by Dave Dufford
As hunting dogs go, Crockett was the exception, and I was well aware of just
how good he was. A mixed breed that few would have considered trying to hunt
with, he proved to be as proficient at finding game as any dog I had ever hunted
with. With the hours we spent hunting together each season, and the time we put
in the rest of the year, it is no exaggeration to say that Crockett was my best
friend.
When Crockett died early last spring, the whole family took it hard. I was so
disheartened that I almost gave up on keeping another dog around at all. When
Crockett died, I also had a pair of young English Springer spaniels and their
litter of 8 pups, and when the pups went up for sale, I also placed their
parents up for sale. The male was sold before my wife convinced me that I
wouldn't know what to do without a dog around the place.
I recalled a time while pheasant hunting with Crockett that I wondered what I
would ever do without him. With the question itself alluding to his mortality, I
consoled myself with the fact that he was still in his prime, that we had many
years of hunting ahead of us. Nonetheless, thoughts about his mortality
resurfaced every so often, and I began to contemplate the idea of getting
another dog. Three more years would pass before I decided about the breed I
wanted, and it was more than a year after that before I finally got one.
Choosing a breed wasn't easy. I had never owned a pointing dog, and the whole
idea of training and working with one appealed to me. On the other hand, I
couldn't argue with the success I was having with Crockett. His flushing style
worked so well in the thick and swampy covers where I hunt, and it occurred to
me that a pointing dog might not be as effective in this type of cover. After a
considerable amount of reading, I began to suspect that an English springer
spaniel, often referred to as "the dog that does it all," might be
just what I was looking for.
She arrived on Thanksgiving Day. My daughter took one look at the soft liver and
white little lady and immediately declared that she be named Annie. I'm not
usually quick to name a pup, but in this case the name seemed to be perfect.
Annie impressed me with her intelligence right from the start, picking up on
basic commands at first, and then later when I began working her on birds. Annie
was too young for any serious hunting until the following October, and only 2
weeks before the season opened I obtained a young male springer. Just 3 months
older than Annie, Sam was still a pup when I had done a little hunting with him.
I'd liked what I'd seen, so when I had a chance to get him, I was delighted.
By the end of that season, the young pair wasn't hunting as well as Crockett,
but it was clear that it was only due to their lack of experience. It wasn't
until Crockett's third birthday that I was ready to call him a hunting dog.
Annie and Sam were only half that age, but they were both hunting better than he
had at that age.
It was my son who first suggested that I raise a litter of pups, and by then I
was sure the two springers would produce a litter of good hunters. I was
thrilled when the litter arrived and all the pups were fat & healthy. The
joy was cut short, however, when Crockett unexpectedly died.
I still sometimes regret selling Sam so soon after Crockett died, but I'm
thankful my wife persuaded me to keep Annie & one of the pups, a female we
named Trace. Once I realized it would be a mistake for me to go without a dog, I
understood how lucky I was to have 2 young dogs to work with. They kept me busy
and my mind off Crockett.
After all the pups but Trace were sold, I had enough time to devote to training
my two springers. By that time most of Annie's work was little more than some
refresher courses to keep her sharp. With Trace it was a lot of trial and error.
I'd let her get the hang of one thing, then I'd try her at something else.
Sometimes it was clear from the start that she wasn't ready to learn a
particular task, but I was impressed at what she had mastered at only
five-and-a-half months.
Living near state game lands, I was able to get both dogs into some pheasants by
mid-September. It didn't take Trace long to show me that she had enough interest
in them to chase up a few. And with Annie approaching her second hunting season,
it was obvious that the extra year of maturity had worked wonders for her. She
was still every bit as enthusiastic about the scent of a bird, but now she was
able to control that excitement and settle down to work at finding and flushing
it.
I enjoy watching a springer pup when it discovers the scent of game, the way it
bounces around as if the surest way to flush a bird is to simply be everywhere
at once. As much as I enjoy seeing that, I find it equally rewarding to watch
that pup develop into a dog that can settle into scent as soon as they pick it
up and go straight to work.
Our preseason trips also taught me that hunting Annie & Trace together
wasn't the best way to train either of them. Still far too playful, Trace
focused her attention on pursuing her mother, which was causing Annie to range
far too wide, to avoid being chased. A trip or two together was sufficient for
Annie to show her pup what it was we were after, and once that was accomplished,
the training, and later the hunting, went better when I alternated them on each
trip out.
When pheasant season opened, Trace's first couple of trips failed to produce a
single flush, but she later got into some birds, and it proved to be just what
she needed.
One day we were hunting close to a lake when she cornered a pheasant along the
water's edge. I'd seen her catch it's scent a minute or so earlier, and she
began dancing through the cover, working toward the water. The pheasant held
tight and Trace was almost on it before the cockbird flushed, and she was
airborne right behind it. My shot sent plenty of feathers drifting through the
air above the water, but the rooster kept on going, and landed on a long, narrow
peninsula that cut out into the lake more than 100 yards away.
I hoped Trace was up to finding the cripple, and as we headed off to look for
it, I got upset with myself. Trace had done her part, but I had failed to do
mine. As we approached the spot where I'd marked the bird down, the pup found it
right away, and it still had plenty of life in it. Trace ran it down and made a
nice retrieve. Before sliding the ringneck into my vest I made darn sure Trace
understood how pleased I was with what she'd done.
