IT WAS SHE WHO CHOSE ME

Many of us have owned dogs that were stepping stones to the dog we have today.  They taught us something about ourselves, and perhaps a little bit or more about how to handle a dog. Allow me to take you down "memory lane" and tell you about my "Kid".

“Kid” was "Pheasant Ridge’s Sydney’s Kid".  Late one winter, I was at a sportsman’s show with my hunting buddy when we met a breeder that we both knew and (of course) we started to chat.  Next thing I knew the breeder said, “I’m moving West.  You don’t know anyone that wants a runt three-year-old Brittany do you?”  Frank and I both pointed to  me.

I visited the kennel and saw the dog.  She came over, said a hello in dog manner and hung around just enough to let me think that she was special.  I hummed and hawed and said “Let me think about it.”  I drove home trying to talk myself out of it.  I already had a large German Shorthair at home who was getting along in years.  I figured that he still had a few years in him. 

In the fifties, my first dog was an American Cocker Spaniel.  Oh, was Ricky a hunter!  The problem was that I didn’t know what I had or what to do about it!  He would venture down to the alders by the brook that ran along the edge of our field.  Occasionally, he would come back to the house with a muskrat-dead as a door-nail.  Looking back, I think he was into woodcock.  At that young age, I didn’t understand  that I was attached to that dog in so many ways.

Decades later, the attachment was lingering in me and had its hooks in the little Brittany “Kid”.  I continued to wrestle over the matter when the phone rang and the breeder wanted to know what I decided.  I told him where I was on the idea and he suggested that I take the dog and try her out for a while—to see if she would fit into the house with the other (2) dogs.

The next day I was at his house and walked through the gate and into the dog yard.  I stooped over and said, “Kid”.  She ran across the yard and leaped into my arms.  It could have been collusion between Kid and the breeder, but I was already hooked.  She chose me.  I was a little unsure about the “bond” as we drove out of the yard.  Was it real?

A few hours later, I was visiting a friend who  was in Hospice care.  Somehow, Kid got out of the vehicle and started running.  There was lots of traffic nearby.  Others were calling to her, but she was ignoring them.   I knelt and called her name.  She came like a shot and almost crawled inside my jacket.  It was a relief and a “sign” for me.  Things were looking up!

Born To Be Wild

There was a problem  at the Swetthaus however.  Both my wife AND Kid felt like they were the "reigning queen".  My wife would exert her matriarchal influence, (and so I learned later) Kid would go and pee in her closet.  (“So there!  Take that!)  To make a long story short, we got through that contest, but my wife never liked the dog.  Lucky for me, because she didn’t “spoil” Kid.  Time went on, and Kid became more and more “mine” —or perhaps I became more and more “hers”.

When she would point a bird, there wasn’t much “style” or “pizzazz”.  She was like a wind-up toy that finally used up all its spring.  She would just stop.  If you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss it.  It didn’t take too much to teach her something, but if you put pressure on her, she’d do the Brittany thing of acting like you were killing her.

When my brother died, she provided comfort and companionship in the woods.  When my Shorthair passed away, she filled a void that had been growing due to his ’canine cognitive disorder’.   Kid would visit my aged parents next-door, and let them make of her.  She played that card very well.

Queen of the Nile

Kid was a canoe-sized Brittany.  I would put her in my canoe and comfortably paddle from shore.  She would put her feet on the gunnel and because of her diminutive size, there were never concerns about tipping over.  (She hated to swim, but she would in a “Kid emergency”.)  My life was such a commotion at the time that I never bothered to correct that.  I paid for it more than once!   She was a pleasure to hunt with alone.  She stayed close enough in the woods that words were not necessary.

My wife didn’t like her riding in the front seat (think dog-hair).  But somehow she did  when we were alone.  I kept her groomed with a “puppy cut” so the “hair issue” wasn’t too bad.  It made her more or less a “wash and wear” dog.

Last pheasant just before Christmas

Yes, she taught me a lot about myself, and some things about dogs.

