A Woman’s Touch

     When it comes to Strider's maintenance, I like to think that I stay as much on top of it as any other average dog owner.

     I only give him a couple of baths a year, but there's a good reason for that. Hunting dogs secrete special oil from their skin that makes their coats water resistant. One of the first things that anybody says when they meet Strider is what a beautiful, shiny coat he has. "How do you get it like that?" they often ask me. My reply: "I never wash him. Go ahead; rub your face in his neck a little more." So I like to have some fun…sue me. The shiny quality that is so attractive is the oil that is covering every hair on his body. That's not to say that he doesn't get thoroughly hosed down after a long morning in the muddy marsh (lest my house smell like that crap), but the oil is specifically meant to withstand regular water. If he is bathed with soap too often, it will wash the oil right off and, well, try to imagine jumping into that frigid water with wet clothing, and you might get an idea of what the poor dog would feel like.

     He does get brushed once every couple of weeks, but that's more for my own satisfaction than anything. As a hunting dog, he sheds quite a bit more than the average house dog. Most house dogs don't get a full winter coat like hunting dogs do, and let me tell you this: when that winter coat goes, so does the color of your carpet. It gets everywhere.

     Strider also has a chronic ear infection that never seems to go away. The vets keep telling me that it's a yeast infection problem, and keep giving me the same thing to clean it out with, but it never seems to fully get better. I've been told by some that it's not completely uncommon for water dogs in particular, and it makes sense. Water is always getting in their ears, and since the ear lobes fold over, it doesn't really give them a chance to fully dry out. Moisture breeds yeast; yeast causes infections.

     The one place where I'm absolutely not comfortable in his maintenance is clipping his nails. I cut too short a couple of times when he was younger, causing discomfort for him and a bit of blood for me to clean up. I hate hearing him cry, and since his nails are all black, I have no idea where to cut them without hurting him. This is where by girlfriend, Nichole, comes in.

     She was a vet-tech at one point in her life, and has a lot of experience cutting nails. Somehow, she can look at that dog's feet (after giving me a look that says, "How do you let them get this long?"), and cut them just as short as any groomer that I've ever seen. Thank God she's around. In a rough and tough hunting world that is mostly dominated by men (no, I'm not being sexist, it's a fact…look it up), I guess some things just take a woman's touch.

     It was just last week that he was due for his nails to be cut, so it was Nichole to the rescue…again.
Allow me to digress for a moment. I'm not sure what it is, but whenever Strider is put on his back for an extended period of time, he gets a case of the sneezes. I'm talking a full on sneezing fit. I'm not completely sure what does it, but it absolutely never fails.

     Thanks to me, and my lack of nail cutting knowledge, this is not Strider's favorite time. He really detests it, and he has to be restrained and then soothed before he will relax just enough for Nichole work her magic. The only position that I have found he will relax in is with him laying down and having his head in my lap. Even then, he's still a bit restless. He doesn't cry or protest too much, but he is less than completely cooperative in just giving over his paws to Nichole. Again, this whole ordeal is completely my fault, and I can't blame him for hating it.

     This last clipping went as smooth as we could have expected, but he did get a small fit of the sneezes while he was lying on my lap, causing Nichole to put a pause on the process until he had finished. She cut his back nails, and then announced that he was all done, which he has come to learn means that he can get up and get his treat. Nichole, being the loving mom that she is, gave him a lot of praise and told him what a good boy he was…and that's when it happened.

     Go ahead; say the word "boy" out loud one time. You'll notice that at the end of the word, your mouth is completely wide open in almost a half-smile. Maybe he had been holding it back, but he had one big sneeze left in him, and he waited until she said "boy," and let it go…right in Nichole's mouth. Her entire body froze in place. Her mouth didn't move, she managed to close her eyes in time (which, ironically enough, were protected behind her glasses, but remained closed) and her hands were frozen in mid-air where Strider's head had been before he sneezed, and she was terrifyingly silent. Strider took a couple of steps back; a move he must have learned from me. I think I may have saved that dog's life that day. Of course, I was on the floor laughing, which diverted her attention away from him and onto me, which made her laugh…a little. Had I not been there, I think she may have strangled him. Luckily, she does have a soft spot for Strider, and has agreed that she will continue to cut his nails.

     Never a dull moment with a retriever.

     Until next time, give extra scratches behind the ears and happy training!

Who’s the Boss?

    Anyone who has watched television in the last ten years knows about pack mentality among dogs. They are canines, and canines run in packs. I agree with many experts that the pack mentality of dogs is not the same as that of wolves, but nobody in their right mind can honestly say that it is not there at some level.

    In any pack, there is a certain order to things, and to have order, you must have an established hierarchy. The order for our combined homes (those being mine and my girlfriend, Nichole) goes from human to dog, as it should. The line between who is in charge of the humans is a little muddled at times…but this is about the dogs. (Ahem)

    Beyond the authority of Nichole and me, it is absolutely undisputed who is in control of the dogs, and her name is Allee; an 18 pound Boston Terrier. Her rule over Strider is absolute.
I will be completely honest when I tell you that this causes a bit of conflict for me. On the one hand, my pride is hurt a little bit by my 95 pound hunting dog being pushed around by something that's roughly the size of his back leg; on the other hand…it's freaking hysterical.

    Allee is ten years old, and still has as much energy as any puppy I've ever seen (and no, I am not exaggerating). You would expect the five year old Strider to run around like a crazy man and bugging the crap out of her, as younger dogs tend to do. Not so much. Theirs is a relationship based on competition with an occasional glimpse of affection. Allee has a need to have whatever Strider has. Strider will get a toy out of the basket, Allee runs over and snatches it out of his mouth and takes it into the other room, where she proceeds to possessively chew on. Undeterred, Strider gets another toy out of the basket. As if by ESP, Allee runs from the other room, where she has left the first toy, and snatches a second toy away from the big dog. Repeat this process four or five more times, and we are then left with an empty toy basket and a bed full of dog toys that Allee is lying on top of.

    Sometimes Strider will be feeling bold and, in his own way, proceeds to fight fire with fire. When Allee comes running out in a clear attempt to steal something from him, he will hold it up in the air where she can't reach it. We can almost hear Strider saying, "Haha! Too tall for you! Too tall for you!" Allee leaps back and forth as Strider will hold it right at her eye level, then lift it up and away from her just before she grabs it. Put some little horns on Allee, and it would look like a Fido Bull Fight. What really cracks me up is when he holds whatever it is that she wants over a coffee table, which is taller than her head and thus places the toy, quite effectively, out of her reach.

    Allee and I have developed a bit of a dad-spoils-little-girl relationship. Again, I'm not too proud to admit it. Even as I write this, she is sitting on my lap inside my arms, almost as if she is watching for anything bad that I might write about her. I've told Nichole about some of the sideways glances I get when I'm watching her and take her out for a walk when I get done hunting. There I am, in full camouflage and face paint…walking a Boston Terrier. This is not to say that a man walking a small dog is in any way wrong, but in my case, you have to admit that it paints a pretty amusing picture. If you saw me coming out of my door, I'm quite sure that you wouldn't expect a dog like Allee to be on the end of the leash that would be in my hand. It really doesn't bother me, but I'd be lying if I told you I didn't get a kick out of viewing myself in that way.

