I am lucky to have relatives who manage the North Slipperfield Estate in the Scottish Borders. They are very close relatives indeed, and I am staying in my own fully equipped bothy. As I look out of my window I can see the Pentland hills, covered in a dusting of snow. The bread and butter here is pheasant shooting. Now, I wasn’t at all sure about this, but was asked if I’d like to join the last day of the season. This was a thank you shoot for the Beaters who have worked hard all season. Still, I wasn’t sure, but I thought I might get some decent pictures, and there would be plenty of dogs. There were. I helped with the preparation of food, and got caught up with the anticipation of the day. I watched the tweeds being brought out, the leather gaiters polished and guns carefully prepared. There was excitement in the air.
Decisions have to be made about where each gun (that means person and dog with gun) would stand. Easy solution is to give each one a shot of sloe gin with their number on the bottom of the glass. You have to drink it to find out your position……no sweat there then!
The well-trained dogs were just about able to contain themselves while they waited and waited for things to get going
This pretty girl managed to more or less sit still. It was hard though.
Some of the more experienced dogs waited in their vans, knowing what was coming. Very soon!
Not everyone got to go. Some were just too young, and not yet trained. Hard to resist though
Off at last! I must say, a nicer group of individuals I have yet to meet.
There is a strict code of conduct that ensures safety for the humans and humane treatment of the dogs and birds. I wasn’t sure how I would feel about the shooting of the birds, but there was such an emphasis on maintaining the rules, that I relaxed somewhat.
It was cold. The guns and their dogs waited while the Beaters did their work. No one moved, least of all those dogs. It was a longer than normal wait, as it was the last day of the season.
This fellow is the number two shot in Scotland. Such a nice fellow too. His dog was perfectly behaved.
And then is was over. Birds are not carried by the feet. It’s just not done. Always by the head. I must say, I always look away on nature documentaries when creatures and birds are killed. I don’t like it. Somehow, today I grasped the whole culture of this ancient sport, and felt in no position to object. I also have to tell you that I will be cooking a pheasant dinner tomorrow night. Each to his own I say.
There is something lovely about a well-trained dog. This little boy was a star!
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