In the dark I hear the motor run softly away from the decoys, the guy in the bow has his big flashlight beam searching for a far shore as they leave to take up there spots.
After I get my shotgun situated, the dogs perch arranged, I decide to sit, instead of stand. The dog must think like me as she settles in next to my left leg, at least for a few seconds, then my daughter’s dog slides closer to my right leg. She shuffles by my feet for a softer spot to sit; the pile of rushes is not to her liking. I pet her head and tell her to sit.
After a few minutes the little bit of flashlight glow has disappeared around a point, in a couple more minutes even the motors sounds fade and it’s now a completely silent morning.
There aint a hint of sky, stars, moon, or morning on the horizon, its thick as primordial soup from the end of my nose off into the blackness my eyes cannot penetrate.
The dog lies down on my wader boots. I pat her head.
Something sloshes on the unlit shore maybe twenty yards away , the dog lifts its head, growls softly, I pet its head, tell her good dog, and she nestles back onto my feet.
At 6:45 in the morning I pour one more cup of coffee and wait for not only legal sunrise, but any sunrise to start my duck hunting day and with all the fowl or foul weather we’ve been having, I’m not sure which will occur first.
With one sip, a burst of sound roars from the south side of the lake as several wolves howl, the echo careens around the bay and the dog rears to her feet. Now this little mutt whose’ always barking at everything, lets out its own howl and I am so taken aback I’m awe struck.
Instantly, from behind me, on a far ridge a new chorus of wolves loose there morning throats in a long loud wavering that sends the dog howling, the wolves from both shores answer in only what my dog may somehow understand, then all goes quiet.
Oh she stares, she’s sniffing like crazy, and after the first ducks fly through the blocks that I just watch and forget to shoot at, she looks up at me like what just happened. Like I had any clue, so I pet her on the head, and told her what a tough dog she was. The trout whisperer.