The One I Didn’t Shoot: A Pause, a Bird, and a Better Memory

The One I Didn’t Shoot: A Pause, a Bird, and a Better Memory

We all keep a few feathers—tail fans, mounted drakes, a ruff framed in barnwood. But sometimes, the bird that mattered most is the one you never touched. The one that flared just right. That glided across your barrel. That you chose to let go.

This is a story about one of those birds. A moment in the field where a pause meant more than a trigger.

🌾 It Happened in a Place I’d Hunted 100 Times

The field was familiar—shortgrass edge, a cut bean strip running to a line of cedars. It was cold that morning. Not bitter. Just still. My dog, Tilly, was quartering through cover she knew better than I did.

We’d walked this stretch at least a dozen times that fall. Never got skunked. Never lit it up either. A 2-bird field. A “work for it” walk.

🐦 The Flush That Froze Me

We were halfway through the southern edge when Tilly locked up.

I stepped in like always. Expected a hen, maybe a late young rooster.

Instead: a huge cock pheasant, deep chestnut, tail streaming like a ribbon. He flushed high—too high for this cover. The shot was there.

But I didn’t take it.

🧭 Why I Let Him Go

Was it too far? Not really. My gun was up. Safety off. I’d made longer shots cleaner.

Was I tired? Maybe. But that bird? That bird wasn’t the one I needed to kill that day. He was the one I needed to watch.

Something about how he flew. Something about that slow roll of the wings as he crossed into the cedars, lit orange by rising sun. It felt like a line I didn’t want to cross.

So I lowered the gun. Let him fly.

🐾 Tilly Gave Me a Look

She turned to me like, “That was your shot.”

I laughed. Scratched her ears. “Not that one,” I said.

She wagged, then turned upwind. Already on the next one.

🧠 Why It Stuck With Me

📝 Field Notes