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Bird Dog Days, Wingshooting Ways
The great bird dog and wingshooting stories included in this collection have only appeared in early issues of magazines such as Outdoor Life and Field & Stream or in some of Rutledge's oldest and rarest books. The editor, Jim Casada, an expert on Rutledge, uncovered many of these lost stories for this collection. In 1930, Rutledge wrote a book of dog stories titled Bolio and Other Dogs; the lead story, "The Odyssey of Bolio," is an all-time great dog story and is included in this collection, along with "The Philosopher Among Dogs" and "Then Gabriel Blew His Horn." Brett Smith, one of America's finest hunting artists, painted an original picture for the cover and created a number of etchings especially for this book. No Rutledge collection is complete without Bird Dog Days - a classic collection of bird dog and wingshooting stories that belongs in every sportsman's library.
Hardcover
First published September 1, 1998
About the author
Archibald Rutledge
111 books9 followersArchibald Hamilton Rutledge (1883-1973) was a South Carolina poet laureate. He is remembered as one of America's best-loved outdoor writers. His short stories appeared in Outdoor Life and Field and Stream, plus he wrote more than 50 books including An American Hunter (1937), Old Plantation Days (1907) and Wild Life of the South (1935).
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November 17, 2025
Unless you are completely anti-hunting, books with hunting dogs can be great dog books. This one falls into one of the best in hunting dog category. It is stories from Archibald Rutledge (1883–1973). Most stories were first published in magazines, like Field and Stream, and then later in books. In this book the editor Jim Casada pulls some of the best. I enjoyed all the stories but hard to know which are completely true or embellished. The instruction includes:
‘As is true of most of his work, there is no clear dividing line between fact and fancy in his tales of canine companions, and for my taste they are more appealing because of this characteristic. It should also be noted at the outset that the perceptive reader will likely notice occasional contradictions in Rutledge’s writings. He was, quite simply, a staunch believer in the old adage that holds, “tis a poor piece of cloth which cannot use some embroidery.”’
Most of the stories are on hunting bobwhite quail, but there are a few chapters on hunting grouse, some mention on duck hunting, and a story or two on hounds. You learn a lot about hunting and the habits of the birds they hunt. Plenty talk on dogs so any fan of dog stories should enjoy them, but of course, bonus points if you do hunt.
I always enjoy the discussion on which is a better dog for bird hunting, a setter, or a pointer. Here is one reference to that by Archibald:
‘There are, however, marked differences between the two greats of bird dogs that have long been generally recognized; and these differences may influence the choice of other men more than my own. The pointer was the first dog ever used to point game, and he seems to be built strictly for business. His place is in the field. When well broken he is almost unbelievably staunch. One brace of English pointers once stood point for an hour and twenty minutes, while a single English pointer stood game for six hours. A pointer has been known to have been frozen to death while on the point. But for all practical purposes the setter is just as staunch. A setter of mine once found a covey of quail at dusk, gone to roost in tall grass. I suppose I must have searched and called for half an hour before the dog was discovered, statued, with the whole covey just a few inches off his nose. The setter is the better companion; he is more gentle, affectionate, and demonstrative. The pointer always looks stripped for action; he does his work with admirable efficiency, and with a grim determination that is in high contrast to the setter’s ease and grace. Of the two, the pointer is the more independent and needs less encouragement. The pointer works as if it were his business to work; the setter as if wanting to please a watching master. The setter seems to work with his master; the pointer works for him. And each can do his work in a way to give eternal joy to the eye and the heart of a sportsman.’
I copied out a lot of quotes I liked, and more I could have copied out. As I don’t want this review to get too long, I will paste some here and others against the book, and/or maybe to the original book. I like ones that talk about the intelligence of the dogs, of what it takes to have a good hunting dog, about training the dogs, and lastly about details on the birds and hunting. Be aware that sometimes the same ground is covered in as each story had to stand on its own when it was published.