    As I mentioned before, there is a degree of affection between the two of them. Every once in a while, the two of them will let their respective guards down just enough to show how they really feel about each other. There have been a couple of occasions when we have found them curled up together on the couch or in a bed. Yes, they're allowed on both.

    I'm not sure if Strider's relationship with Allee has changed him in any way, but I do notice a difference in him when we train with other dogs as compared to how he acts when he is around her; particularly those that are younger than him. When the training session is finished and we release them for a couple of fun bumpers, Strider is almost always the first one there. On the rare occasion that a dog beats him to a bumper, he is right on their heels to pick it up when they overrun it because they are going too fast. When he and Fowler (the one year old that we train with) go after them together, Strider will always get the bumper first, and then begins a dance of who will ultimately bring the bumper back to Rhett or myself. Usually it's that they will both have ahold of a respective end of the bumper when they finally do get back, going more than half of that distance locked in that position, neither willing to give in to the other. Strider is never that stubborn with Allee. With rare exception, he concedes to her will of being the dominant canine in our little pack.

    What does this have to do with his training? Not much. But it most certainly adds another layer of intrigue to, as you have already learned by reading previous posts, a most unique dog. Maybe one day his relationship with the little big dog will be a point of revelation for me, but for now, I'll just keep laughing.

    Until next time, give extra scratches behind the ears, and happy training!!



 

Hunting Season is Over…

    Duck season came to a close over the past weekend, and a great sadness has fallen over the Delmarva Peninsula. At this point in the year, there are a great many waterfowlers who ask the same question: What in the hell am I going to do with myself now?

     I can't answer for any other duck hunters out there, but this year has brought me the opportunity to re-focus some attention to retriever games. I've mentioned them before on this blog, so there's no need for me to go into any details about them. My main reason for not doing them as much as I would have liked to in the past was mainly because I didn't have anybody to do it with. I've never had anybody that shared the same passion for the games that I do, which simply means that I've had trouble finding people in my area that were willing to train as often and as hard as I do. This presents a big problem in being competitive in the games, and anybody who knows me can attest to the fact that I don't take defeat very well.

     Nothing will ever replace an actual hunt. This is true for both the hunter and the dog. I can tell you with absolute certainty that Strider knows when the season has come to a close. My decoys sit in three bags on my back porch, and are regularly rotated as needed by whatever species of duck we happen to be hunting. Well, the end of hunting season means that I must make some much needed room on the porch. At that point, the decoys are moved to the storage room. In order to get them to the room, I must walk them past Strider's bed.

     There is no point in the year where I see my dog at a lower point as when I'm taking those decoys upstairs to be put away for the remainder of the spring and summer. He lies on his bed with his head laid flat between his paws and whines as I walk each bag up the stairs. For the remainder of the day I can't get him to move, even for a treat…and that's saying something. It's not until I tell him that we are going to, as I call it, "do some work," that he finally bucks up and is ready to go again. It's what I say before we go out and train.

     I have, at one point or another, had somebody try to tell me that by having a dog that I train for hunting, I am abusing my rights as a dog owner and that I shouldn't own him for work. I tend to laugh at these people and just say that while I don't agree with their opinion, I certainly do respect it. Anybody who has ever seen Strider or any other dog on a hunt or in a training situation cannot argue that they absolutely love what they do, so I just chalk comments like the one that I mentioned up to ignorance. My dog is, first and foremost, a member of my family. He is my son, and my best friend. Following that, he is my hunting dog. He is a pet first and a hunting buddy second.

     Just because Strider can't hold a gun doesn't make him any less of a hunter than I am, and like any other hunter, his morale hits a low when the season ends. Hunting isn't the joy of going out and killing things. Some say that it's getting back to our primitive nature…but that's a load of bull. I won't sit here and tell you that I can speak for every hunter out there, but I can honestly tell you that getting my limit of birds or bagging the trophy buck isn't what keeps me going. As I've mentioned before, I'm not a good hunter…which is why I need Strider. I just love being able to get away from civilization when I need to. Hunting is my outlet; my relief.

     If Strider could speak, I like to think that he would say that he doesn't know why he needs to hunt, but that he absolutely has to. For him, it actually does go back to a primal need to retrieve game. It's what he was bred for, and it's all he knows.

     Thankfully for the both of us, we now have somebody who is willing to train with us and travel to hunt tests, which I'm hoping is going to make the off season that much more bearable until it's time to get back out into the marsh again.

     Stay tuned for updates on training and tests that we enter as we try to get Strider his Senior Hunter Title this spring and summer.

     Maybe our ladies can come too…if they're lucky.

     Until next time, give extra scratches behind the ears and happy training!!

Training Day Post

Date: 1/19/13
Weather: 45 F, Wind NW 15-20 MPH, Sunny
Training: Strider – 4 singles, blank shots fired by gunner and handler
     Fowler – Same


    I met up with Rhett in the field that his uncle most generously lets us use when the winter wheat is planted for a morning of training. We've been making it a weekly thing, trying to work the dogs on Saturdays and Sundays to get them ready for the upcoming hunt test season. Hunting season is almost over here in Delaware, and we need something to hold on to for the long seven months until it starts up again. Enter the hunt tests.

    For those of you who don't know, hunt tests are just what they sound like. They are a simulated hunting scenario on which the dog and handler are given a pass or fail, depending on how they perform. The tests are broken down into three categories: Junior, Senior and Master. Four passes at the Junior level earns you a Junior Hunter title which goes on the end of the dog's AKC registered name as JH, and same for Senior (SH) and Master (MH) as long as you have the previous title. If you jump straight to Senior or Master without a Junior title, it then requires five passes instead of four to get them.

    One of the things I love about hunt tests is that they are all broken down into two separate categories: land and water. You must pass both in order to get an overall pass toward whichever title that you're going for. People often think that waterfowl hunters are limited only to hunting on the water (we are, after all, hunting WATERfowl), but there are several occasions when we will hunt in fields, and I really like the idea of testing the dogs on all of their needed abilities to be a good hunter.

    We recently got ourselves some blank shotgun shell poppers to use in training. We may be training for hunt tests, but at the end of the day they're hunting dogs and they need to be trained with gun fire. Strider has been a little jumpy when we've been hunting lately, so he was in desperate need of some discipline at the line. It doesn't take the dogs long to realize that the boss has both hands on the gun and not on their collars or the e-collar transmitter to give them a zap, and they're excitement often gets the better of them, causing them to break . If you don't keep up with their gun training, they will completely fall apart in the field.

     I'm a firm believer in the handler shooting blank shots at the marks in addition the gunners shooting. Create as much excitement as you can for the dogs in training so that a normal hunting scenario won't be as crazy for them, and they will (in theory) behave better when it counts. I once hunted over a Field Champion (which are the best of the best when it comes to retriever games) who wouldn't be steady to the shot if his life depended on it. As soon as we reared up to shoot, that dog was gone. Field Trial handlers don't have a gun at the line and don't usually train for it, and the dog knows that all of the handler's attention is on him. If he breaks, he knows that the handler can stop him and that there will be a consequence.

