'I figured that right out,' I said.
'I know,' Susan said. 'You're a detective . . . So the hunting wasn't just for fun.'
'Not so much,' I said. 'Although it often was fun. Especially bird hunting. I liked working in the woods with the dog.'
'Did you train her to hunt?' Susan said.
'No. It's probably genetic. They range like that and come back, without any training. And they'll point birds without training. But they have to be taught to hold the point. Otherwise they'll just rush in on the bird and flush it before you're ready. Before she was trained, Pearl would occasionally get one and kill it.'
'Why not just let her do that? Kill them for you instead of shooting them?'
'It's harder on the bird, for one thing, and by the time you get there, the dog's got it half eaten.'
Susan nodded.
'Was it ever scary?' she said.
'Pheasants rarely turn on you.'
'I mean, did you ever get lost or anything?' she said.
'Me? Pathfinder?' I said. 'No, I didn't. I'd been in the woods all my life. Besides, the dog always knew how to get home.'
'Did you shoot anything else?' Susan said.
'Sure, antelope, elk, deer, nothing dangerous unless it fell on you.'
'Never anything dangerous?' Susan said.
'Ran into a bear once,' I said.
'A grizzly?'
'No, a black bear, big enough, 150 pounds maybe, bigger than I was, for sure.'
Chapter 10
We were bird hunting, my father, and me, and the dog, in an old apple orchard that hadn't been farmed in maybe fifty years. You had to go through bad cover to get there: brambles and small alder that were clumped together and tangled. My father was about thirty yards off to the right, and the dog was out ahead, ranging the way they do and coming back with her tongue lolling out and her tail erect, checking in, and then swinging back out.
All of a sudden I heard the dog barka??half bark, half growl, kind of hystericala??and she came loping back, stopping and turning every few yards to make her hysterical bark/growl, and then she reached me and stood with her front legs stiff and her tail down and her ears flattened back as much as long ears can flatten. She stood there and growled and the hair along her spine stood up. Must be a hell of pheasant, I thought. And then I saw what had spooked her. It was a black bear and he had been eating the fallen apples in the abandoned orchard. The apples had probably fermented in his stomach. Because he was clearly drunk. He was standing upright, swaying a little. The dog was going crazy, growling and whining, and the bear was grunting. I had bird shot in my shotgun. It might have annoyed the bear. But it certainly wouldn't have stopped him. But I didn't have anything else, and I was pretty sure if we ran, the bear would chase us. And bears can run much faster than people. And I didn't know what the dog would do.
So I stood with my shotgun leveled, hoping that maybe, if he charged and I hit him in the face, it would make him turn. The dog was going crazy, dashing out a few feet and barking and snarling and running back to lean hard against my leg. Everything seemed to move very slowly.
And then my father was beside me. He hadn't made any noise coming. Later he told me he heard the dog and from the way she sounded, he was pretty sure it was a bear. He had a shotgun too, but it was no better than what I had. But he also had a big old .45 hog leg of a revolver that he always carried in the woods. He took it out and cocked it and we stood. The bear dropped to all fours and snorted and grunted and dipped its head and stared at us awhile. Then it turned around and left.
Chapter 11
'My God,' Susan said. 'What did your father say?'