‘Don't talk to me about a bird dog of the right kind having nothing but instinct. It isn't so. I have known scores of dogs that had reasoning power, and I have owned several that had it. And in choosing a bird dog, above all things else one should get a dog that has sense. One day I was complaining to the best quail shot in North Carolina (and that is saying something, for the ‘Tarheels are quail shooters from away yonder) that my dog was a bit lazy. He asked me abruptly if he had sense. I replied that he undoubtedly had. “Then,” said he, “hang on to him for keeps. Most bird dogs of the right sort have every virtue but sense; so if he has that, too, he has them all. And if he doesn’t have all the others, and yet has sense, you can teach him all he ought to know.”’
This next bit where there was more than one example in the book, is one where I question if the truth was not stretched. While I think as you shoot a dog would know enough to go get them, I am not sure that a hunter would be so involved that he wouldn’t notice his dog going out and coming back. Still a good bit:
‘Game was standing beside me on the bank, but I was too busy with the big greenheads and the little bluewings to notice him. I tried in a perfunctory way to mark down the ducks that I shot that fell off in the watery marsh. But the flight was so heavy that this task was nothing but a bewildered attempt and I realized that when the shooting was over the setter and I would have to do some tall swimming to get the dead ducks. When that time came it was almost dark and the setter seemed reluctant to come. He seemed interested in something a few yard: down the bank. I went there impatiently and what did I find but that Game had brought in every duck I had shot, and had them all laid out in a row on the bank. He must have gone in after them one after another as I shot; but I was so excited, and the rain and duck wings together were making so much racket that I had not realized until the thing had been done what the setter had been doing.’
This next bit is also one where there may be some embroidery on the old cloth of the story:
‘I remember seeing a point that was both remarkable and comical, as it involved an acrobatic feature. I was walking down the side of an old stake-and-rider fence looking for a decent place to cross when my English setter Fanny, spying a loose rail with the near end on the ground, walked up it to cross. The rail was broad, and it rested on the top of the fence almost at the balancing point. As a result, when Fan got to the top of the fence, the rail tipped level. She, of course, teetered a little, uncertain what to do.
At that very instant the hot and heavy scent of a covey of quail just over the fence assailed her nostrils. She steadied herself, her feathered tail tipping up a little as it would when she came to a stand. But the rail would not stand. It kept rocking up and down, while Fan balanced herself, pointing, It would be hard to conceive, or to arrange artificially a little woodland tableau of this kind, and I hold it as one of my fondest recollections of my hunting dogs. Fan knew very well that her holding the covey depended on her holding both her point and her balance. Hers was a piece of spontaneous tight rope walking. She was still in position when I came up and made my shots on the covey's rise.’
There are a number of times when a dog is retrieving some game but then still stops to point out more. Archibald seems to tell it better than others like this example:
‘I remember an old English sporting print showing a slashing pointer with a rabbit in his mouth halting in the act of retrieving to stand a grouse. I have seen the same thing happen, and perhaps, one incident a little superior to it. One day my pointer Prince was bringing a rabbit that I had shot when he suddenly stopped. I did not know just how to account for his procedure, for he warily laid the rabbit down in the grass, then lifted his head, glanced significantly at me, and steadied to a point. His behavior appeared to indicate that he was laying aside inferior game to give the covey under his nose his undivided attention.’
One story ‘The Odessey of Bolio’ was filled with heavy drama that I enjoy. It is from the book ‘Bolio and other Dogs’ by Rutledge that I have yet to find an inexpensive copy of. Very nice to have what is probably the main story from that book in this one. Here is a sample:
‘And Bolio, being far wiser than most of his kind, was fully aware of the nature of this night-prowler, the approach of whom it was his duty to challenge. Down the steps the powerful black dog had stalked, his growl warning the intruder. There were stepping stones across the yard to the little gate. Down this pathway the black warder of Jeff Wise’s lonely cabin went, slowly, certainly, his head high, his eyes ablaze. What to him were rain and the night, mystery of that vast solitude peril—the lush scent of the enemy? Such a dog has a passion for duty; and Bolio’s present duty was to fight.’
After fighting with the panther you are left wondering if the dog survived. I think worse than when a dog dies, is when they go missing. Or what if they get hurt bad, can they make it back to their owner? Here is a hint, ‘But Bolio was not without resources. Only a dead dog is.’
