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   There are many types of mushrooms that grow wild, but by far the most popular ones to go after by both amateur and professional mycologist is the morel. They are both easy to identify and delicious. In January, people will start posting lies about having found some in a sunny spot in the timber on a southern slope. This is only an attempt to get people to pointlessly walk around the timber on a cold winter day. Morels do not grow until the ground temperature is above fifty degrees. In our area of southern Iowa, this usually occurs around mid-April. It is pointless and frustrating to hunt much earlier than that. I usually wait until I receive a report of morels being found by a reliable source before I go in search of the tasty morsels. Until that time, if anyone asks, I am looking for shed antlers. I would not want people to think I am walking around in the timber looking for something that is not there.

   On Saturday, a friend of ours, Pat, found one of the smallest morel mushrooms I have ever seen. I would not have spotted it if I had known it was there. I am not sure how he happened to see it out in the timber. They are the same color as the leaves that litter the forest floor and are usually tucked away under a rose bush or under a fallen branch. I think they grow in hard-to-reach places so the deer and turkey do not get them. Any that grow out in the open are eaten by wildlife as soon as they pop up. Sunday was a bit warmer so my wife and I decided to check the timber to see if we could find any mushrooms. While getting ready to leave, we were getting the sad eyes routine from Billie, the poodle. He knew we were going to do something fun and wanted to be a part of it. We were well aware, after a few hours of hunting and running free, he would come back desperately in need of a bath and brushing. Some days a person just needs to let a dog be a dog. When we said, “ok, you can go,” he and his short friend, Jag, the terrier, headed out, leading to where they knew we were going to go.

   My wife and I searched diligently on the south facing slopes of hills and creek banks. We looked around dead elm trees and under maples. We looked everywhere morels were supposed to grow. I think it is just a few days too early for morels to really pop as we did not find a single mushroom. In the meantime, Jag and Billie were hunting on their own. Billie was digging up mole trails and Jag was tracking rabbits. They would occasionally go to the nearest stream or pond to get a drink and a quick cooling wade in the water. After a couple of hours running and hunting to their heart’s content, both dogs were wearing down. Jag came back to the Ranger, jumped up on the seat, and went to sleep. Billie was not ready to quit but was hunting at a slower pace.

   On the way home, Billie still wanted to run while filthy little Jag was ready for a ride. All of our hunting resulted in no rabbits, moles, or mushrooms, but we all got plenty of fresh air and exercise. After giving Billie a bath and thorough brushing, everybody was ready to sit for a while.

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