I told you all I'd tell you what my first hunting trip was like when I got around to taking it. As you recall, I've put a lot of time and effort into training our bird dog and I accompanied Steve on some bird hunts with my camera and... well... it was so much fun I decided to buy a shotgun about a year ago, went through hunter's safety, and have spent several weekends practicing on sporting clays at the range. Steve and I recently got back from seven days in ND, three of which were spent hunting pheasants with my husband, my dad, my brother, our dog, and their three dogs.

I understand and respect that not everyone is keen on hunting. My goal here is not to proselytize or debate the subject. I simply want to share a meaningful experience that is outside the realm of my normal activity.

It felt wonderful to be in the company of these men. I don't get to do a lot with my dad, I can't remember the last time I had anything in common with my brother, and I could see Steve light up as he shared his interest with me. They were very patient with me, but not patronizing.

We had access to public hunting land with some incredible habitat. It was on either side of a man-made canal, surrounded by hundreds of acres of grasses, grains, cat tails, tree rows, gently rolling hills and sloughs. You cant imagine how much walking is involved in bird hunting. Miles and miles of ankle-busting walking and the dogs easily quadrupled our efforts with their untiring quartering.

About an hour into it, I made the realization that it was a lot like marching band! One of the rules of hunter's safety is that hunters need to walk in a straight line, so I was constantly guiding left and right. Also, it's very important to hold your "instrument" just so. There was no denying the music in it: Wind rustling the tall grasses, the sound of the dogs panting and quartering in front of us through the grasses and over-ripe cat tails (Note to self: when a ripe cat tail explodes, DO NOT INHALE!), and then the sound of the birds taking flight in front of us. Sometimes our part was to yell "Hen!" in unison and rest, other times the flying bird was accompanied by that unmistakable cackle, we'd shout "Rooster!" and the person closest would play between one and three notes on his shotgun in pursuit of the bird. If the shooter was successful, he'd sing to the dog to "fetch it up" and we'd continue the walk.

I also got to play the whistle. When Izzy got too far out ahead of me, two short bursts would bring her back. When she was on point, I'd catch up and softly whisper "OK" for her to reposition on the bird. Marching through the tall grasses (without falling into badger and porcupine dens) was hard work, but it was undeniably musical. All that dog training really paid off. I canÂt put into words what her eyes communicated to me when we worked together in pursuit of the birds.

In the end, I played a few notes on my shotgun, but missed all my birds. We saw plenty, and while the men in my party did well, I didn't hit a single one. Once I messed up on my fingering and left the safety on, another time I opted not to shoot because Steve was on the opposite side of the bird. I had a tendency to "over-think" all of my shots and take too long, and the guys were comfortable with me erring on the side of caution. Even though I didnÂt get a bird, the trip was a success. We all had a good time, the terrain was beautiful, we all laughed hard and shared experiences IÂll remember for the rest of my life, and weÂre going back to ND to try again in a month. IÂll be cooking up some of SteveÂs birds later this week.

I did have to laugh though. At the end of one day, when the guns were unloaded and locked away, we went out to a restaurant/bar to eat and drink. I looked around and noticed I was the only hunter in the joint drinking a cosmopolitan.