The Puppy

 Mollie runs on high octane. At six months old she’s a rocket ship in the grouse woods. Our older dogs hunt and she follows, then tears about a bit on her own, all the while trying to sort out what life is all about. Birds equal excitement, there’s no doubt about it.
    Yet she is cautiously bold. Isn’t that an oxymoron?
    Not really. When she encounters something new, she stops to watch a bit, maybe analyzing or trying to figure out what it is or what it does. Let’s hope she does that when she encounters her first porcupine.
    During her forays into the grouse woods, her range is less than Maggie’s, which is good, and she regularly checks back to see where I am. When she gets a nose full of scent she slows or stops to figure things out, then points. What more could I want?

           

 

More on Neutering

      If you read this blog often you know early neutering is a subject I follow. Here is a link to more information. The author has a great point. What is the hurry?

      https://sportingclassicsdaily.com/whats-the-rush/

More information on dog health....

This subject is one I have been following closely as more information becomes available. If you have a puppy or are thinking about getting one, this is a subject you may want to do some research on.

https://healthypets.mercola.com/sites/healthypets/archive/2016/07/27/neutering-spaying-effects.aspx

The Puppy

Maggie in her new home.

     Ripsnorter Magalloway Magic Snapshot came home with us the end of February, 2016. In our neck of the woods, February brings nights with temperatures well below zero, and even days that barely creep up to zero. Maggie slept in a kennel beside our bed to wake us when nature called, and, when it did, I would slip on the heavy flannel lined pants and chamois shirt.

Hurrying back to the house.

     In the winter darkness she would scurry off to search for the right spot beneath the low limbs of a softwood tree. That was her choice every single time. To keep track of Maggie I slipped a collar on her with a blinking red light. What looked like a tiny fire truck zigzagged about the yard.

With her great aunt Chara

     Every day she explored and learned. Her great aunt Chara kept her in line. Colby, seven years older at the time, became her playmate. Her willingness to please made her easy to train. Snow, mud, pools of water, all were great fun. The woods became a giant playground. Unfortunately, Chara passed away that summer, but Maggie had already learned much from the old wise one.

Pointing a planted quail.

     That August Maggie pointed pen raised quail like a champ, even retrieving ones shot. Her first hunt tests she received near perfect scores and that first fall we searched out woodcock.

Pointing a woodcock.

     I won’t say Maggie pointed every woodcock she found, birds were bumped and sometimes patience during a point ran short, but she did better than a passable job. Frequently she honored Colby’s points. Sometimes she pointed on her own. Her enthusiasm felt infectious.

A lunch time break.

     Now in her second fall, Maggie points woodcock regularly and even an occasional skittish ruffed grouse. Her range is perfect, she frequently checks back to see where I am. There has never been a dog more anxious to have a hunting bell hung around her neck than Maggie.

Ripsnorter Magalloway Magic Snapshot

What is Good Enough?

    Years ago when I had more energy my dogs had better be perfect, or pretty close. Steady to wing and shot, retrieve to hand, with perfect manners around the house were expected. My oldest wire was a struggle with the honoring of another dog’s point, but the steady to wing and shot came without too much trouble. Life looked golden.

Maggie on the run.

    But achieving something and maintaining something are two different things. I hunt alone much of the time and enforcing the steady to wing and shot turned out to be difficult when she had a different mind. I would get frustrated and the dog would dig in her heels. During one December hunt in her fifth or sixth year I threw in the towel and stopped reprimanding her when she broke on the flush. Bird hunting has been more fun since then.

    But I understand and admire owners who demand dog perfection and can maintain it. We all set our own standards, whether bird hunting, trout fishing, or maintaining our home or vehicle. Life demands much and time is finite, so each to their own priorities.  

    A dog’s intelligence is the most important thing and that probably has more to do with the breeding than anything else, but we can do a lot to stimulate a puppy’s brain. I love a dog who figures things out on her own and learns relocate on a moving grouse. My oldest always knew more about where the bird was than I ever would, at least until it flushed. So I let her move, head down sniffing foot scent if necessary…stopping, starting, and pointing whenever the bird stopped.. She almost never bumped a bird, her patience and determination certainly surpassing mine. If I waited long enough we would certainly find and pin the bird for a flush.

    Manners around the house are a must, after all, dogs in our home live pretty darn well. Honoring another dog’s point is also a must, because visitors often bring their dogs along and nothing frays friendships quicker than one dog stealing another’s point.

Georgia working her magic.

    One thing I have learned over the years is that breeding has more to do with how a dog turns out than any training along the way. Georgia, a German shorthaired pointer from Hedgehog Hill Kennels in Vermont, taught me that. With no bird hunting training at all, only the basic manners that every dogs should be taught, she was a gem to hunt over. For four seasons I had the pleasure of “borrowing” her for bird season and she truly was a rock star, repeatedly pointing and retrieving ruffed grouse and woodcock.

