My wife, Layla, and I had arrived at our lease in McCulloch County, Texas in mid afternoon, after the four, plus, hour drive from Houston, and found that we were the first ones there for the weekend.
We changed from our “business executive” clothes and slipped into jeans and camo shirts and quickly headed out to our “secret” stock tank with Gus, our Brittany Spaniel, happily trotting beside us. I had found a spring fed stock tank tucked behind a butte, or small mesa, and it was way off the beaten path.

The “secret” tank is hidden in the oak trees, just below the saddle in the two hills.
About an hour before sunset, the mourning doves started coming into the water. Our set up was ideal. The tank had a rocky, gravelly bank all around, a couple of dead mesquites at one end and several oak trees at the other end. We used the live ones for shade and concealment.
The doves came in singularly and in groups and were met with our bam, bam, bamming and soon we had neared our limits. It was great sport, great shooting and a lot of fun watching Gus as he retrieved the birds that fell into the water.
Pictured is Gus in one of his dryer moments.
Finally he rebelled. After seven or eight retrieves, he walked over beside me and shook himself vigorously, liberally dousing me, and plopped down at my side as I knocked another one down into the water. “Fetch him up, Gus”” I commanded, and he didn’t move. “Gus, fetch the bird” more forcefully as he looked up at me and rolled over on his back! Gus was “done” for the day!
I tried to get Layla to retrieve the last dove for me, but she declined also. It was left for me to chunk rocks and cow patties at the bird to “wash” it close to the shore, where I unceremoniously waded out and picked it up.
So much for delegating!