There is a couple of great stories included of Grouse hunting. Love how people describe the bird with such reverence as in these examples:
‘As these two grouse rose and came up the hill toward me, beating their way masterfully up to the treetops, I had, even while getting ready to shoot, a chance to watch their flight. It does not appear that anyone can ever regard it as anything but thrilling. In our attempts at locomotion, we improve our cars, our airplanes. But the grouse, countless centuries ago, perfected a flight that has the finality of finished art. It is graceful, swift, powerful, and yet strangely enigmatic. It attains what the finest automobile strives for: formidable power immediately available and under the most delicately adjusted control.’
‘I do not know that it is a better flight than that of the quail, but it is far more impressive. And because the grouse is a bird of the forest and must needs do constant maneuvering while in flight, I think he handles himself more deftly than the bobwhite. In the flight of the larger bird there is endless variety. Especially interesting to me are three features: one is the occasional silent rise, the big bird taking wing with hardly a sound; one is the instinctive habit of putting an obstruction between himself and his pursuer, and the other is his love of often going almost straight up to clear the trees and then tearing away over their tops, as if he were running the hundred yards in the Olympics. Indeed, the flight of birds alone would afford a man a lifelong study.’
Love this bit of advice given for when hunting them:
‘When I have the approximate distance a grouse has gone, and his direction of flight, I follow him, but I try never to go straight at him. Wild game is alwavs able to recognize a hunter who acts as if he were on the warpath. As I never walk directly toward a grouse, so I never try to sneak up on him. That is a maneuver that will scare the wits out of him. My general attitude in approaching game is that of elaborate and rather goofy indifference; I try to act as if I were idly looking for posies, or dreaming of some lost love of the long ago. The hunter who is stalking, if he shows himself at all, should always try to create the impression that he is doing anything else in the world but hunt. By this sort of trickery I have often been able to walk within twenty feet of a grouse, whereas, had I stormed down at him, he probably should have kited out of cover while I was still fifty yards away.
If you want a real chance at your grouse, don’t let him say of you, “Oh, my gosh, here comes that killer!” Always persuade him to say unconcernedly, “I wonder who that booby is, wandering around vaguely?”’
As I am running out of room in this review I will try to squeeze in a few more quotes and put the rest up into quotes against the book and author:
Whether considering dogs or men, thinking on their character and their destiny, I always wonder what it is they really want in life? Is it wealth? Sympathy? Power? Understanding? The strong desire for fame inherent in us may be just a passionate yearning to have others recognize our own aspirations. A man, perhaps, bears the same relation to a dog as God does to a man. A dog is certainly happiest when he can please his master. With all reverence I can say that if I would only trust God as my dog trusts me, there would be no trouble for me henceforth, even in this difficult world.
‘A hound has a genuine and profound distrust of the general scheme of things in this life. Melancholy of an ancient and appealing sort is his. What makes his pessimism worthy of regard is the fact that it has its source in remarkably sagacity. His honest and steadfast refusal to be optimistic not only lends to his character a noble severity but also gives to his philosophy the serene charm of truth. He invariably seems to me to belong to an older and a wiser generation, which regards the behavior of all other living things as an exceedingly juvenile performance. A hound is the only dog that can make me self-conscious of my own ridiculousness. Fixed by his appraising eye, I shrink into my true stature.’
‘I love a hound because he appears to me to be a dog of some spiritual significance. His sagacity begins where that of most dogs ends; where his ends, I know not. He has a perception poignant and true. He has taught me much about life. My obligation to him is that unpayable debt that we owe to one who has given us an insight into the meaning of existence; whose spiritual genius has led us to understand that life has about it a great deal more magic and mystery than people with dismally literal minds would have us believe; whose prescient hand has set ajar for us casements of the soul, through which are far gleams of what may be, for all I know, the gorgeous frontiers of Eternity.‘
And if I have room to add one more quote on what someone gets out of hunting. Most books on hunting almost always like to give the argument why it should be considered ok to kill your own food instead of only relying on others to do it for you. But this quote talks of the benefit to the hunter:
The true sportsman also brings home what never can be taken from him: he brings home memories that make all life different, even to the very end. He thinks of the true comrades he has made, friends who could have come to him nowhere but in the woods, on the plains and by the streams. He brings home the recollection of those modern pioneers whose homes are in the wilderness—people whose hospitality he has shared. The memory of them serves to redeem humanity for him. He brings back a knowledge of the creatures of the wild—a knowledge that the hunter alone can gain. He remembers their resourcefulness, their courage, their sagacity and their obedience to the great laws of nature. He brings home with him the beauty of the elder world: the fragrance of primeval forests; the laughing light on crystal streams; the tattered gold of autumn leaves.
