I come back time and again to this idea, that hunting is the basis of art. It always has been. Hunting gave us language and pictographs and the finest throwing arm. Those gifts in turn conjured Cormac McCarthy and Pablo Picasso and Sandy Koufax, and still make us who we continue to be. Even now, at a time in which we hold the mistaken belief that we stand apart from the natural world, the qualities to which we aspire and the relationships we hold most dear are all just the cave markings of ancient hunters seeping through the page. Consider our love for the dog.
It was, in fact, consideration and love for the dog that brought the book Mouthful of Feathers: Upland in America into my hands. My judgment is impeded by anything with panting breath, happy eyes, and a wagging tail, so when I saw the painted face of a bird dog holding a rooster pheasant on the cover, I spent money I should be saving. Riches come in many forms, and I found the writing within worthy of writing about, and the $16.99 price tag well below the value of the artwork inside.
Mouthful of Feathers is an anthology. It is 18 authors, and 23 literary essays that use the hunt as canvas and the dog as motif to foreground the experiences of beings who live and die afield: birds, and dogs, and people alike (and even a falcon named Lolo). It features authors with wide name recognition in the sporting world, like Ben O’Williams, and new writers who found their voice here in these pages. But whether the author is new or old, the essay is fiction or non, the editorial workmanship complements all through the assemblage of stories that connect.
What struck me as the center of gravity for this collection was the honest truth of it all; dogs die, hunting partners pass on, and authors carry memories and shotguns given by each. But there is happiness too, delivered by authors who have walked the trails they describe. You can see the sunsets over Wyoming. You can taste cold Coors chilled by icy mountain streams and smell the sage crushed by horses’ hooves. You can feel the sweet crunch of a Cox’s Golden Pippen plucked from a Maine orchard and experience the flush of fall grouse careening through the trees. Antelope bark and the dust of their hooves “skein into the wide.”
Someone is going to ask me (maybe already has) for my favorite essay in this collection. If I were the editors, that would be like a boy asking his father which is his favorite son. The answer is always, “You are.” Were I a teacher, I would turn Socratic and ask them the same. But I am neither of those things and so I’ll tell you. I came to Mouthful of Feathers out of consideration and love for the dog. But my favorite essay, the one whose prose drew me back again and again, is the only one of 23 that doesn’t even mention one. My only critique? Dogs make everything better.
About the Author
Jake Forrest Lunsford writes his nonsense from the window overlooking his chickens, of which there were thirteen before the o‘possum. While hostage negotiations have thus far been unproductive, the remaining twelve are committed to the peaceful resolution of this conflict. The springer spaniel who sleep on the couch isn’t talking. To read more of his nonsense, visit https://jakeforrestlunsford.com/, or follow him on Instagram @jakeforrestlunsford.