    We concentrated the day on staying steady, so we set up four singles that were pretty easy. Our main concerns weren't to challenge the dogs with a difficult test, we just wanted to make sure that their rear-ends were glued to the ground while the guns were going off. The test had the handler blow a duck call, then the gunner would answer with a duck call, throw the bumper and fire a shot. In a regular hunt test, that's the way that the order goes and the dog is then sent at the judge's signal. We added an extra shot from the handler immediately after the gunner's shot. This adds to the distraction and excitement of the test, and forces the dog to concentrate on his obedience rather than just the mark. The best dogs' line discipline have been drilled into them to the point that they don't even think about it. It's just part of the routine. Strider and Fowler aren't there yet, so I wanted to create a scenario that forced them to think through it.

    Fowler went first and did about what would be expected of a young dog with limited exposure to such things. He didn't outright break, but his rump would hover off the ground after Rhett fired his shot. Simple solution of making him sit before sending him had the dog rock steady by the time we got to the last two retrieves. Rhett has worked very hard with limited time with his dog, and it shows with the amount of progress that Fowler has made in the time that Strider and I have been training with them. He made very nice marks at ever increasing distances and made smooth deliveries to hand.

    Strider came RIPPING out of the kennel when I opened it; just a big black blur damn near barreling me over. He had been sitting in the back of the truck with all those duck calls and gunshots going off, and to say that he was ready to go would be quite an understatement. I eventually corralled him back to me and got him to sit, much to his verbal objections. With his e-collar strapped on, gun loaded and Rhett out in the field with the bumpers, we were ready to work. I half expected him to do terribly because he was so fired up, but much to my surprise after I fired my shot, I looked to see him in the exact same position that I walked him to. He wasn't shaking with anticipation, he wasn't whining; he was as alert and full of a calm intensity as I've ever seen him. I made him sit for a few seconds in order to simulate a hunt test judge waiting to make the call for him to go. He took off and nailed the first mark without an issue. His second went the same way and I couldn't have been happier with him. When I turned him for the third mark, he crept in front of me a little bit, but immediately corrected himself without a word from me. He stayed steady through the shot, but on his way out to the mark veered to the right a little bit. Rhett told me later that there was a snow goose feather out in the field that took his attention away from the mark, and that's what he was going for. Mark four went just as smoothly as the rest, and now it was time for the dogs to go through another steadying drill.

    We do this drill every week, and it's very simple but extremely effective. The dogs sit next to us and we're about ten yards apart from each other. One of us will throw a bumper out in front of them and fire off a shot. If one of the dogs so much as lifts his backside off of the ground while the other stays steady, then the steady dog gets the retrieve. If they both stay steady, then the dog whose handler threw the bumper gets the retrieve. If neither are steady, then we walk out and pick the bumper and then try again. In our case, it's usually Fowler that creeps up a little bit, and that's to be expected from a one year old. It only takes one retrieve from Strider in front of him (the indignity!) to make him rock steady the next time a shot is fired. I can tell you that dogs don't like being the one that has to stay, but Fowler takes it to a whole new level of objection. Listening to him, you'd think that somebody was breaking into his house with the way he carries on. I actually think that if Rhett didn't have a firm hold of the dog, he'd run out there and tackle Strider before he got to the bumper. But, this is what we have to do to get them ready, as at the Senior and Master test levels, the dog must honor another dog as a part of the test. If the dog moves while another dog is working, he fails. Fowler will get the idea with repetition, but it's not something that's solved overnight. He's a smart dude; I'm not worried about him.

    It was a good day of training and I felt like we really got something out of it for both dogs. Fowler made progress in his steadiness to the shot, and Strider did very well and was able to receive a lot of praise from me. I could tell that he was really enjoying himself, and that's why I love doing these things with him.

    Until next time, give extra scratches behind the ears and happy training!!

 

This Goose is Gonna Get It!!

Whenever people tell me that dogs don't have emotions, I tend to laugh at them. Anybody who has spent time with a dog knows that if there's one thing that they lack, it most certainly is NOT emotion.

The story I'm about to tell you is not all that uncommon for hunting dogs, but it plays into Strider's personality so much that I feel that to leave it out wouldn't be right.

Strider was three at the time and we went on a Canada Goose hunt in a cut corn field with a few other people, two of them being good friends of mine. The five of us were in layout blinds, which for those of you who don't know are pretty much nothing more than sleeping cots with a camouflage covering and two small door-like openings that cover you when you don't want the geese to see you, and swing open when you're ready to shoot. Strider has his own dog blind (which is also camouflaged) that sits next to me in the field, much like a collapsible kennel.

After covering our small hideaways with cut corn stalks and husks from the field, we felt confident that no passing goose would be able to sense any danger while flying overhead. It was still dark, and the crisp January air was catching our breath in dense fogs as we exhaled. We still had to set up the decoys, and it was still early enough that the birds hadn't even started chirping yet.

That's right…for all you people that are cozy in bed on that morning, we hunters are out in the cold, up before the birds, actually pursuing what we intend to eat. Sure, we could wait until the grocery store opens like most "normal" people. But I ask you: Where's the fun in that?? Who wouldn't love waking up an hour (at least) before sunrise and driving to a frozen corn field with a wound-up retriever, fifty decoys that need to be strategically planted, an awkwardly large layout blind, a shotgun, and a personal equipment bag that is undoubtedly missing something that you wanted to bring but left at home? Sounds like a great way to spend a morning to me.

Forgive me, I've digressed.

After putting out the decoys, we all settled into our layouts to get ready for the morning's hunt. When you're lying in a blind like that, it's very easy for the excitement of the hunt to give way to the exhaustion that you feel from waking up at 4:00 in the morning. While it's not as common as you may think, it's not unheard of for a group of hunters to be lying in a field, and during a lull in the conversation between them, a very loud snoring can be heard coming from one of the blinds. The thing about it is that somebody will try to figure out who is doing it, as to be able to play the appropriate prank.

There was one time when I was the unfortunate soul who fell asleep in the blind, and the rest of the yahoos that I was hunting with viewed it as an opportunity to mess with me. They planned their prank very well; sliding my gun out of my hands before proceeding, which was a smart move considering that what followed would have probably had me firing it until it was unloaded at whatever moved. Still snoring quite loudly, one of them stood kneeled at the head of my blind and fired off three rapid shots from his shotgun up into the air. This brought me to the upright position as if somebody had just stabbed me in the back, screaming, "WHAT THE &%#@?!?!" I love my friends…I swear I do.

The morning in question passed pretty uneventfully until about 8:00 am, which is when the birds began flying. The first group of geese came in, and we downed all four of them. Strider retrieved all of them without an issue, and we all sat back in our blinds, awaiting the next group. It was only about twenty minutes before the next group of about ten geese came coasting into our decoy spread. Five of them fell from the sky, with one of them only being crippled and falling like a glider away from us at about 100 yards.

I climbed out my layout and brought him to a standing heel so that I could line him for the crippled bird. The rule of thumb is that you always send the dog for the crippled bird first, as not to extend the bird's suffering. Strider took off for that goose, and when he got about two-thirds of the way to it, the bird started running away. By the time he had reached it, the bird had managed to get off the ground in an attempt to fly away. That wasn't going to stop Strider. He got under that goose, took one giant leap, grabbed it by one of those huge webbed feet and slammed it back to the ground. Of course, all this did was ROYALLY tick of the goose, which reared up on its feet and gave a big, posturing hiss toward the dog with its wings fully extended outward. As he's trained to do, Strider made a fast move, gripped the large bird around the midsection and began the trek back to me with the live animal firmly in his grasp. During the return, the goose had managed to rear its head around was incessantly biting and shaking Strider's ears and lips in an attempt to make him let it go. He was about 30 yards from me when he dropped the great bird from his jaws and placed his right paw on its chest, rendering it largely immobile, staring at me and ignoring the ever-growing protest of the goose. I looked down at my friends, who were still in their layouts, and said, "I don't know what to do. We don't train for this!"

