This essay of mine from a Nov/Dec 1995 issue RGS magazine was meant as a sort of upland bird dogger's version of A Modest Proposal. It generated some heat at the time, as some folks didn't get in on the idea behind all these bad practices 'til after their heads had already exploded. Exploding heads often have training troubles with their grouse dogs...or at least it would seem. This article came in for a touch-up after helping friends wrestle with training issues this early spring.
How To Get The Least From Your Grouse Dog
by Randy Lawrence
As a kid reading Jack O’Connor and Ted Trueblood in my grandfather’s sporting magazines, I was ever envious of the expert outdoor adventurer: pack trips for big game in Alaska, whitewater floats down the Snake River, wingshooting adventures involving hordes of mountain-hugging chukar partridge, solitary camps in the high desert after scaled quail.
The marksmanship and woodcraft of O’Connor and Trueblood and Keith and Colonel Askins surely rivaled those of Crockett and Boone. Never could I live up to that. Given similar circumstances, I’d be reduced to grizzly bait; would eddy out all bloated and white on some foam-battered riverbank; or perish, parched and lost, in the Arizona outback.
But in the fifty years since my first tremors of nimrodic intimidation, I have found my niche. Roll over, Ink-Stained Immortals of The Campfire; it’s my turn now.
Because nobody knows more about getting less from a grouse dog than I.
I have mounds of research. Test agents have included English and Gordon setters, pointers with hair both wiry and short, two American Water Spaniels, a pair of Labradors, and one phlegmatic Chesapeake Bay Retriever. The control group has come with sharp tails, square tails and fan tails. They’ve been old birds, young birds, winter packs on the prairie, and early season broods. Some have been hunter-wary. Others, aspen-stump stupid.
I have learned much about the proverbial birds in the bush, precious little about those in the hand, and heaps about helping dogs deny every shred of breeding and training.
Trust me. I can help you.
Rule One: Find The Wrong Dog
Go ahead. Swallow hard, and shell out a fistful of Large Ones for that scion of field-trial fame or glamour-girl glory. The bigger that dog’s daddy ran at Grand Junction, the bigger challenge it’ll be to get Sir Gunbutt of Beesknees, Jr. fitted to alder run labyrinths and rose-choked coulees. Stake all on a dog some gifted trainer campaigned where winners run “a great race” and loser occasionally “find too many birds to show.”
If you're all about looks lolling around the house, seek out the bench-show Barbie- or Kendawg. Scrubbed, coiffed, and dangled like jewelry, such an instinct-benumbed specimen may not be the best bet to be a cover-bashing grind-it-out grouse dog, but sometimes, in the circles I run in, it's better to look good than to be good.
The show dog exception only proves the rule, but that's beside the point (pun intended). These creatures photograph beautifully against an autumnal backdrop with the single bird you foot-flushed, scratched down, and retrieved yourself. Such dogs also make gorgeous living andirons at hearthside. Some will point a tom cat in a cage with a little encouragement.
Steer clear, at all costs, of dogs bred by a grouse hunter, someone who isn’t so deep in debt and dogs that he or she actually has time to go hunting or trialing in properly managed hunter stakes. These folks test in the woods and on the prairies what they are breeding on paper, mating individuals selected for grouse dog drive, utility and biddable demeanor.
Where’s the challenge in that? Besides, such a breeder takes time and research to find. You’ll be too busy spending your spare moments and spare change running ads in five counties trying to recover (or sell) a run-off, pseudo grouse dog to dig around and find a serious pro like that.
Rule Two: Don’t Make Friends
Professional market hunters of the 19th century had wise words for once-a-week gunners who don’t expect much from their canine collaborators: making a pet out of a gun dog will be the animal’s ruin. Keep that sensitive Gordon sequestered like the OJ Simpson jury. Clean up after him once in a while, shove some food under the gate every day, and make sure there’s water in his bucket. Better yet, fill a self-feeder stuffed with bargain kibble and rig an automatic waterer. This will reduce contact to giving your dog holy thunder out the kitchen window when he barks to get the paper delivery girl’s attention.
Do not fall for that warm ‘n’ fuzzy claptrap about “bonding.” Turn your dog into part of the family, and he’s liable to look you up once in a while during a hunt. This could blunt his drive and inhibit the “predatory instinct.”
Rule Three: Skip School
To get the least from your grouse dog, limit obedience training to the dog having a passing acquaintance with “Get down, you @#%&!”, “C’mere, #$%&*!”, “Whoa, you little #@$%&*, whoa!”