Great book, only thing that kept me from putting this in my shelf of favorites is I read another hunting dog book, ‘Drummer in the Woods’ I read after this one and found it edged above. This is a great book and one I could jump up and down to recommend.
‘As is true of most of his work, there is no clear dividing line between fact and fancy in his tales of canine companions, and for my taste they are more appealing because of this characteristic. It should also be noted at the outset that the perceptive reader will likely notice occasional contradictions in Rutledge’s writings. He was, quite simply, a staunch believer in the old adage that holds, “tis a poor piece of cloth which cannot use some embroidery.”’
Most of the stories are on hunting bobwhite quail, but there are a few chapters on hunting grouse, some mention on duck hunting, and a story or two on hounds. You learn a lot about hunting and the habits of the birds they hunt. Plenty talk on dogs so any fan of dog stories should enjoy them, but of course, bonus points if you do hunt.
I always enjoy the discussion on which is a better dog for bird hunting, a setter, or a pointer. Here is one reference to that by Archibald:
‘There are, however, marked differences between the two greats of bird dogs that have long been generally recognized; and these differences may influence the choice of other men more than my own. The pointer was the first dog ever used to point game, and he seems to be built strictly for business. His place is in the field. When well broken he is almost unbelievably staunch. One brace of English pointers once stood point for an hour and twenty minutes, while a single English pointer stood game for six hours. A pointer has been known to have been frozen to death while on the point. But for all practical purposes the setter is just as staunch. A setter of mine once found a covey of quail at dusk, gone to roost in tall grass. I suppose I must have searched and called for half an hour before the dog was discovered, statued, with the whole covey just a few inches off his nose. The setter is the better companion; he is more gentle, affectionate, and demonstrative. The pointer always looks stripped for action; he does his work with admirable efficiency, and with a grim determination that is in high contrast to the setter’s ease and grace. Of the two, the pointer is the more independent and needs less encouragement. The pointer works as if it were his business to work; the setter as if wanting to please a watching master. The setter seems to work with his master; the pointer works for him. And each can do his work in a way to give eternal joy to the eye and the heart of a sportsman.’
I copied out a lot of quotes I liked, and more I could have copied out. As I don’t want this review to get too long, I will paste some here and others against the book, and/or maybe to the original book. I like ones that talk about the intelligence of the dogs, of what it takes to have a good hunting dog, about training the dogs, and lastly about details on the birds and hunting. Be aware that sometimes the same ground is covered in as each story had to stand on its own when it was published.
‘Don't talk to me about a bird dog of the right kind having nothing but instinct. It isn't so. I have known scores of dogs that had reasoning power, and I have owned several that had it. And in choosing a bird dog, above all things else one should get a dog that has sense. One day I was complaining to the best quail shot in North Carolina (and that is saying something, for the ‘Tarheels are quail shooters from away yonder) that my dog was a bit lazy. He asked me abruptly if he had sense. I replied that he undoubtedly had. “Then,” said he, “hang on to him for keeps. Most bird dogs of the right sort have every virtue but sense; so if he has that, too, he has them all. And if he doesn’t have all the others, and yet has sense, you can teach him all he ought to know.”’