He was fed up, and kept looking at me as if to say, "Do you see what this damn thing is doing to me? Are you going to do anything about this??"

All I could think to do was tell him to pick it back up and bring it to me so that I could deal with it, and after a few of my "Fetch" commands went unacknowledged, he gripped the goose's neck in his jaws just below the head and gave one great shake of his head.

Hunting dogs are trained to have a soft mouth and to bring the animals back to us alive, because all dogs are born with the knowledge of a "death shake." Anybody who has played tug-of-war with their dog knows what it is. Whenever you have a rope or towel that you are tugging on with your dog and he shakes his head from side to side, he's not just trying to rip it away from you, it's a primal instinct to kill and rip apart what you are fighting over. Have you ever given a dog a new stuffed animal, and the first thing he does is take it away and violently shake it back and forth in its mouth? He's not showing affection or gratitude to you…he's killing it. I have seen some dogs to that with live birds, and believe me when I tell you that the bird that gets the "death shake" from a retriever is no longer fit to eat. The dog has completely crushed the mid-section of the animal and punctured multiple bones into the breast meat, effectively destroying it and releasing excess blood and bowel into the meat, as well. Go ahead and try to eat that bird…I dare you.

Strider has never given the "death shake" while making a retrieve, and I don't really classify this instance as him doing something that he wasn't supposed to do. I honestly think that the goose had annoyed him to the point that he wasn't going to pick it up again as long as it was in that state of mind, even if it meant disobeying my fetch command (which is a HUGE no-no in the retriever world). The single shake of his head ripped the goose's head clean off, which he then spit onto the ground. The bird was flailing about, as birds with freshly severed heads tend to do, but Strider calmly picked it up and made a clean delivery to me. Of course, my friends are losing it alongside me watching this whole episode take place.

Really, what could I do? He hadn't damaged the bird in any way and delivered it to my hand, just like he's supposed to. There was nothing that I could scold him for at that point. I just scratched his ear and told him "good boy," and we resumed hunting. We only needed one more bird to reach our limit for the day, and it was achieved not long after that. It's the only hunt that I can remember where the fact that everyone limited out (which is quite rare) wasn't the main point of conversation afterward. As you can imagine, on that hunt, it was Strider.

He has always been that way. There are several trainers that adhere to the idea that SIT MEANS SIT…so there is no reason for a "Stay" command. When you tell a dog to sit, he should sit until given further instruction. It's that simple. As a puppy, when teaching Strider how to sit, I encountered a problem. He would remain in the sit position by keeping his rump on the ground, but would pull himself along with his front legs to get closer to me…and his treat. It wasn't a hard problem to fix, but it did give me some insight into future training; not technically breaking the rules, but not doing it completely the right way, either. Smartass.

Strider is full of personality, and even though it has made for a few setbacks in his training, I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world, and I know that every dog owner out there feels the same way.

Well, be sure to give extra scratches behind the ears and happy training!

I Want a Drink!!

    This story actually comes from my brother.

    When Strider was a pup, I was bartending at a local restaurant. One of my weekly shifts was Sunday day, and my brother volunteered to watch the big man for a little while so that he wouldn't spend the entire 7 hours alone. It's funny that more people are so willing to help when there's a puppy involved. That's not to say that I don't have a great network of friends and family to watch him when I need it, but people literally volunteered when he was a baby.

    He was six months old, which in dog terms means that he was coming into his "terrible twos." This is a big transition period for puppies. They're getting to the age that they still move like puppies, but have an adult body structure, which makes for some very awkward moments. It's also when they figure out that they can reach things that they weren't able to reach before.

    Strider has always been a drinker. I don't know why, and I've never seen anything like it. I was told by my vet that this could lead to a condition known as bloat, which is life threatening and would have to be treated with immediate surgery. Even to this day, his water is regulated more than your average dog, which usually just has a bowl of water sitting around for unrestrained use.

    When Malik came to watch the pup, I let him know that when he was ready to leave, he could just put him in the kennel and to make sure that he didn't drink too much water. I went to work knowing that he was in good hands and was surprised to see my brother show up a couple of hours later.

    He told me that he had been sitting in the living room watching a basketball game when he heard a strange noise coming from the kitchen. He muted the television and recognized the sound of running water from a sink faucet, and found it kind of spooky since he was the only person in the house…except for Strider.

    Malik got up from the recliner and went into the kitchen to see what was going on, but was not expecting what he saw when he got there. That puppy waltzed himself into the kitchen and jumped up onto my 4 foot counter (which is quite a feat for a six month old puppy). He somehow figured out how to flip the handle on, and was drinking from it like a water fountain; his snout underneath the faucet and long tongue trying to bring the running water into his mouth. There is a dual sink in the kitchen and he had his front two feet in the left sink while the faucet was hanging over the right, and is two back feet on the counter in the laydown position. He took no notice of Malik, who immediately shot into a grin and said, "Hey!"

    Strider stopped drinking and, not realizing that he was really doing anything wrong, looked at my brother with that cocked sideways look that puppies give when they're caught doing something they're not supposed to be doing, and went back to drinking the running water. After standing in awe for a few seconds, Malik realized that maybe he should stop my puppy from doing such a thing, and picked him up from out of the sink after giving him a firm "No!"

    Oddly enough, he never did it after that. There are behaviors that I've had to repeatedly get him to stop doing before he finally got the idea that it's not okay. For example, to this day he will, without fail, sprint through the back door after a walk and stick his entire head into the large trash can that we keep on our porch (ironically enough, to keep away from him), and rummage for whatever scraps he may be able to find in the half second that it takes me to walk in the back door and find him. When the bag is low, he will be digging so deep into it that his front paws will be off the ground so that he is supporting his weight on his neck. He's always had a mind of his own. I'm pretty sure it was the second week I had him when he fell asleep on his bed under the pool table and I sat in the big chair in my living room that has a full leg extension ottoman. A half hour later, I heard a picking sound coming from the ground. I glanced down to see a little black face coming up over the side of the ottoman to join me on the chair. Sitting up, I saw that he had dug his little nails into fabric on the side of it and was pulling himself up like a wall-climber; with all four of his paws dug in and clinging for dear life. A single puppy cry let me know that he needed some help, so I picked him up and he finished his nap on my chest…which is where he still sleeps nowadays; all 95 pounds of him.

    I've never found him coming even remotely close to doing anything like he did when he drank out of the sink. Before that, he had never shown any interest in it and nor has he since. Whatever got into his head that day has never come back. There's never a dull moment with puppies.

    Until next time, give scratches behind the ears and happy training!!

    

    

Training Day Post

Date: 12/30/12
Weather: 38 F, Wind NNW 20-25 mph, Partly Cloudy
Training: Strider - Simulated Senior Hunt Test – Land
Fowler – Simulated Junior Hunt Test – Land


There is a simple truth that we all must live with, and that truth is that not everything is always going to go to plan. Whether it's work or play, we always have an expectation of how we want things to go, and the fact is that it doesn't always go that way.

As you can probably guess, this post is about one of those days.

