I've been watching this thread for a couple of days and couldn't quite put into words what I was thinking until now. It's a sad commentary on our sport when folks feel the need to ask whether the use of a dog to flush game is an infraction. We as hunters have become so afraid of breaking any law, no matter how minor, that we spend hours scrutinizing rulebooks in an effort to avoid the possibility of even the most nuanced interpretation of said rules by the lawmen. It's at the point where hunting isn't fun sometimes, what is supposed to be a relaxing day in the field becomes a day of constant stress for even the most knowledgable and law abiding among us, worrying about breaking some unknown-to-us rule. Just sad.
Now for a little story. Back in the day, 1960's, we are hunting broadbill on a tidal rock a hundred yards or so off the beach in a town which is decidedly anti-hunting. I was just a little kid, the hunting party was made up of my father, grandfather, their best hunting pal and one or two of his sons. Everything was perfectly legal in terms of legal distances and so forth, but the local PD showed up to announce that we could not hunt there because the town had a no-discharge ordinance and they claimed several miles out as part of the town. In CT all water below mean high water is "public trust", of which the PD were informed. They didn't want to let us go, so our friend suggested they call his lawyer, who was his brother, and also the District Attorney. Thank you and have a nice day.
This spot was a really good one and we shot there several more times in the next week. The town didn't want to drop the issue, so they pestered the Game Warden to see if he could get us to stop shooting there. The local guy was an old friend of my grandfathers and he was sympathetic to us and agreed that we were ok, but also warned us that the local Federal Warden had also been contacted. This guy was a crusty old fellow (to me at the time 50-something was older than dirt) who rode around in his boat alone or sometimes with a dog, in the dead of winter in 2 footers. Tough old coot. He would check us from time to time in several areas along the coast but never any problem.
We're on the rock in question on a bluebird day, nothing moving. Around the point come a small group of broadbill, right into the rig, some stay, others leave. The dog picks up the dead birds and we decide to have a sandwich. Now around the point comes the old fellow, heading over to check us. Has his dog who proceeds to pick a fight with ours, off to a good start. Asks about the birds, yup just got some ten minutes ago. Of course here comes the punchline, "well I just flushed that flock, you guys shouldn't have shot them".
After some spirited discussion the GW agreed that we had no way to know that he put them up a couple miles down the coast. I don't know what swayed him, that he was a good, fair guy, or that my grandfather allowed that if we were guilty of shooting rallied birds he was guilty of doing the rallying. The good ol' days.