This next bit where there was more than one example in the book, is one where I question if the truth was not stretched. While I think as you shoot a dog would know enough to go get them, I am not sure that a hunter would be so involved that he wouldn’t notice his dog going out and coming back. Still a good bit:
‘Game was standing beside me on the bank, but I was too busy with the big greenheads and the little bluewings to notice him. I tried in a perfunctory way to mark down the ducks that I shot that fell off in the watery marsh. But the flight was so heavy that this task was nothing but a bewildered attempt and I realized that when the shooting was over the setter and I would have to do some tall swimming to get the dead ducks. When that time came it was almost dark and the setter seemed reluctant to come. He seemed interested in something a few yard: down the bank. I went there impatiently and what did I find but that Game had brought in every duck I had shot, and had them all laid out in a row on the bank. He must have gone in after them one after another as I shot; but I was so excited, and the rain and duck wings together were making so much racket that I had not realized until the thing had been done what the setter had been doing.’
This next bit is also one where there may be some embroidery on the old cloth of the story:
‘I remember seeing a point that was both remarkable and comical, as it involved an acrobatic feature. I was walking down the side of an old stake-and-rider fence looking for a decent place to cross when my English setter Fanny, spying a loose rail with the near end on the ground, walked up it to cross. The rail was broad, and it rested on the top of the fence almost at the balancing point. As a result, when Fan got to the top of the fence, the rail tipped level. She, of course, teetered a little, uncertain what to do.
At that very instant the hot and heavy scent of a covey of quail just over the fence assailed her nostrils. She steadied herself, her feathered tail tipping up a little as it would when she came to a stand. But the rail would not stand. It kept rocking up and down, while Fan balanced herself, pointing, It would be hard to conceive, or to arrange artificially a little woodland tableau of this kind, and I hold it as one of my fondest recollections of my hunting dogs. Fan knew very well that her holding the covey depended on her holding both her point and her balance. Hers was a piece of spontaneous tight rope walking. She was still in position when I came up and made my shots on the covey's rise.’
There are a number of times when a dog is retrieving some game but then still stops to point out more. Archibald seems to tell it better than others like this example:
‘I remember an old English sporting print showing a slashing pointer with a rabbit in his mouth halting in the act of retrieving to stand a grouse. I have seen the same thing happen, and perhaps, one incident a little superior to it. One day my pointer Prince was bringing a rabbit that I had shot when he suddenly stopped. I did not know just how to account for his procedure, for he warily laid the rabbit down in the grass, then lifted his head, glanced significantly at me, and steadied to a point. His behavior appeared to indicate that he was laying aside inferior game to give the covey under his nose his undivided attention.’
One story ‘The Odessey of Bolio’ was filled with heavy drama that I enjoy. It is from the book ‘Bolio and other Dogs’ by Rutledge that I have yet to find an inexpensive copy of. Very nice to have what is probably the main story from that book in this one. Here is a sample:
‘And Bolio, being far wiser than most of his kind, was fully aware of the nature of this night-prowler, the approach of whom it was his duty to challenge. Down the steps the powerful black dog had stalked, his growl warning the intruder. There were stepping stones across the yard to the little gate. Down this pathway the black warder of Jeff Wise’s lonely cabin went, slowly, certainly, his head high, his eyes ablaze. What to him were rain and the night, mystery of that vast solitude peril—the lush scent of the enemy? Such a dog has a passion for duty; and Bolio’s present duty was to fight.’
After fighting with the panther you are left wondering if the dog survived. I think worse than when a dog dies, is when they go missing. Or what if they get hurt bad, can they make it back to their owner? Here is a hint, ‘But Bolio was not without resources. Only a dead dog is.’
There is a couple of great stories included of Grouse hunting. Love how people describe the bird with such reverence as in these examples:
‘As these two grouse rose and came up the hill toward me, beating their way masterfully up to the treetops, I had, even while getting ready to shoot, a chance to watch their flight. It does not appear that anyone can ever regard it as anything but thrilling. In our attempts at locomotion, we improve our cars, our airplanes. But the grouse, countless centuries ago, perfected a flight that has the finality of finished art. It is graceful, swift, powerful, and yet strangely enigmatic. It attains what the finest automobile strives for: formidable power immediately available and under the most delicately adjusted control.’