It wasn't long until she flushed another rooster, in some thick cover bordering
a small stream, and this time my shot knocked the bird down. A few moments
later, though, Trace hadn't made the retrieve, so I dove into the briers myself
to see what was happening. The two of us searched the area for 20 minutes until
I finally found one small feather on the root of a tree, right where it grew out
from the top edge of the stream bank. While I stood there the pup came splashing
across the stream, apparently to see what I had found. From where I stood at the
top of the bank there was a drop of perhaps 18 inches to the water, and as the
pup came close I noticed her nosing around by the tree roots. It wasn't until
she had remained stationary for a few moments, with her nose almost touching the
water, that I realized she was trying to tell me something. I then noticed the
tips of just two wing feathers barely breaking the water surface. I'll never
know if the rooster crawled under the overhanging before it died or if the
current washed it there.
Annie and Trace put up and retrieved more birds during the season. Besides
pheasants, they flushed some woodcock, and I was happy that Trace shared her
mother's interest in flushing them, because her father consistently ignored
timberdoodles. I've heard that some dogs will refuse to retrieve a woodcock, and
Sam had been one of them. Ordinarily Sam was anxious to retrieve any bird he saw
fall, and once when I dropped a woodcock that Annie had flushed, Sam picked it
up and promptly spit it right back out.
One day during the last week in November it was Annie's turn to hunt, and we
started into some tall pines covering an old strip mine. About 20 minutes into
our hunt I decided to kick around a spot I thought was likely to produce a
rabbit.
Since I started working and hunting with Annie, I've been surprised by the
number of hunters who don't realize that springers are often used to hunt game
other than birds. Traditionally, both here and in England, springers have been
used for rabbit hunting, and I've also heard of them being used for squirrel
hunting.
After I brought Annie home, while she was still a pup, I went to the local
library and eventually read every book I could find on training English
springers. What I found was that opinions vary on whether or not springers
should be used for rabbit hunting, although among professional trainers it is
common knowledge that springers are greatly excited by the scent and sight of a
rabbit.
At least one well known dog trainer admitted to using wild rabbits to teach his
field trial dogs to be steady, while another always called his dogs off of
rabbits. Apparently the issue is a matter of personal choice. I've had no
problem allowing my springers to hunt rabbits. I believe the dogs have actually
benefited from the experience. Unlike the gentlemen who are able to write the
books to share their considerable dog training experience, most of us don't have
the time or opportunity to work our dogs on birds as much as they do. Generally
speaking, most of us are probably lucky if we can put as many birds ahead of our
dogs in a year as a professional will put before his dog in a single month.
Let's face it, small game can be scarce, and any dog as smart as a springer can
easily take anything it has learned about working scent on a rabbit and put it
to use when bird hunting. Before her first hunting season I frequently let Annie
chase rabbits from our garden and through the brush and trees at the back of our
yard, and she had no trouble at all finding and flushing birds when the time
came. It had helped her gain some experience at working scent, and she'd also
learned that game is more apt to be found hiding in cover instead of right out
in the open.
As we approached a spot where two pine trees had recently blown down, though, I
could see Annie's growing excitement. A rabbit bolted from the far side of the
pines and made a sharp hook around to my left before she had more than stuck her
nose in among the branches, and a quick shot from my open choked 12 gauge
checked it's run.
After loading the rabbit into my vest, I hunted back through the pines until we
came to some hardwoods bordering a field. Just inside the woods is a broad,
thick tangle of grapevines. We were still approaching the corner when Annie's
nose quickened her pace toward the end of the tangle. A grouse came up, and
swinging to my left I quickly missed a shot.
Soon after, we hunted our way down through a large stand of crabapples,
zigzagging through a thicket. Having hunted here for many years, I know this
spot usually produces a grouse flush or two, but because the crabapples are so
high & thick, it's hard to get a shot.
Annie went to work as soon as we entered into the crabapples. She quartered
naturally, working one side then the other, and as we neared a wide stretch she
gave me plenty of notice that game was nearby. I could hear her working beneath
the trees to my left when a grouse flushed, probably not more than 10 feet ahead
of her, and beat it's way across a narrow opening. By the time I shot, the
grouse was already out of sight. I thought I'd missed, but I hadn't. I heard the
wings flapping as Annie gathered up the bird to make her retrieve.
At that point I might have been content to call it a day, but we hadn't been out
long and there was plenty of daylight left. I did a lot of thinking as we hunted
our way home. There isn't a single bit of cover or a bend in the trail within
walking distance of my home that doesn't bring back some memory of Crockett, and
I caught myself looking around expecting to see him at any time. It wasn't that
he was the best, but he was better than most dogs I've hunted with. He left some
big shoes for a pair of little springers to fill. I have a feeling, though, that
someday they will.
Annie and I worked our way up through a shallow hollow choked with grapevines,
and from there I planned to cross a road to circle around the far side of a
large hill, where we would eventually end up back near the house. Coming up near
the head of the hollow I noticed her acting birdy, and when she put the bird up
it flew straight away. At the shot the grouse tumbled into a patch of cover so
thick I felt thankful I had a dog that anxious to dive in and make a retrieve. I
had already come around to the dirt road by the time Annie made her way back out
and brought the bird to hand. It had been a perfect afternoon, so I decided to
call it a day.
As I loaded the grouse into my vest I saw a beautiful young Springer in front of
me, a couple of feathers still clinging to her mouth which seemed to be smiling.
I see some of Annie in her pup from time to time, and I have lots of hope that
Trace will come along without a problem. I'm sure I'm still going to miss
Crockett for a long time, but I suspect that I may be in for some interesting
hunts.
by
Dave Dufford
Note: This story was previously published in the May 2000 issue of
PENNSYLVANIA GAME NEWS
(reprinted
with permission of the author)
Copyright © 1999
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