It was the second day of Iowa's pheasant season and a bust. I had scouted my best public areas for a few days before season and didn't find a single juvenile bird. So I ventured to an area of the state that I hadn't hunted in 20 years hoping for better numbers. Well, opening day didn't have those better numbers but Chaos did hunt into a small family group of pheasants. Five or six birds went up in a flurry but there was little color so I road out a "likely a rooster" until he banked enough for me to see his red cheek patch. I was shooting my old Weatherby and hit him well at 25 yards with a cylinder load of lead 7-1/2's. I was contemplating shooting him again as he just stopped moving and dropped with his wings outstretched, but I could see him in the same flying position on top of the grass.

Chaos was still hustling through the grass full of pheasant scent when I shot but she already knew that a gun shot usually meant a dead bird and ran in front of me to the downed bird. She was a very happy young bird dog parading around with her great big prize.