OBSERVATIONS AT THE WATER'S EDGE

Each month, my field artillery unit "brothers"  and friends gather for lunch at a local restaurant.  We are loud (We lost most of our hearing due to cannons--and perhaps 'rock and roll'.), boisterous (In the middle of the restaurant, we start by pledging allegiance to the flag.) and happy.  Sometimes we talk about our aches and pains, but most of the time we talk about life--and express our opinions.  (How do we!)  There is very pleasant, young waitress (Nearly everyone is young to us!) who takes care of the entire group (usually over 20 men) and does a great job.  She knows that if she keeps our glasses filled, we will all be so engaged with each other that it won't matter how long it takes for the meal to come out.  Besides that, the food isn't that bad either!

We were a National Guard unit that went "active" Army during the Vietnam War. Some of us joined simply because we preferred to serve with people we knew--"our" people--rather than be drafted. (Enough said about that!)  We are a brotherhood--molded, with a common bond. 

(Bring) Down the Plane

As I understand the history, "in the beginning", our unit was a rifle company, and later made into an anti-aircraft battery that was deployed in World War I. It was then that it gained its crest--which you can see here.  When I "signed up", folks said it meant "Down with the plane". (which seemed like "political protest" at the time, but I accepted it.  It was the sixties.)  I've since determined that a more correction translation of "A BAS L'AVION"  would be the command to 'down' the plane or in today's language, "(Bring) Down the plane!"

Yesterday, I went to lunch with my "brothers".  Several asked me when the next "post" would be on The Pudelpointer Chronicles.  It pleases me that they enjoy it.  Here it is.

Morning on the Merrimack

That very morning I was doing water drills with K-Lee at the Merrimack River, and I observed something that made interrupt the training for a while and let her "do her thing".  There must have been turbulence upriver at the dams because there were hundreds of little foamy bubble-patches approximately 3 by 6 inches floating down the river.  They had about the consistency of soap bubbles blown by a child.  K-Lee was distracted in our retrieving drills, and would stop partway in her return to investigate the foamy "patches" that drifted by.  At first, I was trying to correct her behavior. 


Then a small voice inside me whispered that she had never seen anything like that before, so I took the bumper from her as she sat by my side and then released her to go play.  

She swam to the middle of the river and popped the bubble patches like a child popping bubbles that someone else was blowing.  (I thought back to how I would pop bubbles when I was a child.  Now I have very little interest.)  Thinking that she would go through this experience and then tire of it, I gave her freedom--without correction--to "pop" as many the foam "rafts" as she wanted.  It took a while, but she finally was satisfied.  Seeing that she was ready, we began again--with more success.

Water Retrieve

Early in today's morning cool, patches of the river's surface sparkled like diamonds in a jeweler's showcase.  Several schools of tiny minnows were feeding on the surface.  Each time a minnow broke the surface, its splash twinkled with a captured ray of the early morning sun. I released K-Lee to investigate.  After all, she's a "thinking" dog--like a child in so many ways. She tried to catch the minnows without success.  Now, it's not a new thing for her and she can more readily problem-solve the task at hand.

So the rhetorical question I have is this:  "Are we taking the time to let our children and grandchildren have experiences that build up their confidence and understanding--are we allowing them to fail and learn from the failure -- or are we (for our own expedience's sake) telling them "what" to do, "when" to do it, and (sometimes) "why"-- when we should be letting them discover 'the law of consequence' and how to benefit from it??  

After all, when you don't get what you want, you get wisdom.

WHY I LOVE A PICK-UP

Present iteration

One afternoon, many years ago,  my friend John and I put my black dog "Criquette" in the back of his "pride and joy" Ford Bronco and we piled into the front.   With our shotguns and bird hunting gear, we were bound for a cornfield where we were sure there were birds aplenty.  After more than an hour's drive through the mountains, we descended towards the intervale.    Like a couple of Army Rangers, we paused and reviewed the terrain from an overlooking hill.  The plan was that Criquette would bust up the birds and we'd get shots.  It was going to be great!

Careful not to interfere with the still-standing corn, we moved between rows and along pathways.  It wasn't too long before we realized that birds were running ahead of us and we weren't closing the distance.  In a flash of brilliance, we carefully pulled out of the corn and performed an "end-run" to head off those running birds.  It was reminiscent of Stonewall Jackson's move on the Union Army in Virginia.

