How often do you picture the good stuff in your mind’s eye? It could be memories. It could be the better parts of a future life. I picture a fair amount of each in my own mind.

Last week was devoted to upland and chukar hunting on the Packmule Instagram page. As I designed the posts, I looked through pictures of the chukar hunts I went on with my friend, and fellow Packmule coach, Jordan Wilcher, and his dogs, Matilda and Charley. I saw the picture of Matilda I used as the main image for this article. Truth is, I look at that picture a lot.

I’ve taken a lot of pictures while hunting; that picture is one of my favorites. And it came just after one of my all-time favorite moments in the field.

Matilda had found and pointed a covey of chukar. As Jordan and I walked up behind her, the miles of tough walking to get where we were fell out of my legs and out of my memory. There was only the dog, the birds, the buddy, and the backdrop of the mountains holding onto a late fall snow.

The covey flushed as we moved up. Wings and bird sounds flew everywhere. Jordan emptied both barrels of his over-under. I brought my gun halfway to shoulder, and it stopped there.

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Jordan asked.

“I wasn’t comfortable with where Matilda was. I didn’t want to hit her,” I replied. Jordan and I were spread out and the dog was directly in front of me.

I could have safely shot over her. I half knew that in my mind at the time. Mostly, though, I was enjoying everything that was happening — the dog, the birds, the buddy, the backdrop. I didn’t need to shoot. I was saturated with it all. It was enough.

A while back, there was a trend going around social media. Guys would post a video with the text saying they were doing this-or-that in regards to hunting because they wanted their kids to remember them as a “killer.” It struck me as selfish and odd.

Really? That’s it? A killer?

I thought, “Well, then they won’t have much to remember. Most days we come home with nothing more than the joy of being out. And if that’s your throughline, it won’t do much to shape your kids as people.”

I’ve killed quite a few animals, starting when I was a little boy and progressing up to near middle-age. I won’t deny that killing can be exciting. I won’t deny that it creates the context for the rest of the experience, that it deepens our relationship with the land we walk on and the animals we pursue. But if it is the main thing you herald about hunting, if it is the main thing you want to be remembered for, you are in trouble. So are your children. So is hunting.

A vision so narrow misses all that can be experienced and taught and learned during a day of hunting. It creates far fewer memories, defeating its own point. It’s the memories we’re after. They last as long as a few minds remain healthy  into old age and across a couple generations. The meat is gone in a few meals. The mounts are meaningless without the memories.

Sometimes it is enough just to watch a dog work. That’s the sort of thing we should want our kids to remember.