I have recently agreed to help a buddy of mine, Rhett, train his young dog, Fowler, for duck hunting and retriever games. He has been following Tom Dokken's book on training, but needed a bit of hands-on help with Force Fetch. Something just wasn't quite getting through to the dog, and I have had experience with the Force Fetch process, so he gave me a call to come take a look at him. It wasn't anything at all from Mr. Dokken's book that was the problem; it was just the inexperience of the trainer. Everyone who has trained a gun dog knows what I'm talking about, and we've all been there at one point or another. A lot of dogs will never reach their owner's expectations because they are too proud to ask for help, and one of the several things that I've learned about the hunting retriever world is that there is always somebody who is willing to give you a hand. Luckily, Fowler's problem laid mostly in the Hold stage. Rhett just didn't know how to reinforce the standard that he wanted in that phase of training. It wasn't hard to show him what he needed to do. It was obvious that he had been working very hard with Fowler leading up to that point, and it was a simple matter of showing the dog what the correct behavior was. We can never expect our dogs to do what we want if we don't first show them what we want.

 
I met up with my training partner at 9:00 am to work out Strider and Fowler. The pup has just gotten through the initial stages of Force Fetch (through Force to Pile and Pattern Blinds) and we are working him through collar conditioning and transition while preparing him for his first Junior Hunt Tests. We sent him off first, as Strider's simulated Senior Test would take a bit longer.

Fowler ran a Junior Land Test and did beautifully. We ran him through it twice in a wheat field that Rhett's uncle lets us use for training. The line was placed just off a dirt road that runs the edge of the field and I set the test as two singles to be thrown first to his left, then to his right. I blew the duck call, threw the bumper about 15 yards to my right (dog's left just north of 45 degrees) and fired a blank. Fowler, who had had some trouble staying steady earlier in the week, gave a small flinch at the shot, but kept his rear end glued to the mat. Rhett sent him for the mark and he absolutely nailed it! A few days before, he had an issue with following marks to the ground, but not today! He held the bumper perfectly and ran back to Rhett's side; an excellent retrieve from beginning to end and proof that the Force Fetch process is vital to a retriever's success. As he returned to Rhett, I jogged about 40 yards to my left to end up at 60 yards to the dog's right and repeated throwing to my left once he was ready. Rhett was extremely happy with how he performed, as he should have been.

Strider was a little different.

I set up a Senior Land Test for him with a double and a blind retrieve. The first bird was thrown to the right at about 90 yards, the left bird was from a dummy launcher and ended up at about 70 yards, and the blind was right between the two of them at 110 yards. Since we don't have holding blinds, I took him behind my truck and had him sit at heel for a minute before bringing him to the line (at heel, no leash). When we hit the mat, I signaled for Rhett to throw the first bird. He blew a duck call, threw the mark and fired a .22 blank shot. The second was launched across to the left. I moved him off the second bird (which he was SHAKING to get to), and after a bit of a battle of wills, got him to line for the first mark. I lowered my hand over his head and sent him for it. His initial line was a bit to the right since the field sloped ever so slightly that way, but not far enough for me to worry about needing to handle him. As long as he's within the general hunt area, I tend to let him do his thing.

When we're out hunting, I don't want to be blowing a whistle every two seconds just because he's not directly on a bird, so I like him to be able to figure things like that out for himself.

After about 5 seconds, he got in position and scented the mark; picking it up and bringing it back to me for a perfect delivery. The second bird was a bit of a challenge for him, as the launcher doesn't provide him a thrower to target for the mark. He took about 30 seconds to find it once he reached the fall area, and one again faithfully brought it back to me.

Not the best he's ever done, but he has most certainly done far worse. The problem began when he had to run the blind. As I said before, it was 110 yards out in front, and the field sloped ever so slightly to the left. He had never run a blind in this field before and the second mark, along with the slope of the field, was pulling him to the left almost immediately after I sent him with a calm "Back" command. I stopped him within 40 yards, which I really don't like to do because I'm afraid of causing a popping problem if I do it too often. On the other hand, I need to get him to the bird, right? He was between the lines for the second mark and the blind, and made a quick stop and sat facing me, awaiting command. I gave him a right "Over" command, and he turned to his left…and kept turning until he had completely wheeled himself (a standing turn that went beyond 180 degrees), and began running toward where the second mark fell. Most retriever owners are probably thinking the same thing that I was at the time…Oh, no you didn't! Another sit whistle immediately followed, and he quickly sat again. Only this time he had his head cocked to the side (everyone knows that look, and Strider has mastered it) as if to say, "WHAT?? I'm working, here!" I gave him another right "Over," and this time he obeyed…kind of. He lazily jogged to his left, but kept his head turned in the direction of where the second mark had fallen. At this point, I'm starting to get annoyed.

He arrived at the line that I wanted him, so I stopped him again, warranting possibly the laziest sit I've ever seen in a working retriever. It must have taken 5 full seconds for his rear-end to hit the ground, all the while his eyes still glancing over to the area that he wanted to go to. I gave him a right "Back," which he enthusiastically took. About 30 yards into the run, he began veering off to the left again. I really don't think he was being influenced by the previous mark at that point; the slope of the field was taking him off the line to the blind. I let him go so that he could get upwind from it, thinking that he would come across the scent and find it.

Nope. Instead, he blew right by it and just kept running. It was windy as hell that morning, and it took me two loud, long whistles before he realized that something wasn't right. He did stop after the second whistle, and obeyed my "Here" whistle until he was even with the bumpers, and I blew the whistle again to make him sit. He didn't stop. The dog just kept running back to me. Two additional whistles and a nick of his e-collar finally got his attention and he sat. Meanwhile, I'm keeping myself as calm as I possibly can. "He's a dog," I kept telling myself, "just keep training."

 

After two more stops and handles, he still hadn't gotten the blind. Several pro trainer's voices kept echoing in my head: "When the dog doesn't get something, simplify, simplify, SIMPLIFY!"
I had to walk out and make the blind 60 yards so that he could find it. We walked back to the line, bumper in mouth, and prepared to run it again. The first mark went well, but then came the dummy launcher mark to the left. I sent him for it, and just as he was reaching it, he suddenly faded to the right and took off for the planted blind. I blew the whistle, but he didn't acknowledge he even heard it. It's entirely possible that with the wind and him running at full speed he really didn't hear it. Nevertheless, he continued his path to the blind.

One thing you should know about Strider: he is fast. Really, really, REALLY FAST! Of course, that's what I wanted (God forbid any wounded geese start running and get away from us in a corn field), so I'm not complaining. In this instance, by the time I blew another sit whistle, he had already arrived at the blind and was bringing it back to me. I turned and gave the bumper bucket a little kick of frustration and awaited Strider's return. Naturally, I don't want to inhibit his desire to do his job, so I didn't scold him at all when he got back. I calmly took the bumper (my agitation having been taken out on the defenseless bucket) and sent him for the second mark…which he nailed and retrieved without a problem.

What's the lesson here? Next time, I'm going to wait until I'm finished running the second round of marks before trying to simplify a blind again. What happened was completely my fault, and I knew it as soon as Strider left the second mark for the blind. By showing him where it was, I had essentially given him the idea that it was more important than picking up the marks in the correct order. That's not what we want to teach our dogs. Yet another lesson that Strider has taught me.