We were functioning like a well-oiled machine--dog included.  It was going to be one of those special moments when everything comes together.  We moved westward along the edge of the field.  Sensing the urgency of the moment, Criquette decided to make her move. She bounded over the stone wall and into the corn.  Our olfactory senses told us that she had come face to face with a mature skunk.  Both of them were spooked, but the smell that immediately filled the air told us which animal was spooked more!  ...or at least the skunk was faster on the draw!  A quick hundred yard trip to the Connecticut River did little to remove the odor emanating from the dog. We now had a combination of "skunk" and "wet dog" smell.

We figured, "What the heck!" and tried to finish the hunt, but by then, the dog, John and I were totally distracted.  The sun was setting,  so we finally decided to call it a day. With everyone in the Bronco, we headed home.  As we rolled along, we noticed that the pungent smell seemed to be gone.  John said,  "I guess the smell wore off." 

Feeling hungry and only about a half-way home, we stopped at a local roadside diner.   We walked right in and sat ourselves in a booth where we could keep an eye on the Bronco.  The waitress came to the table, took one look at us and --with a tone that indicated she was on the verge of hostility-- said, "Do you want this 'to go'?"  Oblivious to her hint and a bit tired, we decided to just "rest a bit".  We casually said, "We'll eat in."

As we waited for our food, we noticed people starting to file out of the diner.  The exodus started with the booth next to us.  Then others paid and left.  We figured that it was just 'that time of night' when business was slowing down. Shortly, our waitress brought the food, but didn't hang around.  We thought she was rather "cold" to be a waitress...maybe they were short on help.

We finished our sandwiches and left a tip--just to show we were "gentlemen".    Eager to get back, John got behind the wheel and we finished the drive home.

He dropped me off and headed home.  My wife-- who has a sense of smell that rivals that of a German Shorthaired Pointer--shrieked at me when I came into the kitchen and drove the dog and  me back onto the porch while spraying a can of Lysol.  With temerity that rivaled my old Army Drill Sergeant, she shouted  "Strip!!!" and handed me a garbage bag with instructions to leave my clothes outside for later incineration.  I was ordered to carry the dog to the shower so Criquette wouldn't track the smell into the house.  Through the closed bathroom door, I was told not to come out until the "job was done"--meaning that there should be no smell.   After several "wash cycles" and   de-skunking attempts, the job was "done" and the dog and I wondered what happened to her sense of humor.

Dogs have their own "suite"

John suffered another fate.  Although he didn't have the dog, he had the Bronco.  The interior fabric--seats, carpet, headliner et al-- was apparently saturated with "eau de skunk"!  Typically, John is a "can do" sort of guy, and good Karma seems to follow him around.  However, it seemed that John was not going to dodge the bullet on this adventure! The next day, John took the Bronco to a car dealership and traded it. He said that he was planning to do that anyway, but I think he wanted to get rid of the smell.  He never complained to me--not even once! That's what kind of friend he is!

Although there was a faint, lingering hint of "eau de skunk", our wives forgave us for stinking up their "domain".  A few nights out at local restaurants helped. John ended up with a Nissan 280-Z, and me...  I'm older now and, ...

Well, that's why I love a pickup truck with a kennel in the back!

BOBCATS and BLACK BEAR HAVE ONE THING "IN COMMON"

An Army buddy shared several pictures of a Bobcat that visited his yard.  They are magnificent creatures!  My friend had a once in a lifetime event.

We have a couple of bobcat pictures in our entryway that were taken by Roger Irwin, a professional outdoors photographer and friend.  Some of his work can be seen at  (http://www.rogerirwinphotos.com/)

Thinking about a squirrel breakfast

Recently, the State of New Hampshire had to settle an issue concerning whether or not to have a limited (50) bobcat hunt.  The "massaging" of information and half-truths was interesting to see.  As I carefully looked at what was being said, I realized that the bobcat --and significant money--was being used to further 'other' agendas--non-hunting agendas to be specific.   I'm not sure how New Hampshire will weather this, for it was surely the first shot across the bow of the hunting community and it went mostly unanswered.  That mustn't continue.

In Maine last year, a significant struggle between scientific game management practices--which include hunting--and emotional "feel-good" politics took place using the black bear as its poster-child.  Fortunately the good folks in Maine figured it all out and wisdom prevailed.

