I am struggling a little with this week’s tale.

It’s not that I am at a loss for words with regards to our dogs. Not today anyway they’ve been good. Age does that. But I have so much to do that finding time to write has been a struggle. It is part of why I set this goal for myself and intend to follow through.

The sun was different this week. Something happens near the end of August, early September when you wake up and the light is just, different. More golden. Angles sharper.

The rays of sun that blind you as soon as you open the shades are suddenly blocked by a tree in the southeast corner of the yard and they’ll be that way until March or April.

In the high country, wildflowers are putting on their best show. The native grasses are starting to ripen. The sweet earthy aroma that rises as you follow in the wake your bird dogs forge through the landscape creates a sense of anticipation for the autumn to come.

Bird dogs always hunt. Centuries of trait selection passed down through mitochondrial DNA is a marvelous wonder to witness. Our dogs are untrained, yet that point and lock up happens when they find a bird. They don’t know why they do it, they just do. Even as puppies. They just do.

Now, a cottontail they come across is not so lucky. They’ll run that beast ragged before they remember any type of recall or they hear the tone of their collars. That tone means one thing. A vibration comes next if they don’t listen. Rarely, does any more than a tone happen. I can’t remember the last time I needed to be more stern with them.

It just has to be something in the air though. These dogs are restless. They know what’s coming. And if we do anything to prepare for a hunt, they lose their minds. Lord forbid you grab a shotgun or rifle around here either. They start to climb the walls. And don’t you dare touch the dog box because then they know you’re serious.

The best though is when you’re in the field in early morning light and all is silent in anticipation. Then you see it, and you look over at the dog, muscles trembling, and know they see it too. That silhouette in the sky getting closer. Or the speed in which they react when the phesant flushes. The look of disappointment on their face when you miss.

It is also an unforgettable sound, the click of the safety going off. The dog know exactly what that sound is. An inanimate object evokes so much intensity in dogs who just yesterday were content with laying on the front porch.

I almost feel guilty putting together the bird vests in the garage or even just in the mud room out of their sight.  I have to hide what I am doing like I’m sneaking oreos in the middle of the night. And of course it is not hidden well. The dogs sniff hands, pants, shoes after loading up or even moving things around. They know what birds smell like. They know what lead shot and powder smell like. Their memory on switch is hardwired in the positive position until winter is over.

The speed at which they recover from the off season and return to a full on hunt groove is astounding too. If only my recovery were as swift.

Life is cyclical and the dogs knowing that the season is here before we do is no different. And it will be the same again next fall so long as we are blessed with another year on this earth.