One day, I returned from a business trip and she was lying in her bed, ill.  She would vomit and looked distressed.  I put her in the car and took her to the vet’s office where we ran several tests.  The answer came back and verified the vet’s preliminary thoughts.  Her kidney s were failing.  We reviewed the options available and they were dismal.  I held her in my arms and could feel her wanting to go.  ("Just let me go boss.")

At the vet’s office, I held her with my hand over her heart.  I had to be with her at the end.  We had “said our goodbyes” in the truck—if a man and dog can do such a thing.  Unable to speak, and barely able to breathe, I felt her (big) heart slow and finally stop in her little body.

They let me out the side door.  I was sobbing like a schoolgirl whose heart had been broken.  It was pitiful.  However, in spite of the deep sorrow I was grateful that she had been a gift in my life, and it was she who chose me.

Quietly Heading to the Rainbow Bridge

THE PUDELPOINTER

I recently took time "off" to undergo a surgical procedure.  Upon returning, I was surprised to notice that many of my friends and readers were still confused about "the Pudelpointer", so here goes:

First, it is pronounced:  Poodle-poynter, not puddle-poynter.

Unlike the labrador-poodle crosses of the 1980s which spawned the growth of a "designer dog" market, the Pudelpointer has been an established breed for over a hundred years.  In 1870, Germany was competing with England as the major industrial power in Europe and influential Germans "pushed" for their countrymen  to develop dogs that reflected their own type of hunting.  They needed dogs that could do it all.  One of such people was a baron who wrote under the pen name of "Hegewald".  He was very influential in encouraging the development of the Pudelpointer and eventually, the German Wirehaired Pointer. 

The "Pudel" of the late 19th century was not the companion/non-sporting Poodle of today.  Rather, it was a curly-haired, hunting (and perhaps herding) dog that was very much a "water dog"--in fact, pudel comes from the German and means to splash.  The idea was to create a dog that was both a water-loving retriever and a dog that instinctively pointed game.  This was the period in which many breeders were seeking to develop versatile gun dogs--ones that searched out game, pointed it, and retrieved it to the handler/hunter.  The sportsmen wanted a dog that could do it all. 

The "Pointer" was an English Pointer.  With Germanic efficiency, the breeders called the new (c. 1880s) breed "Pudelpointer".  After extensive crosses and line-breeding, many of those engaged in the project felt that they had created the "perfect" dog, but others--Hegewald included--continued with the work and developed the German Wirehaired Pointer...which is another success story.

Today, the Pudelpointer is experiencing a resurgence.  Aside from those who affiliate themselves directly with "the mother country", breeders in the US have organized themselves in two different ways.  Some owners are organized into a breed club such as the Pudelpointer Club of North America (http://www.pcna.org).  The breed club controls who, when, where, etc. dogs are bred.  It is closely controlled in order to maintain the highest standard of husbandry.  This is very similar to the European model, and has its benefits.   The other group is the North American Pudelpointer Alliance in which breeders subscribe to a set of rigid standards and dogs are not bred that fall below a certain threshold of condition and performance.  If you click on the following link, (http://www.pudelpointer.org) the Pudelpointer that you see on the homepage is K-Lee's grandmother.  Another very informative website is Cedarwood Kennel's website  http://www.cedarwoodgundogs.com . 
K-Lee comes from Ripsnorter Kennels--which has produced many champion German Wirehaired Pointers--including some whose "children" that made it to Westminster.  Their link is http://www.ripsnorter.net. Okra is K-Lee's mother.

The Pudelpointer is not registered in the American Kennel Club, and for that I'm grateful.  Competition in the show ring tends to exaggerate certain features that are not conducive in the field.  For example, think on the little Cocker Spaniels that look more like a mop than a hunting dog--or the Setters that are groomed with such long aprons and feathers that their coats would be a disaster in the coverts and take hours to clean.  If the show rings/judges would follow the guideline of "form follows function", such excesses would disappear--but they don't.  (Enough of my rant!)

The Pudelpointer (so far) is a dog that is sold only to hunters. While they make great family members and are great with children, to keep one solely as a companion or pet would be a great disservice to the animal.  They need to hunt--it's in their DNA.

That's why I'm working so hard on "recovery".  October is but a few weeks away. If K-Lee and I need someone else to do the shooting, that's okay too.