Anyway, until next time…give extra scratches behind the ears and happy training!!



 

What Was Your Favorite?

    There's no getting around it: if you want the type of hunting dog that I do, then you had better find a group of people that are just as enthusiastic about it as you are to train with. Dogs must learn to work with their handlers, and handlers must learn to read their dogs.
    
    My training group consists mostly of friends that I hunt with, and it almost never fails that we end up comparing stories of different trips and hunts, including our dogs' best retrieves. I've retold the following story to the point that my group will stop me from talking when dog stories make it to the forefront of the conversation. Well, I'm sure they're reading this, so they're going to hear it again, because it needs to be told.

    I first heard of a dog doing something similar to this in an article in The Retriever Journal when a group of professional trainers were asked to share some of their favorite stories of dogs that they had trained. I only say this because I don't want the loyal readers of The Retriever Journal thinking that I had plagiarized this story. It is 100% true, and I almost thought of sending a letter to Mike Lardy (the trainer in the article) recounting the event.
    
    It was the fall of 2010, and I had taken Strider on a dove hunt. We didn't reach our limit that day, but it didn't matter. I'd had a rough couple of days at work (the restaurant business takes its toll on everyone involved), and I just needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of my life and be somewhere quiet with my buddy. I didn't want anybody else there, I didn't want to talk about why I was having trouble, I just wanted to be alone in a place where there wasn't another human being within a mile of me…just me and my dog.
    
    Strider had a decent day, but it was far from his best. In my experience, dogs tend to have a bit of a hard time cooperating during dove hunts, especially when the birds are flying. I'm no expert, but from what I've seen, there are several factors that contribute to this.
    
    For one thing, dove hunts tend to be much more active than your run of the mill duck or goose hunts. More birds fly, your bag limit is much higher, and the stillness and quiet that is required for duck and goose hunting is not as essential in dove hunting. When you and your hunting buddies are more animated and light-hearted in the field, you can bet that your dog will be the same way. They know that dove hunts aren't taken as seriously as duck hunts in most cases. I always compare it to an athlete playing a pickup game with his buddies one day, and playing an actual game the next. While he/she enjoys both, one is meant for fun…the other is business. Dove hunts are fun, but duck and goose hunting is the real deal; it's game time.

    In addition to that, when you shoot a flying dove, it doesn't just fall from the sky, it EXPLODES in a burst of feathers that are barely held on to the bird's body…and then it falls from the sky. Something about the reaction of game shot to dove feathers sends most dogs into a tizzy. Although they perceive most of their world through their noses, dogs are much more visual than most people give them credit for. A falling duck or goose excites a dog, but an exploding dove drives them absolutely nuts. Don't ask why…I'm done trying to figure it out. I just try to train for it.
    
    The day was absolutely perfect, so it was hard for me to be at all disappointed in anything that happened. Whenever I have the opportunity to get my bag limit and don't succeed, I leave the hunt a little upset with myself. I am, by no means, the greatest shot in the world. Actually, if you ask my friends they'll tell you that the only reason they hunt with me at all is because I'm always able to make them feel better about their shooting abilities. Yeah, it's like that. But on that particular day, I wasn't upset with not shooting very well. It was one of those days that's needed to break up all of the other days that have started to run together, so it didn't matter that I came back minus a full box of shells and plus only seven birds. Yes, you read that right. Twenty-five shots; seven birds. Yikes.
    
    Just as I never hesitate to let him know when he's not performing up to my expectations, Strider never misses a chance to let me know when I'm not performing up to his. There are times when I wouldn't be able to hit the irrigation system that looms directly over my head even if you offered me a million-dollar check to do so…this was one of those times. My first shot was a direct hit, which surprised the both of us. I know this because Strider completely abandoned normal protocol and broke on the shot, reaching the bird before it even hit the ground, as if he didn't want that bird downed on a first shot to possibly get away, in case nobody believed I actually did it. I'll tell you this: there are few things that scare the ever loving hell out of me more than seeing my dog fly out into my peripheral vision when my gun is still raised.

    I think the shock of actually hitting that first bird was more than he could stand and he wasn't able to contain himself. A mild scolding was in order, but there was no real harm done, and he returned the bird to me, which is ultimately his job.

    I was thinking that it was going to be a good day when the second group of doves came by. I remember a million, but I'm sure it was only about six or so. Three shots, no birds. Repeat this twice more, and you have the time between my first and second birds of the day. After the ninth missed shot in a row, a very loud and well placed sigh came from my hunting partner, and I looked down to see him blink once at me and lay down in the cut corn, giving a loud grunt as he hit the ground. He really can be an ass sometimes.

    I eventually found my groove and started hitting birds. By the time sunset came, I had bagged seven, Strider hadn't broken again (but did manage to strip a bird clean of its feathers while returning it to me…thanks, buddy), and I was feeling much better about everything in general.

    The farm that I hunt on is an hour away from my home and owned by my uncle, so I always make sure to let Strider out to do his business before we leave. After picking up my empty shot shells, I walked him back to the truck and told him to go out. He ran off a short distance, and I started packing up all of my equipment. When I was finished, I turned to find that he hadn't come back. It was now dark, and he's black. Hmm. I blew the whistle a few times, called him, clapped my hands, gave him a nick on the e-collar, anything I could think of to get him back. Nothing. The dreadful idea that he had chased a deer into the woods and couldn't find his way back began to creep itself into my mind.

    I began to panic…pleading for him to come back to me. After what seemed like an eternity (most likely 5 minutes), I finally heard the distinct jingle of the tags on his collar. My hand flew to the flashlight, directing a beam toward the noise. There they were…those two eyes glowing in the light as they came toward me.

    All professional trainers will tell you the same thing: no matter what your dog is doing, if you tell him to stop and come to you and he does, you have nullified your right to scold him for what he was doing in the first place. Think about it. Your dog is drinking from the toilet. You yell at him to stop and come to you. He does. Then you grab him and smack him on the rear-end for drinking out of the toilet. Lesson learned? Oh, yes. And this is how that lesson sounds in the dog's mind the next time you tell him to stop doing something and come to you:

    If I go to that person, I'm going to get my rear-end smacked. If I stay here, I get to keep doing what I was doing, which was pretty fun until that guy ruined it for me. And he's a human…he can't catch me.

    This is a great rule to follow, and pays off HUGE in the long-run of the dog's perception of you as his owner, but it's not always very easy to follow. I can't tell you how many times I've had dogs come to me after doing something wrong, and I've had to grit my teeth, appear calm, and tell him, "You're such a good boy! You little jerk, you."

    This was one of those times. I was so angry with him for disobeying me, which is very out of the ordinary for him, but at the same time so relieved that he was okay and back with me.

    As he approached, I noticed that something wasn't quite right. His head was hung low in a submissive manner, and there was something in his mouth. I carry a bird vest when I'm dove hunting, which is where I put all of the birds immediately after Strider has delivered them to me, so I was fairly confident that he wasn't bringing me a bird that I had forgotten. It was inanimate. Not just inanimate…but inanimate and glowing. Yes, glowing.

    "Dude, come over here! What do you have in your mouth? Drop it." I said with my hand under his mouth.

    He obediently let it go, letting the object fall heavily into my hand. I held it up to get a good look at it. Suddenly, my hand flew to my pocket where I usually keep my cell phone. Empty. I was now holding it in my hand, and Strider had been holding it in his mouth prior to that.