‘I do not know that it is a better flight than that of the quail, but it is far more impressive. And because the grouse is a bird of the forest and must needs do constant maneuvering while in flight, I think he handles himself more deftly than the bobwhite. In the flight of the larger bird there is endless variety. Especially interesting to me are three features: one is the occasional silent rise, the big bird taking wing with hardly a sound; one is the instinctive habit of putting an obstruction between himself and his pursuer, and the other is his love of often going almost straight up to clear the trees and then tearing away over their tops, as if he were running the hundred yards in the Olympics. Indeed, the flight of birds alone would afford a man a lifelong study.’
Love this bit of advice given for when hunting them:
‘When I have the approximate distance a grouse has gone, and his direction of flight, I follow him, but I try never to go straight at him. Wild game is alwavs able to recognize a hunter who acts as if he were on the warpath. As I never walk directly toward a grouse, so I never try to sneak up on him. That is a maneuver that will scare the wits out of him. My general attitude in approaching game is that of elaborate and rather goofy indifference; I try to act as if I were idly looking for posies, or dreaming of some lost love of the long ago. The hunter who is stalking, if he shows himself at all, should always try to create the impression that he is doing anything else in the world but hunt. By this sort of trickery I have often been able to walk within twenty feet of a grouse, whereas, had I stormed down at him, he probably should have kited out of cover while I was still fifty yards away.
If you want a real chance at your grouse, don’t let him say of you, “Oh, my gosh, here comes that killer!” Always persuade him to say unconcernedly, “I wonder who that booby is, wandering around vaguely?”’
As I am running out of room in this review I will try to squeeze in a few more quotes and put the rest up into quotes against the book and author:
Whether considering dogs or men, thinking on their character and their destiny, I always wonder what it is they really want in life? Is it wealth? Sympathy? Power? Understanding? The strong desire for fame inherent in us may be just a passionate yearning to have others recognize our own aspirations. A man, perhaps, bears the same relation to a dog as God does to a man. A dog is certainly happiest when he can please his master. With all reverence I can say that if I would only trust God as my dog trusts me, there would be no trouble for me henceforth, even in this difficult world.
‘A hound has a genuine and profound distrust of the general scheme of things in this life. Melancholy of an ancient and appealing sort is his. What makes his pessimism worthy of regard is the fact that it has its source in remarkably sagacity. His honest and steadfast refusal to be optimistic not only lends to his character a noble severity but also gives to his philosophy the serene charm of truth. He invariably seems to me to belong to an older and a wiser generation, which regards the behavior of all other living things as an exceedingly juvenile performance. A hound is the only dog that can make me self-conscious of my own ridiculousness. Fixed by his appraising eye, I shrink into my true stature.’
‘I love a hound because he appears to me to be a dog of some spiritual significance. His sagacity begins where that of most dogs ends; where his ends, I know not. He has a perception poignant and true. He has taught me much about life. My obligation to him is that unpayable debt that we owe to one who has given us an insight into the meaning of existence; whose spiritual genius has led us to understand that life has about it a great deal more magic and mystery than people with dismally literal minds would have us believe; whose prescient hand has set ajar for us casements of the soul, through which are far gleams of what may be, for all I know, the gorgeous frontiers of Eternity.‘
And if I have room to add one more quote on what someone gets out of hunting. Most books on hunting almost always like to give the argument why it should be considered ok to kill your own food instead of only relying on others to do it for you. But this quote talks of the benefit to the hunter:
The true sportsman also brings home what never can be taken from him: he brings home memories that make all life different, even to the very end. He thinks of the true comrades he has made, friends who could have come to him nowhere but in the woods, on the plains and by the streams. He brings home the recollection of those modern pioneers whose homes are in the wilderness—people whose hospitality he has shared. The memory of them serves to redeem humanity for him. He brings back a knowledge of the creatures of the wild—a knowledge that the hunter alone can gain. He remembers their resourcefulness, their courage, their sagacity and their obedience to the great laws of nature. He brings home with him the beauty of the elder world: the fragrance of primeval forests; the laughing light on crystal streams; the tattered gold of autumn leaves.
Great book, only thing that kept me from putting this in my shelf of favorites is I read another hunting dog book, ‘Drummer in the Woods’ I read after this one and found it edged above. This is a great book and one I could jump up and down to recommend.
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