Dogs That Don’t Hunt
Posted on October 4, 2014 by bob in OffTheBeatenPath
Despite his best efforts, the Brittany would neither hold nor honor a point, and by this stage in her training should’ve been doing both with style and proficiency. From her morning performance, it was evident she would rather chase grasshoppers than find birds.
Back at the truck, he watered her, placed her back in the crate and closed the tailgate with a sigh. Six others from the same litter had turned out fine, but this one’s shortcomings troubled him.
“Maybe she’s a late bloomer?” I asked in all sincerity, breaking the awkward silence. After all, he was the trainer, and I but the morning’s lucky gunner, only being a fair one at that.
“A litter of pups is a lot like a bag of apples,” he said after several moments.”There’s always one with a little rot to it.”
I considered chiming in that people were the same way, but not having fully trained or “finished” any, I kept silent.
“She’ll make a good house dog for someone,” he said, “but in this economy I can’t afford to feed a dog that won’t hunt.”
This last statement was strikingly profound. His livelihood depended on training dogs to find birds – those that couldn’t produce were sold at significant discount, without papers. Between food, medicine, training, shelter and a host of other expenses, his dog business operated on a razor-thin margin. If just breaking even was good, it was simple to see such dogs were just another burden on an already strained bottom line.
I rode home in silence pondering the morning’s events. The birds had flown well and the dogs, save the lackadaisical female, had run beautifully. But it wasn’t the fine shooting, the granite-solid points or the quail in the cooler that held my focus, it was my host’s words.
Upon arriving home, I took inventory of all the non-human mouths I was feeding and any contributions to the family – hunting or otherwise – that could be counted to their credit. I tallied nine mouths in all: two dogs, six chickens and one black cat. The dogs were the obvious place to start.
Our Lab was a fine hunter, with skills that far surpassed her owner’s. A few years ago she’d gotten friendly with a neighbor’s German Shorthair and we’d kept one of the dozen pups from the unplanned litter. Besides being good companions in the field and at home, the pair of them patrolled the homestead constantly, raising all kinds of ruckus whenever something didn’t look, smell or sound right. Their protective nature also extended to our flock of hens, as they’d caught dozens of possums trying to get into the coop. Even though they were competition for any pears and apples within easy reach on our trees, the dogs had to stay.
The chicken is as efficient a small space livestock animal as the Lord ever made. In just a few square feet apiece, our hens could turn insects, kitchen scraps and a handful of layer pellets into delicious, free-range eggs. What wasn’t made into food for my family was turned into food for my tomatoes. Sure, the coop could get a bit odiferous if I didn’t keep it clean, but at the end of the day, the chickens had to stay. Which leaves the cat.
Sleeping more in a day than my infant son, the cat contributes little to the household’s daily operation. And “little” is being generous. At times he is both shifty and quarrelsome, lying in wait to strike the ankles of innocent passersby. With frequency, he locks himself in the bedroom with the sole goal of peeing on something, anything. Once, it was a brand new suit, and I’m certain he had to hang upside down to get the angle just right.
From this description, it would seem the cat would be a logical candidate for relocation, which is precisely where the program was leading me. To my great astonishment however, since beginning my analysis, there’s been a sharp increase in the number of squirrel homicides on our property, and if there is any creature I dislike more than a cat, it’s a squirrel.
The dogs may be quick, but the cat is quicker. Add to this a degree of stealth not possessed by my canines, and, as much as I hate to admit it, there may yet be redemption for that fur ball.
Niko Corley, a licensed charter boat captain, spends as much of his free time as possible on the water or in the woods. He can be contacted at cootfootoutfitters@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @cootfootoutfitters.
