Raising a Hunting Family

  • By Alfred Bohm

Raising a Hunting Family

I’ll admit it, sometimes I want to put some miles under the boots, wear down the dogs until they beg for mercy and have a game bag filled with enough upland birds to make my back ache. But those “sometimes” are becoming less and less as I begin to see what I truly enjoy about hunting.

After hearing from Hazel that kid number two was on the way, I had a sinking feeling that my time in the woods chasing uncooperative feather and fur alike would soon be coming to an end. Add in the fact that I decided to start a small business at this same moment in time and I began to realize why I never became an event coordinator. Apparently my timing is terrible.

“We’ll make it work,” Hazel said.

And as per usual, she was right.

You see there’s two ways at looking at this situation.

One. You put hunting on hold until the kids are old enough to pay taxes and ruin dad’s truck.

Two. Involve the kids in everything we do, make that their normal and teach them where the family gets their food and recreation. Let them see nature in its raw form, let them fall down and scrape their knees, let them ask “Daddy why is Sage’s tail wagging so fast?” and then watch their mouths open in awe as a grouse bursts into the air grasping for an escape route.

We opted for number two.

This past weekend was a prime example of how I now like to enjoy my weekends. We packed the truck full of car seats, dog food, shotguns and a little bit of insanity. Full to the hilt, our truck looked more like a lowrider than an offroad vehicle.

“At least we’ll look cool leaving the city,” I said to Hazel with a half smile.

I sorted through my CDs and looked for “Lowrider” by War until I realized that nobody uses CDs anymore and that now I was officially old.

That’s a problem to talk over with my psychologist, not you guys. So I’ll continue my story.

I pointed the truck towards the mountains and set her on cruise control as the kids faded to sleep in the back seat.

By the time I had the pop up camper set deep into some National Forest, the kids and dogs were chomping at the bit and ready to expend some pent up energy.

“Do you want to walk with mom and dad and go hunt for some grouse Atlas?” I asked.

This would be his first real experience with hunting. He’s hunted with us before, but this year he was old enough to put together what our goal was while we were out here.

I waited for his reaction.

“But I love the birds daddy,” came his innocent reply.

“So do I buddy. Let’s just go walk the woods and see what we find,” I replied back with all types of explanations running through my head on how I would explain taking an animal's life to a three year old.

Maybe the best bet will be letting him see and absorb it for himself. Let eons of of humans doing exactly this for survival to come out naturally in him. Sometimes words aren’t enough, but rather we need to experience it ourselves to truly understand what it all means.


boy labrador pudelpointer


Hazel strapped Greta, our one year old, to her back and we headed out.

“Hunt ‘em up boys,” I said.

The pups needed no further explanation. They were off like a shotgun blast in scattered directions.

Knowing that Atlas’s little legs would only be able to expend so much energy, I steered the dogs to a familiar area where I’m know some Dusky grouse reside.

“Dad, why is Sage so happy? Why is his tail wagging so fast?” came Atlas’s question.

Observant boy. We watched as Sage got birdier and birdier until the grand finale came.

A grouse exploded from the ground and flew to the nearest pine.

Instinctively I drew up my over/under and started to point it at the blur.

But I held back. Normally I would only take a shoot on the wing, but this was a special circumstance.

As the grouse came to a soft landing in a nearby branch I looked back at Hazel.

She new what to do and called Atlas back to her. Wing shooting was not an ideal way to hunt with kids running around. We didn’t want the loud blast from the report of the shotgun to scare the kids, so we had them go back as little ways with Hazel to watch.

“Daddy’s going to shoot that bird,” I heard Hazel tell our son.

I looked back and saw him staring up at the bird.

I switch my safety off and select my lower barrel containing the modified choke.

I squeezed the trigger and a puff of feathers surrounded the bird as his body tumbles down the branches.

In and instant Braker scoops up the grouse and is at my side. I took it from him and gave him his release.

Now came my real concern. How would Atlas take all of this in? Would he be terrified of the whole situation or would his brain process it as being natural and the way of the world?

I broke my barrel, pulled the shells and put them in my pocket. I knelt down next to Atlas with the heft of the bird in my hands.


grouse hunting

“Do you want to touch him?” I asked him cautiously.

He stroked the bird’s soft plumage with wide eyes.

“Can we eat him daddy?” came his response.

Well that was quick. I guess no explanation was needed.

“Of course buddy. We don’t shoot them if we don’t.” I said.

I was proud of him for processing the situation and putting it all together. I was happy to see him equate hunting with food and that somehow or another he understood that “loving the bird” didn’t necessarily mean that we don’t kill the bird. That’s one that I’m happy he understood because I had no idea how the heck I was going to explain it to him. Again some things we can’t explain, but rather need to be experienced for full comprehension.



As we drove back to camp in the fading light I hear the repeated question from him.

“Can we get another one? It’s mommy’s turn. Can we get another one?” He asked in only a way a three year old can repeatedly ask.

“We’ll try tomorrow son. It’s not that easy really. We need to look for them a long time sometimes in order to find them. We got lucky finding one so quickly this time,” I responded to his question as I look at him in the rearview mirror.

He may have understood why we hunted the grouse, but in true three year old form, he doesn’t understand why we don’t continue the fun until the end of time. Why stop when something is so fun?

Looks like I’ll have to introduce him to work next. That one I don’t expect to be so easy!

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