    It must have fallen out when I was cleaning the empty shot shells from the field. He went back, sniffed it out, and brought it back to me. It was then that I knew I had something special in Strider; that this was more than just two buddies hitting the field together. He had my back, and I had his. We watched over each other everyday, and I had failed to notice it in the three years that I had had him to that point. I was always so consumed with his training that I hadn't noticed the most important role that we play to each other: Friend.

    There are many moments that stick out with him, such as the time I came out of the shower to find him laying on top of his kennel in what I perceived as a blatant protest of my leaving for work in the very near future. But whenever anybody asks what my favorite retrieve of his is, there's no hesitation in my telling that story.

 

    For those of you who are wondering, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home…he had a T-bone steak for dinner that night. I would have loved to have given him a prime rib, but I'm just a poor bartender. Oh, well. It's the thought that counts, right?

And So It Begins…

I know what you're saying: "Not another dog story!"
    
     And honestly, I don't blame you. There are several dog books on any given shelf of your local book store (and even more in the big, commercial book stores), so what, you may ask, makes this story so different? Not a lot. I don't like lying, so I'm not going to sit here and blow smoke at you. Although, I did say "not a lot"…not "nothing at all."
    
     The one thing that sets this story apart is that it follows the ups and downs of my hunting dog; a black lab by the name of Strider, and as far as I know, there aren't many about one hunting dog.
Strider has his own story to tell, and since he can't tell it himself (even though he'd be much funnier about it than I will), I will tell it for him.


     Strider's story begins about three years before he was even born. I was twenty-two years old, and had moved back home in a college transfer from Limestone College in South Carolina to Wesley College in Delaware the previous year.
    
     I was dating a girl named Colleen…we had been together for a couple of years at the time, and we had discussed the idea of getting a dog together. Growing up with big dogs, my first choice was a Labrador Retriever. This also served another purpose; I have been an avid hunter since the age of thirteen, and had always wanted a hunting dog.
    
     I don't remember what her first choice was, but it didn't matter…this was one fight I was NOT going to lose. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it's the only fight I didn't lose over the course of our relationship. Anyway, we put some feelers out to a few different breeders, just to see what we could find. We took all the proper precautions in studying pedigrees, trying to avoid the usual health defects that tend to effect labs such as hip and elbow dysplasia and eye problems.
    
     As luck would have it, she had an uncle named Jimmy who lived in Alaska and was very big not only into hunting, but into retriever games, as well. He made a yearly trek across the country; just him, his truck, and his Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Tundra.
    
     Tundra was an amazing dog. Even now, every dog I watch or train has to live up to him. The Chesapeake Bay Retriever is, in my opinion, pound for pound, the best hunting dog on the planet. If you tell a Chessie to run through a brick wall to get to a bird, he'll lower that hard-ass head of his and leave nothing but a hole in the shape of a big, furry dog in it. They come in three accepted colors: brown, sedge, and dead grass. Tundra was a dead grass color, which in his case meant that he was a tan color that blended in with marsh grass perfectly, and it also meant that he single-handedly cemented that color as my favorite among Chesapeakes.
    
     Jimmy arrived in northern Delaware and asked me if I would like to go and help him train Tundra. Of course I accepted, and we were off to the Summit Retriever Training Area at the C&D Canal, which is a piece of public land that had once been a dump, but had been turned into an area specifically designed for the training of hunting and trialing retrievers.
    
     We drove to one of the technical training ponds on the grounds, and placed the dog on one of the humps that had been built to help people train and handle their dogs with greater ease. Jimmy threw a bumper for him to the front into the water at about 100 yards, a bumper to the left into another small pond at about 150 yards, and had me throw a bumper to the dog's short right at about 50 yards. Before we set that up, he had planted an orange bumper as a blind retrieve on the opposite bank of the large pond that I had thrown a bumper into. Jimmy walked up to the dog and lined him up for the left bumper in the small pond. Placing a hand over the dog's head, as if he were aiming him, I heard him yell, "TUNDRA!"
    
     I tell you, that dog took off like he had a firecracker up his rear end. I'd never seen anything like it, even though I had hunted over some decent dogs in my life. There was something different about him. This wasn't something that he just did for fun (although it was very evident that he was thoroughly enjoying himself), it was his job…and he did it harder and better than any job I could remember myself or anybody else ever doing. Tundra knew his duty and his role and executed it to, what seemed to me, perfection.

     He picked up that first bumper with no problem and brought it straight back, coming to a sitting heel position with the bumper still in his mouth, waiting for his master to take it from him. Jimmy lined him for the other two in the exact same way; bringing him to a standing heel position facing the mark that he wanted the dog to retrieve, lowering a hand over his head and saying, "TUNDRA!"
    
     He then did something that absolutely blew my mind. The orange bumper that Jimmy had planted on the opposite bank was visible to us, even at the distance that I would estimate now to be about 150 yards, but to the canine eye (which can't see bright orange in the same way that humans can), it was completely invisible. He very deliberately lined the dog up for it, and I remember him saying "dead bird," at which time Tundra's body completely locked up and was aimed right at that bumper. Again, Jimmy lowered a hand over the dog's head, but this time said, "BACK!"
    
     Tundra ran toward the water and entered with a giant leap forward, as Chessies tend to do, and began swimming across the pond. When he began to veer off line, Jimmy suddenly blew a whistle (a regular coach's whistle that had a big horn on the end of it) in one long tone, to which Tundra turned in the water and looked at his handler. Jimmy put a right hand in the air over his head and said, "BACK!" The dog turned back to his left and began swimming toward the bumper again. A few seconds later, he was again off line, and Jimmy blew the whistle. When Tundra turned and looked for direction, Jimmy put his left hand out to his side and said, "OVER!" This time, the dog began swimming straight to his own right. Once he was on the line for the bumper, Jimmy once again stopped him with a long whistle and gave him another "BACK!"
    
     He nailed it. He ran up on the bank of the pond, picked up the bumper, and leapt back in the water, swimming back toward Jimmy and me.
    
     That was it…I had to have one of these dogs. I didn't care what it took, how many books and videos I had to watch, or how many hours I had to spend, I was going to own a highly trained hunting dog. Thanks for the show, Tundra! Rest in peace, buddy.
    
     We set back to finding a Lab, and after a little bit of research, we found out that there are actually two types of Labradors; English and American. Essentially, the short, stocky, square-headed Labs that you see are of the English variety, and tend to be calmer and more deliberate than their American counterparts. The American Lab is taller and leaner with a long head, and is built for speed. They tend to be much higher energy and have a lot of stamina. There are, of course, plenty of exceptions to both of these standards when it comes to the nature of the dogs, but when you're talking strictly in general terms, this is what owners of English and American Labs are looking for.
    
     We both agreed that for our first dog, we should go with the lower energy English Labrador and settled on a fantastic breeder from York, PA. The kennel was called Ivy Spring Labradors, and was run by a very nice woman named Gail (FYI, they are still in business). After a few emails and many answered questions, which is how it goes with every responsible breeder, she agreed to sell us a puppy out of the chocolate litter that was on the way.
    
     I grew up with a yellow Lab/Golden Retriever mix named Gus, who was the same age as me and died when he was fifteen. That dog meant more to me than anything in the world, and I was completely devastated when we had to put him down. Our whole family fell into a collective depression at his passing, and every dog I will ever own will be compared to him. He was, quite literally, the perfect dog. Naturally, I wanted a yellow Lab, but since I had won on the breed argument, I had to make a concession on the color and we went with chocolate.
   
