My Wirehaired Pointing Griffon worked the cover 50 yards ahead of me, his bell sounding gently in the warm, opening day of the ruffed grouse season in New Hampshire. We had hiked a mile and a half to get to a section of early successional growth that we had mapped out months before this moment of enjoyment squeezed between meetings on a busy Thursday schedule. 

My peaceful wait for the silence of his bell was shattered by the sudden eruption of yelping. I sprinted forward through the thick grouse habitat to get to him, my first thought being that he may be caught in a trap, and he could hurt his leg trying to get free. To my greater frustration, my path was intercepted, face to face, by a porcupine.

I would love to say this was the first encounter with those needle pigs but I should have added my dog's nickname is “porcospino.” It may be a curse of “versatile” gun dogs, but in his defense, he is usually steady on porcupines. Despite how prepared I felt myself to be for pulling those quills one by one from my dog's face and mouth, this day rocked my worldview.