The grouse faltered at my shot and, clearly just fringed, glided down. Still, I was hopeful that Sidney, my friend Erik Forsgren’s female golden retriever, would work her magic. But just as she struck scent and wheeled, the grouse fluttered up and, flying too low for any of us to hazard a shot, vanished into the depths of the cover—a cover that, somewhat forebodingly, we called The Land of the Lost. I was resigned to the fact that the grouse was lost, but then, some minutes later, Erik’s chainsaw voice came buzzing through the popples. “Sidney’s got your grouse,” he said, as if he never doubted that outcome for a second. Once again, grouse-hunting victory was snatched from the jaws of grouse-hunting defeat, and it was all due to a golden retriever who knew her business. You might want to file that away for future reference.