If young Gunbutt does what I tell him most of the time, at least for a little while, we go on to working with birds. My cousin has this whole routiney kinda thing, working his dogs in a set place, as close to the same time most days. He always says, “Once they have something down, we work on it two more weeks.” I tell him all that schooling is boring; he tells me he enjoys the time with his dogs, learning as much about them as they ever learn from him. Whatever…
Don’t bother with all that careful noise conditioning. Simply fire that snub-nosed .32 blank gun in the air several times while he’s out in the yard. As an alternative, I will tie a green dog up behind the firing line at the skeet club during our Wednesday league shoot. If either strategy unnerves him, the dog was a nervous nincompoop to begin with.
Get your fractious, kennel-cooped pointer puppy started on birds in the rank green of late August. Clip on a noodly, easily-tangled check cord to drag and shove him on top of poorly conditioned, pen-raised birds, especially quail that are dew-soaked or have broken or lost feathers from rough handling when they were set. Catching a few weak flying game birds will only make a dog keener, right?
And it’s a good thing he likes the gun, because if you’re determined to ruin your dog, when you finally go hunting, you’ll be sure to pull the trigger every chance you get during those dry, early season sorties, with scenting conditions tough and young grouse so dumb. With luck, young Gunbutt will see broods of birds hop up on tree limbs, blink down at him, and talk grouse trash. Feel free to limb swat every one o’ those impertinent rapscallions from the gene pool’s shallow end. Also, have at any grouse that run out just in front of the dog. Bang away at all those he pushed instead of pointed. Killing grouse is the only way to make a grouse dog. Oh, and always feed him the heads; he’ll get the idea faster that way.
Rule Four: Never Take Your Training To The Woods
Once you get to your hunting spot, let your dog “air out” while you rummage for the thermos, answer nature’s call, sort gear, check your cell phone, dig out the gun, and find your whistle. After all, grouse country is generally remote enough that traffic’s not a concern. Besides, if nothing happens, the dog will come back, although it may take a while, especially if you have two dogs down, a competitive older one with a novice.
If and when you finally catch your dog, fit him with the bell collar you’ve kept for nostalgic reasons. You know, the one with the nameplate that gives your phone number and address from before the divorce and the two changes of residence since then. Decide which way you’re going to hunt relative only to making a loop that includes an easy route back to the truck.
To heighten the challenge, totally ignore whatever wind there is. Deviate from that predetermined course only when birds go out and you charge off after the dog charging off after the birds. If the dog wasn’t involved with the flush, don’t wait for him to come around and get organized for pursuit. You might do better without him anyway.
Don’t listen to those control freaks who insist on good roll-over collars with current contact information, even “Reward” under the phone number. There are probably the same folks who “heel” and “whoa” their dogs at the start of a hunt, just to re-establish the contact they forged during training. As you can imagine, these are the same people who are always looking ahead for “birdy corners” or “thick runs” and then checking the wind to see how best to work the dog at an advantage.
These are the same “helicopter handlers” who, heading into a thin patch or swinging through an open area, might whistle the dog in, check him over, maybe adjust the bell or beeper, offer the dog a drink from a canteen. They heel the dog, letting him catch a blow before casting him ahead just as they reach more likely looking cover.
To professional underachievers like my dogs and me, it seems like OCD when, if a bird goes out wild or the dog runs that bird up, those meticulous neurotics mark the flight carefully, then bring the dog in to reestablish “The Team” before deciding on the best course of action. If the dog put the bird out, they will bring him back in and stand him up as close to the mishap as possible. When all concerned have regained composure, they’ll often heel the dog in a direction away from the flush while determining the best way to regroup and follow up on that bird. They don't blast away at wild flushes; they don't shoot birds the dog didn't handle the right way. That act like the sport is about good dog work, rather than protein in the pouch!
What nonsense! How’s a dog ever going to learn initiative? Besides, I only get to hunt one day a week. All that fiddlin’ with the dog burns daylight.
Rule Five: Keep The Chatter Coming
Since I’m serious about getting the least from my pointing dog, I always insist that he work within sight, definitely within gun range at all times. I don’t want him putting up a bird I can’t swing on.
To ensure that, I’m constantly in his ear: Hunt close! Come around! Look in here! Birds! Birds! Birds in here!
If he doesn’t listen, I hit him with the electronic collar, if he’s wearing one, whether I can see what he's doing or not. I admit that I occasionally resort to what Granddaddy always did when his dogs had "hearing problems": bust their behind with a load of #8’s. I confess that I do spend a lot of time wailin' on that whistle.
I used to hunt with a woman who said hacking and hollering and constant whistling only push a dog farther away. She claimed that if she’s quiet, her Viszlas wonder where she is and come looking. She said that “any reasonably socialized dog” (whatever New Age crappola that is) gets nervous when he can’t keep track of his partner. So when she wants a young dog hunting closer, believe it or don’t, this lady shuts up!
