...to replace a good dog. My old Scully was pretty damned great and the new Lena just doesn't seem to measure up. And it is none of her fault, she is giving me all her best. But I just seem to continue to judge her supposed faults on another's best behaviors. For one thing, she's a runner. She runs any critter that is willing, or even unwilling. Probably the hound in her, likely greyhound. Because of that, I rarely take her hunting for fear she will jump a deer, elk, or someone's livestock. And here in South Dakota, both the law and common practice justifies shooting on sight for this behavior.
But last Saturday I decided to risk it all on a roll of the dice. I packed the Jeep and drove out north of Belle Fourche to hunt grouse and scout for deer season. No more than minutes into the first field, we kicked up the worst possible game...a jackrabbit. Lena was on it immediately. It is rare she ever gets to use top gear and redline her motor, but here it was in all it's glory! The jack circled the field twice in a loop that was easily a one mile circumference. Lena never let off the gas and after the first 200 yards she even stopped the yi-yi-yi-yi to concentrate on breathing. The jack realized this dog was in it for the long haul and straightened his course, heading for the horizon and grabbing another gear (they have a seemingly endless supply of "another" gears!) he began to open up the gap. It was pointless to call for Lena, she was in the throes of pursuit and I figured I would be here for hours waiting for her to come back.
Luckily, she broke off pursuit when she realized she was out of line of sight from me. As she came back over the hill, she was still moving at a good clip looking for me. Lena inadvertently ran right thru a flock of sitting grouse and one couldn't take the stress, shooting skyward and pumping for the horizon. Here she came, tongue flopping out the side of her gaping jaws, happy as a clam to have showed off her speed. Any thought of punishing her was out of the question, you simply cannot correct a dog for running off when they come back. Otherwise they think they are being punished for RETURNING! So, I sucked it up and got out treats and poured her some water.
After she caught her breath, I told her that this is a grouse hunt and I intend for her to stick to the program at hand. All I got was a cocked head and a quizzical look. I guess it was up to me to teach her what it was I was asking of her, so I started walking in a wide loop to get up to where the single grouse had launched. It took about 30 minutes and Lena was satisfied to quarter back and forth through the grass and alfalfa usually about 20 yds away. When she got a bit too far out, I called her back and treated her with a few kibbles.
She bumped into the grouse again and a single outlier came up off the ground beneath her nose. I popped off two highly ineffective shots. Too tight a choke and 8 years of no wingshooting makes one a bit puny at the trigger. I called Lena back to where the grouse came up and focused her excitement by pointing at the ground and repeating, "FINDTHEBIRD, FINDTHEBIRD!" She came in with a vigor, nose down and scattershotting all around me. Suddenly she was in the middle of a half dozen launching butterball sharptail grouse! I panic shot at one at 35 yds before I settled into picking out a closer bird. One shot folded it in flight. I took my eye off the falling bird to see Lena still zipping around the ground. Another pair came up and I quickly blew off two more holes in the sky.
Lena, scared to death of fireworks, shakes like Jello in an earthquake for thunderstorms was leaping like a porpoise through the grass and alfalfa. Ears and tongue flapping madly, she was simply sure that another bird would get up if she just tried hard enough! I dropped my hat where I stood and walked in the line best guessing the direction of my shot. Lack of birdhunting for 8 years and I made the worst mistake...I failed to mark a downed bird.
I quartered back and forth for a good ten minutes before I spotted the winged grouse right at my feet. I called Lena over, "Down bird, down bird! Find! Down bird!" She came in, hit the bird with her nose, and kept on trotting, so I called her back. "Here, down bird, here, down bird!" The second time it all clicked: the scent, the movement, the shape...PREY!
And just like that, she reverted to her roots as a feral pup from Pine Ridge. She snatched up that bird and tore off in that stiff legged gallop reminiscent of a coyote. This was a make or break moment for her. If she stayed out of range and started eating, it would be over forever. You can't bird hunt with a dog that claims the birds. I pulled out the water bottle and treat bag, calling for her to come back. She warily circled me, coming closer. When she was ten yards out, I dumped the treat bag contents out like I was sewing seeds in the field. She dropped the bird and went to snarfing up Pupperoni!!! I scooped up the grouse and laid on the praise hard and fast.
Later that evening, we sat on a hay bale watching the moon rise over the eastern horizon. It's the time of the Hunter's Moon. The last few months have been pretty damned hard. I took a(nother) serious financial hit, became homeless, found a new place but had to give up the falcon in order to keep a roof, and just a grocery list of other little things falling apart.
Yeah, it takes a good dog to replace a good dog. It took over two years of hunting every weekend during season for Scully to finally figure out birds. And in all our years together, she never once retrieved a bird. Found them, yes. Kicked them up, yes. But no retrieving. Now on our first day out Lena is nosing birds, picks them up, and brings them back when I call. Once again, I prove my point. Most of the hard work in training a dog is getting through the stupid trainer's thick skull.
I apologize to you, Lena, for my lack of faith in your willingness to please me.
