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Archive for July, 2017

Last Sunday, we had a very nice, warm and therefore short, spaniel practice. We were out with a few other members of the Snake River Spaniel Club, in a field within the Montour Wildlife Management Area (WMA).

Because I started handling Carlin earlier this year, I took on handling duties again at the practice. Carlin did a very nice job. He was steady to wing and shot, he retrieved all his birds to hand, and he even did a creditable hunt head, looking for a bird that had glided off course and gone down in a neighboring field.

It was hot, though, and getting hotter, so as soon as practice was done, we wanted to inspect Carlin for grass awns, pull any out, and then get out of there. It's hard to see in the first photo, but the third photo shows the mature grass growing tall, so tall that sometimes Carlin wasn't visible in the field. But what's worse is that every grass plant had grass awns. Those are dangerous grass seed cases with barbs that can work their way under the skin, travel to distant organs and muscles, and just generally cause expensive pain and anguish, and even death. So, it's important to get them off a dog before the awns have a chance to embed themselves.

Carlin had at least one awn between each of his toes. And he doesn't much like anyone messing around with his feet. But it's necessary, so Russ and I teamed up to look everywhere — top- and bottom-sides of all feet, inside ears, in the armpits, the eyes, gums, anus, shaft…, pretty much everywhere. It look longer to do that inspection and removal than to run Carlin on the course and do a hunt dead.

But the excitement wasn't over. As we were leaving the area, a black Labrador-looking dog trotted down the road toward us. No people or cars in sight. So we stopped to see what we could see.

He was a friendly, intact male dog, a bit submissive, with no collar. He was also very thirsty, not surprising since the weather has been above 95 degrees F most days for months now. And, the thing that broke my heart even more — he had grass awns sticking out from between most of his toes, some of which were abscessed already.

We gave him several bowls of water, and some treats, and with a bit of coaxing, he hopped into one of the dog crates we have in the car. (Tooey volunteered to sit in a back passenger seat so the strange dog could have her crate.)

So, obviously, he is or has been someone's dog. We called a friend who lives sort of nearby the WMA to ask for advice. Then we called the county sheriff to see if they knew any shelters that were open.

This being on a Sunday, there weren't. And the sheriff also told us that the WMA is a popular dumping ground for unwanted pets. So, we took the dog to the Idaho Humane Society in Boise. If his home was near the WMA, we may have taken him away from people who might be looking for him. But those grass awns, which he would have gotten from the fields of the WMA, had obviously been in there for way more than a week.

I just couldn't leave him there. I hope some good people find him and give him a good home. And give him the medical care he needs now, before it's too late.

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Last Saturday… well, maybe we should just skip over a long description of Saturday. Basically, that one last bird defeated us on Saturday. That last bird, the one, that if Carlin had put it in my hand, would have earned us Carlin’s 2nd retriever Junior hunt test pass? Carlin dropped that bird just five feet from my hand. It rolled down the bank to the edge of the pond, getting dredged with sand. He tried two times to pick it up — he put is mouth on it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to bite down on that sand hard enough to grab up the bird so he could hand it to me. So we were out.

Which is too bad. Because on the rest of the test, Carlin did a fine job. Two tough land marks, both in thick, taller-than-an-IWS cover, the first out 20 yards farther than it looked. And the other, the live flyer, landing perfectly in line with the gunner and the blind so that neither I nor Carlin could see it. He found both birds, though, (the first with a little handling help from me), and brought them both back to hand. The first water bird was nicely done, too. It splashed down into the water, and Carlin went out directly and directly back, with bird to hand. But then that last bird…

Oh well.

So on to Sunday, which had a much happier ending.

It was hot in McCall, Idaho, somewhere in the mid-90s F. And, unlike Saturday, we weren’t rescued by a 20-degree-dropping thunder storm. The hunt test, put on by the Treasure Valley Hunting Retriever Club, was held in a large, dusty gravel operation south of Lake Payette, with quarry ponds and re-growing fields studding the area.

The morning land series was held in a field of tall grasses, broken up by small trees and smaller bushes. It was also damp enough to attract a small swarm of mosquitoes. The judges placed decoys (which have thrown Carlin off his stride in the past) among the grasses. The first bird was pretty easy for Carlin, although he did introduce a note of personal expression. The cover was tall, but the mark wasn’t too far away, maybe only about 65 yards. He zoomed out, ignored the decoys, picked up the bird, and then zoomed sideways for a few yards to pee on a bush. When done showing everyone who’s who around here, he sauntered back and delivered the bird.

The live flyer was a bit more challenging. It flew, was shot, and dropped about 85 yards away, but directly behind a tree and some bushes. When I thought Carlin must have found it, I muttered, “I can’t see him.” Very helpfully, one of the judges stepped to the side so she could see him, and then said, “He’s got it.” I whistled, and Carlin came trotting back, and delivered that bird to hand, too.

So, we were called back to the water series.

I tried my best to keep a positive attitude. I wanted to project confidence. But when I saw the setup, what I saw was a prime opportunity for Carlin to run the bank instead of going straight out into the water. Which would likely mean that he’d come back along the bank, too. Which would give him plenty of opportunity for him to drop the bird when he got out of the water 5 yards away from me.

But that didn’t turn out to be the problem. Yes, he ran the bank. But after swimming across the water, he got to the bird, which had landed directly on top of a duck-sized, duck-shaped rock. Like every dog before and almost every dog after him, he took exception to that rock. He found his duck, all right, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get too close to that rock. After many calls from me to fetch up his bird, he finally, gingerly, reached over and grabbed it. He swam back across the pond, got on the bank, but kept running and delivered his bird.

The second water mark was also a bit problematic, too. The start line was on a thin peninsula. The mark was set up so that the dog coming back from the opposite shore could have shorter swim if he came back onto the land behind the neck of the peninsula, through a break in the bushes, instead of swimming all the way back to the start line. And this is precisely what Carlin and a few other dogs did. Very generously, the judges allowed us to move back and toward the break in the bushes so we could meet our dogs about 5 yards from the shoreline.

Happily, Carlin held onto his bird all the way in and put it into my hand. Oh, happy day! We’d done it! When we got off the field, I gave him about 5 pieces of salami, a slice each of ham and turkey, and made a big jumping-around deal of his success. Not dignified, I know. But I was pretty darn happy.

When Russ was done gunning for Seniors, Carlin, Tooey and I went over to the Payette River and had a swim. I hadn’t brought a bathing suit, so I swam in my hat, blouse, and underwear. It was delicious. The water was cool, and it washed off a bunch of the grime, sunscreen, and bug spray that I’d been getting on me all day.

The dogs had fun, too, especially Tooey, who had waited patiently in the car all day. Russ threw fun bumpers. And the two dogs beat me to it every time.

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