DOG SENSE

The other day, a NAVHDA friend of mine said to me,  "I read your blog.  It's not as much about pudelpointers as it is about 'life'."  I thought about that for a nano-second and realized that he was right.  It is about life--life with a pudelpointer. Yeah, I can live with that.


As you may recall, last year I spent the summer months and the early part of fall helping K-Lee recuperate from surgery.  The operation was explained in a previous post.  It's not that the dog and I share everything, but this year it's my turn.  Doctors have discovered I have a somewhat rare heart problem that needs to be corrected.  I'm pushing to be be "boots on the ground" this fall.

What is particularly amazing to me is K-Lee's response to my "condition".  I think it has to do with the sensitivity and nature of dogs--especially dogs that are close companions.  Even before the diagnosis, she took to lying by my chair when I'm on the computer.  She is much more gentle around me and forgoes the "antics" when excited.  We even share a recliner--the only furniture that she is allowed to "access".  She used to hop right up onto my lap-- all 53 pounds.  Now when she gets up to lie in my lap, it is now done with tenderness.  I'm wondering if she can read my "aura". 

Clearly, she senses the situation and acts accordingly. 
I'm hoping that someday I'll develop the same trait.  
But for now, that's too far to reach.
.

THE MELT-DOWN

“Whoa!  Whoa!!  WHOA!,”  I yelled.  K-Lee “busted” the bird.  She was chasing it across the field and into the brush.  She wouldn’t stop for me or the e-collar.  Moments later, the bird made its escape and she came to me—as if giving me a consolation prize.  I picked her up and carefully held her off the ground with her rear-end much higher than her head. (I wanted to get her attention and get her focus off the bird.)  Carrying her back to the spot where she transgressed, I shouted several times at her, “Shame!  Shame on you!!  Shame!  Shame!”  I firmly placed her  where she should have remained in the first place.  

"Bird On The Run"

We were taking our turn in a NAVHDA  Merrimack Valley Chapter training clinic.  It was at that moment that I realized I had thrown the “still small voice” (see March 2nd post) out the window and was using the “big voice”.  (Oh, the sour feelings of failure!)  K-Lee knew better than to bust a bird but she gave in to temptation.  Full disclosure:  She had been waiting  nearby the bird field.  While she was doing so, she was with other dogs who were ramped up and excited—whining and barking to tell their owners that they wanted to go, go, go after birds.
 ....It's as if my pup has a competitive streak.

When released, she ran hard and fast and slammed into a point.  One of the gunners said, “Well, that didn’t take long.”  It didn’t.  She usually hunts at a more casual pace for me, but that afternoon she was wound up like a spring-driven toy at Christmas.  She flew!  I had no problem with that.  The problem was that she didn’t stay “on point” like she usually does.  She saw the bird try to escape and the chase was on!  Deep down inside, I thought that she might try that, so I had the training collar turned up for a serious correction.  She blew right through each correction with no more than vocalization.  I sensed that the men who were gunning for me were probably concerned that I was being too harsh. 

I thought to myself, “Never scold your dogs or your children in public”.

I felt like a hypocrite and a brute. (No, I didn't strike her!) Both the dog and I were going through a melt-down.  After I placed her on the spot where she originally pointed, I kicked around a bit in the grass—as if I were trying to flush another bird.  She acknowledged my command “Whoa” this time, but I knew very well that she knew there wasn’t a bird there anymore.  Her nose is that good.  I was “wound up” after that bit of "theater", but felt that maybe the it had been timely and appropriate.   After a few moments to calm (us) down, I released her to find the next bird.

K-Lee had to work a bit for the second one--she cast left, right, back, farther and finally slid into a point.  I went to her and was pleased that she remained steady.  She looked like a painting.  I walked around a bit and saw the bird.  It was jammed into a spot from which I was sure it wouldn’t be able to take flight.  Looking back, that was a really bad assumption--for a host of reasons.

“Mistake #2” was bending over and grabbing the bird.  It was more than K-Lee could stand.  She charged to my side with a (sort of) “I want it boss!” look. Having the bird in my hand did nothing to calm her down.   One of the gunners asked me if I still wanted to deploy the bird.  I said “Yes.  I’d like to see how she handles it.” 