Before she stopped hunting with me (jealous, I think, because I always shot more birds), she once remarked that yelling is what horseback field trailers do – said they called it “singing” and that it keeps those dogs working far out front because they know where the handler is at all times. Her older dogs that she wanted to keep sweeping the woods, she’d quietly call encouragement to when she noticed them stopping to listen.
I once had a dog with a pro trainer for almost three weeks. That fellow said in hill country or on windy days it’s better to whistle or command in the direction you want the dog to go, or away from him, rather than right at him. He claimed that the sound will bounce off terrain and give the dog a better fix on the handler’s location.
Mule muffins. I just keep yelling. Any dog with Brain One will get the message.
And don’t think I’ll stop talking just because that dog’s on point. Nossir. Just because he’s stopped on scent doesn’t mean he won’t move. Every time he points, I remind him, “Whoa now. Steady. Easy. Whoa,whoa,whoa,whoa…”
Even if the bird has run out, or maybe lifted off and left a hot spot, I don’t want my dog to ever move on his own before I can start coaching him. That lady that doesn’t hunt with me any more said talking like that might turn him into a “false pointer.” Well, then, if he “false points” under my direction, that just means he didn’t have much nose to begin with.
Rule Six: When the Dog Goes On Point, I Do the Same
Walking confidently in on point can mess you up. Stand there and watch instead of hustling wide to come in diagonally toward the dog’s face. That might cut the bird off, or maybe pin him, sure, but the darned thing might flush when I’m not ready.
I always advise people to creep on in there. Be stealthy. If that makes the dog antsy, that’s on the dog. He’s supposed to stand there. Those who’re right-handed, keep that left foot in front and drag your right, like Matt Damon in all those Bourne movies. You never want to be out of position. If the bird sneaks out better than you did in, again, blame the dog.
A fellow I don’t go out with any more because his dogs hogged all the points had a motto: “If the dog’s moving, I stay still. When the dog goes still, I get moving.” He was forever hustling out around, doin' that angling in thing, stepping like he was going somewhere. He said that helped steady the dog, said the birds sometimes held better, pinned between his approach and the dog’s stand. He didn’t talk to his dog on point, either; said it was a distraction to his dog and sometimes spooked the birds.
That’s a risky practice, if you ask me. My dogs need reminded all the time.
Rule Seven: Let A Dog Be A Dog
When you’re done hunting, wipe down that fancy gun, carefully fold that waxed cotton shooting vest, and clean the mud from those custom-built birdshooter boots before changing into a pair of fleece-lined moccasins for the drive home. Dump any birds you’ve killed in a scented plastic garbage bag so they’ll age faster and smell better when you take them out in a couple of days to clean them. While you’re waiting for the dog, still out wandering the woods like a dope, enjoy a refreshing pull from a bottle of cold water.
Corral ol’ Gunbutt on his next pass near the truck and toss him loose in the back of the pickup or shove him in a crate. He won’t need water; you crossed two creeks during the last three-hour hunt. That ought to hold him. Snowy days are even better. He can probably just grab a mouthful on the fly.
I know, I know. There are all those Dog Whisperer Worshippers out there who always have water at the vehicle or even, for crying out loud, in belt canteens or botas during a hunt! Obviously these ninnies have no clue about conditioning their dogs, about toughening them up.
Those same people are forever wasting time back at the truck, checking their dogs’ dew claws and pads, sometimes shining a light between a dog’s toes, looking for thorns or pieces of grit. If they’re hunting a long-haired dog, they get out the stripping comb and give after cockleburs, especially the ones lodged between a dog’s front legs and his body.
Hell, they’ve probably even got a medicine kit to treat small cuts, torn pads, bloody tail tips. I’ve seen 'em inspect eyes for collected chaff or weed seeds. Some of these characters even pack along a bottle of special lubricant to rinse out any gunk in the corner of a dog’s eyes. If the dog is wet, why, they fish out extra towels to dry him off and rub him down, like he was some kind of athlete or something!
That’s ridiculous. When we’re done hunting, we’re loaded, kenneled, and gone. I know one man and his wife who got some training so they could suture minor wire cuts. My setters pull their own burrs. It keeps them busy while they’re riding. The ones they can’t reach will mat, and I’ll cut ‘em out in the spring. On cuts, I spray one some iodine solution when I get home. If it still looks bad the next morning, I'll call the vet.
Once one of my dogs had a bloody tail that needed vet attention. It had been a mess since October. By the time the season was over in January and I finally had a Saturday free for the vet, the end had gone lumpy and smelled really bad. The surgery was expensive, but once that dog had two inches of tail tip amputated, he never had much trouble again.
And this business of rubbing them down and drying them off? God made dogs hardy with a good fur coat to keep them warm. It’s mankind that makes dogs soft with all that mollycoddling and petting and fussing.
The dogs that don’t hold up doing it my way? They hit the highway. After all, I am the expert at getting the least from a grouse dog.