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.
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