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He has cerebral palsy. The left side of his body is mostly paralyzed, and a club foot causes him to limp badly. Awkwardly cradling his 20-gauge Ruger Red Label, Tim must firmly plant himself before the flush. He then uses his good arm to swing through and fire the gun. Even so, he falls down a lot. Stricken at birth, Pifher is now 54. He’s been a bird hunter ever since his dad took him pheasant hunting when Tim was only seven. “Those were the beagle days,” Tim chuckles. “Beagles are horrendous for hunting pheasants. Still, we managed to get a few.” Those of us who love the upland game know it’s all about relationships. Usually beginning with father to son, those relationships take on added meaning as the years pile up. Our connections are to land and habitat, to property owners, to other hunters, to the gamebirds, and, of course, to the cherished pointing dogs who go with us. Does golf involve relationships like these? I don’t think so, but then I’m no golfer. True, you can play that game alone or with friends, but I doubt if it’s the same. The quarry (that little white ball) is inanimate. You’re still walking in beautiful (though artificial) places. You’re still armed (sort of). If you own a dog, I suppose you can take him along at heel (though very likely not), but what’s the point? There is no point, which is why I’ll stick with bird hunting as long as a pointing dog is involved. Because he can’t run, Tim Pifher can only hunt birds over a dog that points and holds. He has a love affair going with JJ, his incredible three-year-old English setter. It’s a special relationship because JJ also suffers from a birth defect: He’s deaf. Pifher, a retired General Motors accountant, takes JJ with him to elementary schools to talk to kids about disabilities. “The goal is to normalize disabilities,” Tim explains. “I tell them my handicap is visible, but JJ’s disability can’t be seen. I want the kids to know it’s okay to talk about these things.” |
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