A rooster pheasant winged high overhead in the cobalt sky, several blasts from a shotgun interrupted its flight and the bird somersaulted into thick grass.
"Back," Libbe Erickson told her hunting dog, Rider, and he rocketed into the brush.
Moments later Rider returned, pheasant in mouth.
"Good dog," she said, taking the bird.
Nothing unusual here on a glorious fall day in Minnesota -- except Erickson's dog is a poodle. A cream-colored, fluffy poodle.
And nearby, friend Lin Gelbmann's silver poodle, Cache, with an even fluffier hairdo, also retrieved downed birds dropped by a bevy of shooters.
Hunting poodles?
Yes, poodles. Those prissy, pampered, coiffured canines usually associated more with fur coats, diamonds and penthouses than blaze-orange hunting garb, shotguns and muddy fields.