     We brought her home when she was seven weeks old, and she was quite possibly the easiest puppy I've ever seen. She slept for 18 hours a day, and only had a few nights of bad crying in her kennel. Being inexperienced dog owners, we thought that the amount that she slept was not healthy, and I'm pretty sure we single-handedly kept our vet's office in business for those first couple of months with all of the visits that we made.
    
     Maui didn't turn out to be the competition dog that I wanted, but she was one hell of a hunting dog. She was so relaxed and laid back that it was hard to get her excited to train, and she was almost two before a light finally came on and she really loved to hunt. It was more my fault than hers; I missed so many things in her training that I ended up hindering her from reaching her full potential.
    
     For example, I remember the first time I took her hunting. Every year, I take my dogs dove hunting for the first hunt. This is because dove hunting—especially early season dove hunting—tends to have much more action than your average duck or goose hunt. The birds are more plentiful, people are yelling and cheering, there's more gunfire than usual, and all these things mixed together make for an environment that is completely unbearable for a young dog. Some people like to ease their dogs into stressful hunting situations, but for me, I want to get the early season jitters and bad behavior out of the way as soon as possible.
    
     She was a year old, and I took her to my uncle's farm in Laurel, DE; just the two of us. It was a beautiful day and the birds were flying. After about a half hour, the first of them came into shooting range. I raised my gun, pulled the trigger, and watched as the first bird of the season fell about 20 yards in front of me. I looked to my side to release Maui for it, as she was trained to stay sitting through the gunshot and retrieve on command, only to discover that she wasn't there. Looking behind me, I saw her running at full speed in the opposite direction, her tail tucked firmly between her legs. The shot of the gun had scared her to the point of running away in fear, and I found her hiding underneath the truck, shaking and whining uncontrollably…she wouldn't come out until I had put my gun away. With all of the time I had put into trying to make her bird crazy and making her robotically obedient, I had skipped one of the most vital steps in gun-dog training, which is proper introduction to gunfire. It was a classic example of an owner not knowing what the hell he was doing, and damaging the dog's performance as a result.

 

    After another year of training and de-sensitizing her to the gun, I took her hunting again, and she did beautifully. She absolutely loved it, and I never went out without her again.

    Well, that's not exactly true. There was one morning when she was three and we woke up for an early morning duck hunt. It was 4:30 in the morning, 28 degrees (which is cold for Delaware), wind blowing 25 mph, and snowing; perfect duck hunting weather. Needless to say, I was very excited about the morning's prospects, but I couldn't say the same for Maui. She literally put one paw out the door, turned and sprinted back into her warm kennel. I'm not kidding…she was moving so fast that her feet couldn't even grip the hardwood floor, almost making her run in place. While she did turn into a very good hunting dog, she was a bit of a diva when it came to harsh weather.     
    
     It didn't matter, though. She was an amazing dog, plain and simple, and she left an impression on me that I will carry for the rest of my life. Until I'm old and in a nursing home, I will always have a loyal retriever by my side. There will never be a point in my life when I won't have a dog lounging around the house again. Without Maui, I'm not so sure I would be so adamant about needing a retriever in my life.
    
     As you can probably guess, Colleen and I didn't work out. When we got Maui, we made an agreement that if anything happened between the two of us that she would stay with Colleen. So, when we did break up, I lost my little girl. Make no mistake, Maui was nothing less than a daughter to me, and I was completely crushed by the entire thing. We broke up in the summer of 2007, and I may have hunted five times over that time of September through February. It just wasn't the same without Maui sitting next to me, nudging my arm on the slow days for a scratch behind the ear, or the way she knew that the ducks were coming way before I ever did. We would be sitting in the duck blind, and I would see her turn her head and freeze, looking off in the distance. Without fail, a group of ducks would appear in a matter of seconds; she could hear the whistling that their wings make before she could see them.
       
     I think that's what I missed the most about her. Even though I was the world's worst trainer when it came to hunting dogs, she was able to make up for it with her intelligence and natural ability. I don't pretend to be a great hunter—in point of fact, I'm a pretty lousy hunter—but she filled the hole created by my inexperience and ignorance. We were a team; a great team. There were even times that I was invited on some great hunts, but only on the condition that I brought Maui with me…she was that good.
    
     It was my father and sister who suggested that the best thing for me to do was to get another puppy as soon as I could. After two months, I began my search for another Lab. On the suggestion of one of my training mentors, I contacted John and Amy Dahl, who are professional hunting dog trainers in North Carolina. They had just whelped a litter of puppies, and the pedigree was one that I couldn't pass up. I did all of my communication with Amy, and she agreed to sell me a black male.
    
     Some people don't like to name their pups until they've picked them up and brought them home, as to give them a name that best suits their personalities. While there is nothing wrong with that, it's not what I do with my dogs. I had settled on this pup's name weeks ahead of time.
    
     I wish that I could take full credit for his name, but I can't. My sister, Amy, gave me the idea while helping my other sister, Tammy, name her first puppy. There were many names thrown around, and Tammy decided to go with "Riley." One of the names mentioned was "Strider," which I locked away in my mind for a future dog. At the time, I was still with Colleen, and had no intention of getting another dog any time soon. It was almost a year before I was able to use the name, which I bestowed upon the black Labrador that John and Amy Dahl so generously sold to me.
    
     Being a literature nerd, I couldn't just let this name go without some reference to The Lord of the Rings in his registered name for the American Kennel Club.

     On Tuesday, December 11, 2007, "Shupe's King Aragorn of Dewey" entered my life. I couldn't make it down to North Carolina to pick him out on my own, and it was the middle of winter, so flying him wasn't an option as cargo holds on airplanes aren't heated. I told Amy what I was looking for, and she picked the male that best suited my requirements. I arranged for a guy who was driving down from Pennsylvania to get two pups from the same litter to pick him up and meet me at my sister's house just outside of Washington, DC.
    
     I'll never forget the first time I laid eyes on him. He was with two of his littermates in a wire kennel in the back of the van, and I got the feeling that he was less excited to meet me than I was to meet him. It's understandable; I had just ripped him away from the only companions that he had ever known. I took the Redskins puppy collar that I had bought for him (HAIL!), complete with a dog tag that had his name etched into it, and put it around his neck.


 

    With that, he was no longer just a new pup for me…he was Strider. More importantly, he was my Strider. I didn't have to share him with anyone, and I didn't have to worry about losing him to anyone, either. He was mine, and I was going to turn him into the greatest duck dog that this world had ever seen. I was also going to be one of the few amateur trainers who produced a National Field Champion. All those pros in the world wouldn't have anything on Strider and me.
    
     Needless to say, and as you will come to find out, I was quite naïve, and while it's good to set goals for yourself, setting them so high when it comes to training a dog is going to make for some interesting moments. This is where my life took a turn that I never could have seen coming, and this is where Strider's story begins.
    
     He is five years old now, and is still making me laugh on a daily basis. I will post different training sessions that we do together, and I will also post old stories as they occur to me. As an aspiring writer, this is a great opportunity for me to exercise my mind and get things written as often as possible. I really hope you enjoy reading about his life as much as I've enjoyed living it with him.