

It had the shape of a fat chicken. Well sort of.  It was hit by a car!

I kept checking for cars, and took my eyes off Uriah for a second. In that time frame, he walked up to me and stared at the bird. 

I glanced both ways along the road, and then asked Uriah. “Okay, what do you think it is, chicken or pheasant?”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him as I checked the road.  Then I asked. “Okay, Uriah! What do you think it is, chicken or pheasant?”

I don’t think he cared.  But wanting  to get in on the game, he looked at the bird.  Then he looked back at me!  Then back at the bird! I could hear him loud and clear, “Can I take it?  Huh? Come on let me take it!” His eyes sparkled and he started prancing around.  His nails clicked loudly on the frozen blacktop.

I shook my head at him, “No! Let’s get out of the road.”

Uriah followed and only looked back once.

I saw a truck coming at us, really slow.  We had enough time to walk along the road. Then move off the road, in-between the Blue Spruce and the Austrian Pine, at the north end of the front yard.  

The truck turned out to be a farmer and his tractor; he was pulling a couple of swaying grain carts filled with corn. The farmer was very, very slowly making his way down the road. I waved at him. As I check the mail…