I lost a good hunting buddy today.

My friend Carson Quarles had to put his beloved Boykin spaniel, Brandy, to sleep.

Brandy was Carson’s constant companion for 14 years. She was not only a loving pet, she was also an incredible turkey dog for most of her life.

I was fortunate enough to get to see her in action quite a few times, and it was really something.

Brandy could sniff out a gang of turkeys like it was nothing. Then she would dart into the gang at full speed, barking hysterically and sending the birds scattering.

In the blind she would lie still and calm, sometimes for hours. A lot of turkey hunters who use dogs will put them in bags, with only their heads free, to keep them subdued in the blind. Brandy didn’t need anything like that. Even when turkeys were coming in she would just lie there, still as could be.

I know plenty of human turkey hunters who don’t have that kind of discipline.

My first hunt with Carson and Brandy came in the fall of 1998, soon after I moved to Roanoke. I was new to turkey hunting and was excited to learn more about the unique sport of fall hunting with dogs.

It was a cold day in December and was so windy that it wasn’t really good for turkey hunting. But we had the trip planned and decided to see what would happen.

Despite the poor conditions Brandy quickly winded a gang and took off. When we heard her barking we knew she’d scattered the birds.

Carson and I set about building a blind, expecting Brandy to come back, as she always did. But apparently she had gotten turned around in the high winds and wasn’t able to find us.

Carson tried his best to stay calm but I could tell he was on the verge of becoming frantic as we searched for Brandy. We scoured that mountain for a couple of hours. When Carson called me on the radio to report that Brandy had found him, the relief in his voice was palpable.

The next season, Carson made it his and Brandy’s mission to help me kill my first turkey.

On one trip we had a yelping jake come in to our set-up after Brandy had busted up a gang. The bird approached from a bad angle and I just couldn’t get a shot.

I remember Brandy looking at me with this quizzical expression that seemed to say, “Why didn’t you shoot that thing?”

She had a personal interest. When someone did shoot, she would dart out of the blind and pounce on the bird. If the turkey was winged and could run but not fly, she would chase it down like a cheetah tracking down an impala. I don’t think she ever lost one.

Toward the end of that season, I finally got to pull the trigger, again after Brandy had scattered a gang.

It was just a small hen, but seeing that bird drop was a feeling I’ll never forget.

Each fall after that I looked forward to my hunts with Carson and Brandy. We didn’t always bring birds home, but we always had fun.

One hunt was especially memorable.

On the final day of the 2002 season I was hunting with Carson and his son James when Brandy got into a gang.

As we were setting up a blind Carson’s friend Gerald Austin joined us.

James and I were the designated shooters. I sat with Gerald while James sat with his dad. The two veterans called while James and I tried not to freeze.

It took nearly two hours but a turkey finally responded. By luck, it happened to reach me first and I shot it.

It turned out to be my first fall gobbler. (It's the bird pictured above in the shot of Carson, Brandy and me.)

That big bird also was the last turkey I killed over Brandy, whose bad hips eventually forced her reluctantly into retirement.

Thanks in large part to that spunky spaniel, chasing turkeys with a dog in the fall is one of my favorite types of hunting.

I plan to eventually get a turkey dog of my own.

If it’s half the dog Brandy was, I’ll be a lucky man.

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• Posted by Mark Taylor in Turkey
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