Firelight Bird Dogs

Firelight Bird Dogs

Thursday, May 6, 2021

What Day Is It Again?

 by Lynn Dee Galey

This morning's text from a friend: “Good morning, Lynn Dee. Today is Thursday, 6 May,” followed by a laughing emoji.  Friends find it rather humorous that 10 years of retirement compounded by New Litter Sleep Deficiency results in me asking what day it is before I can answer any questions about plans.  

It has been a wonderful, blurry week since Annie whelped her litter of 8 puppies.  Fast and easy with healthy pups born already plump are what any breeder wants.  It is her first litter so I keep a fairly close eye on her although just yesterday she showed me that I can ease off.  

Moving around the box as she cleaned the puppies, one of her rear feet landed directly on top of Baby Doc, the pup nicknamed after his grandfather due to his markings.  No need for concern however as she stood there balancing on three legs with the foot still touching the puppy but with no pressure on him. When she moved on to the next pup she lifted that rear foot and carefully moved it away from him before shifting her weight. 

So eight hunters and their families are excited about their new pup that will join them in late June.  Others are disappointed that there were not enough pups to go around: to me that notification is one of the worst parts of breeding.  

Every week I send buyers photos of the puppies so they can watch the growth and progress and begin to choose favorites.  Photos are often accompanied by information, descriptions and educational articles.  With many distance buyers who do not get to see their pup in person until delivery time, these updates are important and part of the long process of getting to know Firelight and their puppy better. 

My many repeat buyers tell me that the whole family looks forward to the weekly birthday updates.  The owner of the sire of this litter, Tip, tells me that when they were getting Tip, his family would print out photos of each of the male pups and post them on their refrigerator.  As the date to choose their boy got closer photos were switched around putting the favorite on the top.  For them it was Tip all along and still is.












Wednesday, May 5, 2021

Coloring Outside The Lines

by Randy Lawrence

The incomparable A.B. Frost

Before I went to the dogs, I went to the library.  I had no background in bird hunting, so I did the only thing I knew to do - go find a book about it.

What I found were gun dog training books written primarily by men who made their bones and their reputation running field trials.  So my foundation in the sport had a slightly whitewashed view, especially about the color of a bird dog...


John M. Tracy painted the beginning of the open-coated bird dog bias.

You want all the white on a dog you can get, they wrote.  A dark head is fine (but only if it's an even mask), but all other things being equal,  you want the brightest white one you can find when choosing a prospect.  Visibility when you’re scouting that “out on a limb” find in big country is key. Bright shiny objects burning up the far horizon or cutting swaths through the grouse woods make judges sit up straighter in the saddle.  Maybe all that shine is a liability against the snow, but that’s why the gun dog supply houses sell those wide fluorescent collar sleeves, right?

I found George Evans in a copy of Gun Dog magazine I "liberated" from the men's room of a Kentucky shooting preserve.  George made color kind of a cult thing with his Old Hemlocks, waxing rhapsodically about elegant “snow beltons” - even though Wilda and at least a couple of his early dogs were quite intensely ticked. If one reads enough GBE, a fella can start believing that solid body markings are almost bar sinister.


Another John M. Tracy painting, depicting one of the transition setters between the old American Natives and the racier Llewellin imports.

I suppose there is simply no accounting for taste.  After all of that shaping by my betters, I never could resist distinctive markings on a bird dog.

In the end, though, “Pretty is as pretty does.”  Performance coupled with a hardy, athletic  physique, topped off with companionable disposition matters far more than colored hair swatches, but for what it’s worth and all else being equal...

Give me a big spot setter dog every time.   The more markings, the merrier.

I want eye pigmentation, too, in part because I like the way those dark eyes reflect a dog’s soul and mine.  I’m also a believer in the research done with pie-bald patterned animals that associates light eyes and lack of body patches with deafness, a condition which stalks our English setters, too.  I have also seen enough sunburned noses when we hunted the High Plains to prefer dark pigmentation there, too.