The bird flew, and the gunners did their job with excellence.  I told K-Lee to “fetch”, but she must have anticipated me.  She took off like a nitro-fueled dragster a micro-second before the command fell from my lips.  She came back yanking on the bird like my neighbor's kid works on a piece of bubble gum.  (I think she likes to make the birds squeak.)  She sat and delivered—though hardly the best that she’d ever done.  The bird?  It had seen better days.

I was once told by a breeder who is also a senior NAVHDA judge, that my dog would probably turn out to be a really good hunter for me, but (most likely) she wouldn’t be a good test dog because of her temperament.  I believed him, but after this day’s “melt-down”, I really believe him.  This is the second time that K-Lee  went “over the moon” in this environment.  Each time there was shooting, birds, other anxious dogs as she waited her turn in the field.  Perhaps in time, with more exposure we can "dial her back" a bit.   

As I’ve previously said, my priorities with K-Lee are first, companion dog; second, hunting partner; and third and last, NAVHDA testing dog (to help in our development).  I’ve nothing to prove—we just want to have a good time and try be the best we can become.  So we’ll continue to work on the requirements of the Utility Test because it will make her a better dog.  ...but to actually test?  The jury is still out on that one.   Anyhow, we're sticking with it.  There’s much, much more to a NAVHDA chapter than the tests.   

 # re-learning “sotto voce”

PANDEMONIUM

There was hardly a cloud in the sky above the upper Merrimack Valley where temperatures peaked around 69 degrees.  Winds were moderate, so I opted to take K-Lee along the Merrimack River's "edge growth" to see what we could find. 

Yesterday, we were farther north along the river, where we came upon a gaggle of Canada geese feeding in a cornfield.  (K-Lee is struggling with remaining "still" in the presence of birds. For her, that's not easy!)  We approached carefully and K-Lee behaved well.  She remained at "heel" and didn't quiver and whine as much before.  To help her stay with me, I attached her leash. I was pleased that there was no pulling on her end.  The geese stayed just out of shotgun range.  As part of this "palette",  a few Mallards left in a hurry, a snow goose passed overhead and a coyote trotted along the edge of the field.  All in all, yesterday was a good day.  I called it quits before I pushed her too far.

Today, we chose another intervale and worked our way south along the riparian growth, looking for transient birds.  We found no woodcock, but plenty of ducks and a few Canada geese.  

At one spot, K-Lee pointed about 35-40 mallards and a goose or two that were lounging in a flooded slough.  In less than several heartbeats, it seemed like the entire river erupted with noisy waterfowl!  Needless to say, it put K-Lee over the "edge" and she gave chase.  It was pandemonium!  My initial thought  was to shout "whoa" and try to stop her.  Instead, I decided to let her discover that she was engaged in a futile exercise.  Dogs can't swim as fast as birds can fly.  I'm still at odds with myself as to which was the correct course.  Dogs can easily injure themselves by chasing, and they can spook up other birds in the vicinity.  Besides, it's just bad manners.  Fortunately, she was immediately in the river and pushing water like a naval destroyer.

Barely repentant, she came back to me.  I put her at "heel" to give her time to calm down and consider the error of her ways.  After a short walk, I released her.  My mistake!  She found a small flock of black ducks and put them to wing. (I'm not sure if the ducks went up and she gave chase or if she chased and then they flew.  Either way, my patience was worn too thin.)  Back at "heel" she went and we exited the (once) game-rich environment as I explained to her --in very unhappy terms--the "shame!" of it all.  

I took her to another location where I though there might be woodcock and snipe.  Apparently there were woodcock in the area earlier, but none today.  She did point a snipe in the wet field, which brought me back to the happier side of the day. 

K-Lee doesn't tend to chase "planted" birds, but wild ones seem to ring her bell--particularly waterfowl.  That may be because they splash, quack and honk  their way into the air.  

Regardless, it looks like we'll have time to learn proper manners this summer.  She and I are going to spend a lot of time in the field and in the Great North Woods.  I have the necessary permission from "headquarters".

Point!