    Right now we have a seven month old German wirehair in the house from Ripsnorter Kennel, named Ripsnorter Magallow Magic Snapshot. She seems smart and constantly watches the older dogs to quietly learn. Her lineage goes directly back to my oldest wirehair, who has been a brilliant hunter. Young Maggie hunts hard when we are in the woods, points song birds and butterflies in the yard, and watches with fascination the birds flying overhead. The manners required for civil living are pretty well ingrained and soon we’ll be looking for woodcock to train on.

Chara with her great, great, great, great, niece last March.

    So far she is more than good enough. I am very hopeful.

Considering a pup?

Considering a pup, you have to read this. Click on reconsidering.

Reconsidering...

Smiling

Juno, sorting out
 the meaning of life
at eight weeks old.

We have a new puppy in the house. Could life be any better?

Yes, it can and it will. I took her out in the dark this morning about five, only to be startled by a duck quack by the driveway, then it quacked near the barn, and then over near the woods…it was flying unseen in the dark, probably trading between nearby ponds.

Fall is in the air. Last week we traveled up to Camp Grouse, where the former vibrant green hillsides had started to show signs of rust. Out walking, wild apples hung red from their trees and we found grouse, even busting an enormous covey just before we had to head south again. Twice we searched the sky for geese we could hear but barely see. I read in the news this morning they had a frost up there last night, which I’m sure softened the fruit hanging from trees. I can’t wait to return.

A hidden pond behind a clear cut in grouse country

Back here at home, the air is drier and the leaves sound different when ruffled by the wind. In the woods the low-growing huckleberry and blueberry have shed their leaves, and the ferns have shriveled to brown. The deep green of the oaks is tarnished and the clouds move faster across the sky. Ducks have appeared on the ponds, swimming in orderly flotillas, where a few weeks ago they all remained hidden.

My two German wirehairs
are enjoying the cool weather,

Both of the older dogs are a bit more intense in the woods, they sense what is coming. This morning, on a walk right after breakfast, they flushed a wild peahen in a field out back, and boy did that get them excited. Back in the yard, the pup watches the clusters of birds and dashes about after them, often tumbling over her own fat feet. 

Soon I'll be able to count the days until bird season opens on my fingers and toes. Life just keeps getting better,  

A New Pup

Our wirehairs, Chara with Colby the pup.

     We are down to two dogs in the house. After living with three for so long the place feels sort of empty. This past spring we had to put our high strung Vizsla down. The hole that she left behind is larger than her diminutive size. She may have been the runt of the litter, but she rose to be queen of the castle here.

     Sally, my virtual wife, has always had a soft spot for German shorthaired pointers, and, seeing that I picked the last dog, a German wirehair, it is her turn. She did a lot of research and has picked a kennel, one with a hunting background because that is important to us. We want a dog that will be at home in the rugged terrain of northern New England, and that is where this pup will be born.

     

Georgia, a friend's GSP at five months on point.

So now the mom has been bred and the wait begins.

  

Waiting For Woodcock

      Doesn’t that sound like a movie—Waiting For Woodcock? It would probably be about an odd older guy living in a rural area, who frequented swampy areas and whose only understanding friend was a dog.

     The middle of this past week the weather felt like spring, and, on a morning walk out back with the dogs, I wondered when the first woodcock might show up. February is the only month I have never seen a woodcock in New England.

     Snow fell that night, about three inches of fluffy white stuff, and, when I walked the next morning, I decided that it would be a while before the woodcock showed up.

     The day turned out warm with the temperatures in the forties and by the middle of the afternoon most of the new snow had disappeared. A friend, Tom Flaherty, called to tell that he had run his Brittany pup in the next town over and she found three woodcock in some poplar near a gravel pit. 

Do you see him in there?

     Imagine that, woodcock in February. 

Georgia

     I’ve always started working with my bird dog pups the day that I brought them home from the breeder. It is never too early to expose them to feathers and birds, as long as you don’t scare the pup and keep it fun, that’s the way I feel anyway. By the time they are a few months old they are always pointing quail or pigeons and well on their way to becoming bird dogs. Without birds you can’t have a bird dog—I think we’ve all heard that.

     So this story is about a dog that friends of ours, who are non-hunters, acquired about a year and a half ago, a German shorthair pointer named Georgia. This couple has always had shorthairs, and I think this was their third. The idea of their dogs doing what it was been bred to do has always appealed to them, and one day two summers ago I asked how old the pup would be come last October. It would be six months old that fall they said and I jokingly mentioned I’d love to take her up hunting with me. Luckily for me, they thought the idea of the dog traveling up to bird country sounded like a great idea.

     Or maybe they just needed a break from the pup’s energy!

     Georgia had been well taught her basic manners, came when called, sat, stayed, and was a pleasure to be around. Of course there was lots of energy there, and keeping her sitting or staying sometimes became an issue, but, all in all, she was great for a young dog. Her manners around other dogs were impeccable, never once trying to force things to have her own way.

