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Some of my outdoor partners over the years have been real "dogs".
You know the type. The ones who don't pay their share of expenses,
won't help set up camp, shy away from the heavy work, have questionable
bathroom skills and odors, track dirt, sand and mud through the
tent, camper and home, and often have atrocious table manners. However,
on the plus side, they will give you unconditional love, work till
they drop for a hand full of dry food, keep you warm, save your
life, protect you, do anything to please you, and be your best friend.
Those best friends are of course our dogs, and days afield would
be less without them.
Wolf
Scientists tell us that a dog's DNA can trace back to the wolf.
That may be true, but it's still hard to see how a Chihuahua is
related to a wolf. When it comes to brains, the believability factor
becomes even wider. There are dogs that can anticipate their master's
return or wishes and other dogs that think chasing parked cars is
great fun.
A neighbor friend owned an Airedale. Now Airedales are known for
their loyalty and courage but some missed out when they were spooning
in the cranial fill. This Airedale had at last count, 21 meetings
with porcupines. Score: Porcupines 21; Airedale 0. That Airedale
got the point, actually about 200 per meeting but never gave up
on the porkies.
Setter brains
I once owned an Irish Setter. Growing up and reading the adventures
of the Black Stallion and Big Red fired up my pet-owning desires.
Since I couldn't have a horse, owning the Irish Setter was the obvious
choice. Besides, living in South Alberta I had visions of the setter
on point, the cackle of a flushing rooster, and the timeless partnership
of dog and hunter. I called my Irish Setter the original name of,
what else, Big Red. Young and naïve, and knowing nothing about
dog training, Big Red and I roamed the fields of South Alberta.
It didn't take too many trips out, before I realized that Big Red
would not recognize bird crap if he stepped in it, and that most
of the Irish Setters had been bred by show people for a narrow head,
and they had engineered the brains right out of the breed.
I can still see Big Red floating above the brush like a 60's hippie,
the beautiful, silky, rich, chestnut red hair, flowing in the wind.
He scared every bird, butterfly and rabbit in the country. He also
attracted every cocklebur within 50 yards but he sure looked beautiful
doing it.
Pointers
A friend of mine, Bud Willems, owned four German Shorthaired pointers.
They were all good hunting dogs but Blitz was the uber, ne plus
ultra, hunting machine. Blitz worked with an economy of grace and
motion that was beautiful to behold. The first time we hunted, the
dogs all locked up on point, except Blitz. Now Bud had regaled me
with stories of Blitz's abilities so I questioned Bud, "Why
wasn't Blitz on point?"
"Blitz will only point roosters, he leaves the hens alone."
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Rolling
my eyes I said "Yeah right."
I ate my words because Blitz consistently paid no attention to the
other dogs on point and would only honor the point if it were a male
ringneck. Both Bud and Blitz are up in the happy hunting ground and
I hope they are both doing what they enjoyed most.
Treff
I have owned, or they owned me, four German Shorthairs over the
years. All were great dogs but Treff; my last Shorthair was exceptional.
Treff was picked up on the rebound. My previous dog had died and
I was not ready to replace him just yet. A hunting buddy phoned
about a pup, available immediately, that had an incredible hunting
pedigree. He said if I didn't buy this pup he would, and he didn't
need another dog. Treff was shipped up and when I opened the crate
at the airport there was no turning back.
Treff was an absolute gentleman to hunt with. You could eat a seven-course
meal while Treff was on point and he would still be solid when you
got back. He had probably forgotten more about birds than I would
ever know. For the 14 1/2 years Treff was here we were inseparable.
When he had to finally be put down I just couldn't handle it. The
agonizing drive to the vet was the longest drive I have ever taken.
And in a decision I still regret to this day, I didn't stay. I left
the vet to do the dirty work. Treff deserved more. Death, unfortunately,
when it comes, should be in the company of loved ones.
Sage
My latest dog is a German Longhaired Pointer named, Sage. He is
the best natural bird dog I have ever owned. As is the habit with
most male dogs, a walk in the 100-tree wood will require that each
tree must be marked equally. Other than that, no major bad habits.
Well, maybe one, some dogs are fishing dogs and some are not. Sage
feels it is his responsibility to retrieve whatever the master harvests,
and that includes fish. To accomplish all this Sage needs to be
next to you. That is challenging when you are wading up to your
waist. His pleading whine from the beach, when he is told to stay,
can get to you but he also lets me know if there are any bears around,
so I figure that is a fair trade.
Sage is curled up on his bed beside me, his snores keeping time
with the country music, and the occasional escapes of air remind
me to keep the air freshener handy. And when he starts to woof and
twitch in doggy dreamland, I smile for all the dogs and best friends
we have known... and we wouldn't change that for anything.
More of Bob's photos on the Photo
page
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