Bird Dogs, Bobwhites, and Breaking Barriers

By: Manda Michaelis

It is 1:57pm and I join the line of Jeeps at the front of the lodge. Exiting my vehicle, I make my way to the rear to check the latches on my dog boxes and to wait for guests with the other guides. The scene is always the same, anxious excited men carrying heirloom guns, wearing blaze orange and brush pants. Some are on corporate retreats, others on their annual boys’ weekend and some with their families. Occasionally I see a female but mostly just the guys. Clip board in hand with the party assignments, I watch the owners make their way towards us, the jovial gentleman and all their gear in tow.

I can see the eyes start to notice me. It is something that has become all too familiar to me and immediately transports me to PE class at Pelican Elementary School. Brian Smith and Blayne Kearney were captains of the kickball teams, and each took turns picking who they wanted on their teams. The strongest, fastest, most liked kids were always the first chosen and the same kids were always last. As one of the more athletic and competitive girls, I was always one of the first, but I could not help but notice the sad awkward faces of the kids picked last and thought how this must be their personal hell.

Sometimes the guests are preassigned to us and sometimes the corporate tycoons stand around sizing us up, discussing, and jockeying to see which guide they are going with. I hate this. I am a painfully observant individual, over 20 years in law enforcement has taught me to watch body language, read eyes and look for signs of discomfort and avoidance.

I take notice of the men looking at the other guides who were already loading up, and I can see them doing the math. Somone was going to have to go with the girl. Some bite the bullet, shake my hand, and introduce themselves and others I can see grappling with the death of their dream of an enjoyable day afield.

Putting on my game face I introduce myself and help them get their gear situated on the Jeep. In my rearview mirror I quietly observe the curious and questioning looks. To break the ice and to gain some knowledge about the men I am about to trust with guns in the woods, I ask where they are from and have they ever quail hunted before. Some guests are all too eager to let me know they have a lifetime of bird hunting behind them and others humbly let me know they are new to it. With conversation started and natural curiosity taking over, I receive the usual questions of “How long have you been guiding?” and “What got you into this?” I have answered these questions a couple hundred times by now and with the answers, I can usually see hope and excitement start to build but sometimes I have some serious doubters that only boots on the ground and time afield are going to cure.

The truth is I have been trained by the best and my dogs are top tier in pedigree and in training. More importantly, as my husband likes to point out, I care. I care about my work product and performance, always trying to do better and be better. My years in law enforcement have taught me to be safety conscious, aware, and have honed my communication skills as well as my ability to direct any situation. My time hunting on public land across the country has taught me to navigate and read bird behavior and habitat. Training and handling my own pack of bird dogs has taught me to know and trust them. We are a team that has been battle tested, so we are ready for any group of doubters that come our way.

During my safety speech, I learn a lot about who is with me. Some eagerly assure me that I have nothing to worry about–often saying they would never take the risk of shooting me or a dog. Others barely listen, only caring about the bird count at the end of the hunt. These are the ones that scare me. Either way the show must go on, and I drop my first brace of dogs.

We have done this dance repeatedly. The pointers weave in and out of the pine trees, equal parts tactical and artistic, casting side to side while making forward progress looking for scent. The English cocker is eagerly bobbing at my feet waiting for his time and I start to relax and breathe. They are gorgeous, well trained, and require little from me.

The dogs handle the first find beautifully. The dog with the find is statuesque, intense, and staunch. The backing dog’s head is high and I am proud. The cocker sits waiting for his cue to flush, then feverishly rushes in sending the bobwhite quail flying in every direction. My hunters joyfully and thankfully connect with some of the birds and the cocker sets about his work of retrieving them to me. Smiles and laughter start to ease my burden further.

Many times, I have had to remind myself that my being here is an answered prayer. I wanted to spend more time with my dogs in the field and share my passion and knowledge with others. The art of dog work is a time-honored tradition passed down through mentorship. There is concern that our traditional practices are fading away due to lack of interest and understanding and I am intensely proud that I am helping to keep them alive. In the past I was not considered for a guiding job because I was a woman. I am now at a place where that does not matter as long as I can do the job.

As the dogs expertly handle the coveys, some of my clients forget that I am a girl and fall into an easy rhythm of walking, talking, and enjoying the time together. Others are still incredulous that I am a female and that things are going so well. They want to know how I learned, who trained me, and where my dogs are from. For those who are genuinely interested, I share my story. I say I have been incredibly fortunate to learn from great mentors and to have the experiences and opportunities to travel and hunt behind my talented, well-bred dogs.

By this time, the hunt is usually approaching its end, and I am breathing sighs of relief and saying prayers of gratitude that another “Doubting Thomas” is now a believer. I realize I am paving a way for other women to come after me and I have dogs that do not care if I am purple or green–they just want to hunt. They live for the wide-open fields and the thrill of their mission of hide-and-seek. So do I.

Back at the lodge there are compliments, thanks, and a tip in hand to let me know I have done my job well. I feel deeply grateful as I remember where my journey began.