     So we headed up to the big woods for a couple of weeks, with Chara, my oldest German wirehair, and Colby, the young wire who was having hind leg issues that year. Georgia loved it up there, bumped some partridge right of the bat, and explored the new woods with its new and wild scents. The other dogs tolerated her or ignored her, often acting as if she were invisible. Sometimes Georgia stayed in the kennel in the back of the truck so the other dogs could hunt without her bumping the birds.

Georgia on an early woodcock.

     And then we went to the biggest alder patch that I know, where woodcock always are present and sometimes very abundant. Right off the bat Colby pointed a woodcock with Chara and Georgia both honoring. Georgia bumped a couple, and then pointed one. I made very sure that I killed that one on the flush. She was starting to see how things are supposed to work.

     The day turned out to be sort of controlled craziness, with dogs pointing and honoring and bumped birds flying all over the place, but Georgia learned a lot and learned it fast. I don’t know how many woodcock we moved, but there certainly were dozens.

     This past fall we headed north again, Chara another year older and starting to show it, Colby a year wiser and in better physical shape than the year before, and Georgia, anxious to go hunting, but with no additional real training on birds.

Grouse country.

     And what a year! Grouse seemed to be just about everywhere and I lost count of how  many were pointed. Georgia would lock up like a statue though and then take off like a rocket, determined to catch the birds. The other dogs ignored her bad manners and when they pointed I tried to hurry in before Georgia would notice them. When she spotted another dog pointing she would honor for a moment before storming in with the predictable and disastrous results. On woodcock she did fine, but those nervous grouse were just too tantalizing to not chase. Each of the dogs spent time in the kennel, and Georgia was forced to sit out some great grouse cover.

     And then one day, when all three of the three dogs and I worked down through a clear cut that I had never hunted before, it all clicked in. While Chara tried to relocate a grouse that had flushed off to my right, Georgia locked up solid on another bird ahead and stayed that way. What a sight!

Yeah, that's what it is all about!

     It happened in a thicket that all but swallowed up the dogs, where their bells went silent and I could barely catch a glimpse of Colby’s rump as she honored Georgia’s point ahead of her. Georgia, with her darker color, was almost impossible to see. The bird flashed up through the fir boughs and I fired as it disappeared. Both dogs vanished into the foliage and I feared a miss, but then Colby came pushing out of the greenery carrying the bird with Georgia following close behind.

     I took some time to praise them both, which they definitely deserved. They each looked cocky as hell and anxious to hunt more.

Georgia looking proud.

     After that Georgia pointed nearly as many grouse as either of the older dogs. Most of what she knows is in her genes and not from anybody’s training, so it’s kudos to the breeder, Hedgehog Hill Shorthairs in Belmont, Vermont. Of course she is smart too, which lets her figure things out quickly, like how to grab that unattended last half of a sandwich from the tailgate of the truck.

     I’ll hunt over that dog anytime. I keep finding myself singing that Ray Charles song…Georgia on my mind.

   

The Pup Named Skeet

     Skeet, the five month old Brittany spaniel, was back late yesterday for his second visit. Of course his owner Tim was in tow. I planted a couple of pigeons in launchers in a neighboring big field and then we let Skeet go. He was off and hunting in a flash.

     It didn't take him long to find the first one, which he barreled right in on. We picked him and to place him back a few feet, then steadied him. On the bird’s release he took off like a bullet and we praised him as he dashed about the field, looking up and following the pigeon.

     After he settled down for a bit we led him toward the second pigeon and when he got a nose full of scent he pointed, then moved in a step and pointed again. We backed him up a bit and steadied him, then launched the bird. Skeet took off chasing the bird and wearing the biggest grin I've ever seen on a dog. Enthusiasm is building!

A New Pup

     A friend stopped by with his young Brittany pup yesterday. The dog is five months old and full of energy, as all pups should be. Skeet is the dog’s name. He comes when called, is well mannered, curious, and appears fearless, all the right makings for a great bird dog.

     We took the pup out to the fields behind the house and I planted a couple of pigeons in launchers, hiding them among the weeds.

     Skeet was having a ball, exploring everything and running about, clueless to the meaning of a bird dog’s life. Finally he found one of the launchers, and while I steadied the dog, my friend launched the bird. Now that really got the dog’s attention. He bounded about following the flying bird. I think I could hear him saying, “Wow that was neat, wow that was neat, wow that was neat.”

     When Skeet finally settled down we guided him over toward the second launcher. After he found it the dog’s owner steadied the dog while I launched the bird. Little Skeet dashed about the field again following the second bird. What fun!

     Skeet was off and about again, enthusiastically exploring as only a puppy can, when one of the pigeons flew back overhead. He spotted it and immediately took off chasing it again. There’s nothing wrong with that dog’s eyesight!

     Skeet is going to be a champ.