So the next time you see a TV commercial with sad music that begs money for a poor mistreated puppy...or perhaps a furry little kitten, ask yourself: "Where does this money really go, and how will it be spent?"   In my opinion, 'national' humane organizations are little more than political action groups in a fur coat.  For that reason, my wife and I only donate to local shelters where all the money/food/bedding goes directly to the shelter. It takes slightly more work to go locally, but by doing so, I feel that the charity we 'offer up' is not being turned against us. 

 

 



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NERDY CONFESSION

Okay, I have to admit it.  I'm sort of a "nerd" when it comes to bird hunting--ruffed grouse hunting in particular.  I can see it in other people's eyes.  

For instance, the other evening I was chatting with a friend who is a VERY focused grouse hunter.  (Nearly every day of the season, he and his dog are hunting grouse.  They look it too....lean, athletic and confident.)  I started telling him about a "grouse hunting" book that I was reading.  I began to quote comments of the authors.  I discussed their technique and told him about the "serious grouse hunting" website (http://www.seriousbirdhunting.com)

...and I guess I started to ramble.

Point!

As I watched, a "glaze" came over my friend's eyes as he looked at me with a certain "there he goes again" look.

Next, being the sage that he is, he kindly explained to me where my authors got their quote.




I can't help it.  Compelled to dive into the subject matter, I take pleasure in reading/ hearing/seeing what others have said/are saying about the sport--so many different personalities, so many different approaches. I don't believe everything that I read, I just enjoy it and allow myself to be entertained and (perhaps) informed.  Like a thirsty man, I "drink in" the efforts of others to capture aspects of bird hunting --whether their works be written, spoken, or video.  

At the very least, it helps pass the time between winter snows and autumn's opening day. 

To my way of thinking, it takes us away from aimlessly walking through the woods and strengthens us in two important areas: information accumulation and dreaming.  Hunting is about information -- covers, drumming logs, food and gravel, population densities, clear cuts, shotguns, and equipment to name a few examples,  It's also about memories and emotions such as a "heady" scent you found once and how you wished it could have been bottled because it seized your mind like an expensive french perfume, ...or the bird that held for the dog's classic point on a post-card perfect day.    Like good TV re-runs, the dreaming provides us the pleasure of the past and helps us structure the future.

A place where dreams are made.

So yeah, I guess I'm all for dreaming.  If that makes me a bit "nerdy",  let 'er roll!


..and pass the popcorn!

Sadly now, at our brief parting....

My Abenaki friend, Don, once told me that his people have a story about dogs.  He said that there is a bridge where you cross over from this life to the next, and it is held up by the dogs that you had in life.  If you've been good to them, you'll make it to the next life where your friends and happiness awaits you.

Abbie and George after a good day's romp

Two of my dear friends lost their dog Abbie today.  She was a pointer.   In her younger days, she  loved to run, but after many years, she suffered from old age.  Her insides were failing and her skeletal system was giving her problems. Today, she lost the fight.  Like all good dogs, she always gave more than she received and left everyone with wonderful memories.  I, for one, will miss her and her sweet disposition...even the little crook in her twelve o'clock tail when she pinned a bird.

I first met Abbie when my friend George,  called me up and asked me if I wanted to go with him when he picked up his pup.  I held her in my lap on the way back from the breeder and she drooled all over my pants.  I would say that she "donated" the equivalent of a quart and a half of slimy, puppy drool.  (It was the first time that she had ridden.)  I didn't mind.  We were "bonding".  Later, she was always a pleasure to be with in the field.  I don't really remember her ever being out of control--so to speak--and if she was, perhaps it's probably my happy memories blotting out such thoughts.

Abbie was a constant companion to her owners.  She went camping with them, "guarded" the house, enjoyed fishing and was a hit with all the grand-children.  She was a great example of a "good dog" and will be missed by many.

 I believe very strongly in the "life hereafter".  No, I don't just believe it, I know it to be true.  (You can believe what you want.) Everything within me says that the Abenaki story of Don's people and prose like "The Rainbow Bridge" are but weak, human  attempts to capture beautiful truths  we have yet to experience.   

Below is "The Rainbow Bridge" copied from the "Doctors Foster and Smith Veterinarians" website:

For Abbie and her family. 'There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys with lush green grass. When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water and warm spring weather. All the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. Her bright eyes are intent; her eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly she begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, her legs carrying her faster and faster. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together, never again to be separated.' Till we meet again dear girl...