The afternoon sun sat low through the thick cover. It glistened off the saturated ground, small patches of snow still pushing back against the oncoming spring. The sound of my Wirehaired Pointing Griffon’s bell came sharply through the undergrowth, occasionally muted by the splash of water as Grim worked his way back and forth. We had been through this cover multiple times in the past week with no signs of life in the way of game birds. My mind wandered, thinking of how exciting it will be to have American woodcock back on our doorstep after their migration from wintering in the South.