Le Grande Orange:  Firelight Seth

But that's as much practicality as I can manage in what is mostly a silly matter of personal prejudice.  Oh, I am sure part of that was shaped by the upland artwork I have loved from the start.  Foster, Osthaus, the brilliant A.B. Frost  -all put color on their bird dogs.  John M. Tracy, (1843-1893), the designer of the American Field masthead, was another who painted the transition from the heavier coated, body- patched Llewellin influenced imports to the flashy mostly white rock stars that have wowed field trial galleries for over a century.

                                   

Edmund Osthaus (1858-1928)  That's the great Count Noble on the topside.

Osthaus could always capture a dog's eye.

Five or six years ago, Lynn Dee Galey sent me a picture Walt Lesser had shared with her, a shot of a dark, handsome athlete named Dawn's Shadbush Ted.  Ted partnered with Walt in the '80's and earns his own section in the book The Real Ryman Setter.   The photo below was used in that invaluable book.

Dawn's Shadbush Ted

At the time, Lynn Dee mentioned that by appearance and by Walt's description of Ted's performance, the dog was a model for much of what she was trying to do with her own Firelight breeding.   Since then, I have kept Ted's photo on my phone as a ready reminder of what I love most about heavily marked English setter gun dogs.  

So to the Only Body White is Right setter crowd, please forgive my love for the tick-tarted, tri-color Dreamboat Annie, the exotic Clementine, with her 1/8 Llewellin flava, the almost roan look of Lynn Dee's little female, Moondance.  Indulge me when I dote on Firelight Seth, heir to Rusty Staub’s handle, Le Grande Orange, only the second orange setter I’ve ever managed to love.  All of 'em pass the look test on their way to the grouse woods.

Firelight Dreamboat Annie

Firelight Clementine

Firelight Moondance



 “With color,” the painter Henri Matisse wrote, “one obtains an energy that seems to stem from witchcraft.”  Show me a bird hunter who isn’t looking for just a little magic. 










Thursday, April 29, 2021

Dreamboat Annie Docks With Gen 8!

by Lynn Dee Galey

As Annie was just now standing close, leaning on me to get some loving, I realize how important the role of breeding plays in my relationship with each of my dogs. From handling the mating through the care and extra attention of pregnancy, to the vulnerability, support and 24 hour care shared during whelping and postpartum, the trust bond built during these times is even greater than the hunting partnership which is the other real light that shines between us.


Firelight Dreamboat Annie

Firelight has been gifted once again with an easy whelping and my eighth generation of healthy, robust of setter puppies is here.  I call them The Milk Drunks. They really don’t leave the milk bar until they roll off with overfull bellies.


At the bar

Annie has thrown her switch from a bit of fast-footed wild child to doting mother.  I have to unplug The Drunks just to get her to eat one of her multiple dinners or to stretch her legs outside.  Once out she will take a quick token lap around the yard, check on the grouse who seems to be nesting just beyond the back fence, and then comes trotting back to the door.


Being a new momma doesn't mean you can't carry your Jolly Ball in from the yard

As usual with litters here, sleep for me has been at a minimum. Although Annie blessed me with a daylight whelping there were the long hours of restless panting the night prior. I had snuck in a couple of naps on the sofa with her tucked tight against me. That day began abruptly with a wet warmth on my leg as her water broke.  I was thankful for my Girl Scout-ness of having placed a waterproof cover over the new sofa. 

My dear friend Paul quickly answered the expected ring on his phone at 5:30 am; he arrived at the house 15 minutes before the first puppy. As I jotted down the time and gender of the pup we laughed about the last whelping we did together where we lost count and were panic-stricken as we checked every towel, corner and even the laundry for a pup that we were certain had arrived but had not. 

Annie wasted no time and in two hours we had a nice litter. She then rested but it was obvious that there was another pup to come. An hour later I had barely stepped out of the room to get a tea when I heard my name. I ran in to find Paul holding onto a fat-bottomed girl pup, helping to ease her into the world.  Gen 8, Firelight Setters:  present and accounted for!




Tuesday, April 27, 2021

By Randy Lawrence



He belonged, always, to Lisa Weisse.  He knew it.  I knew it.  But when October Blue Doc left Idaho for retirement in southern Ohio, he and I made the best of it.  I showed him what would be his bed on the floor near mine.  Doc showed me game birds.  We became thick as thieves, and even though he was not my dog,  he never let on.


 Retirement Porch Sittin'

So tonight, when I got the text "We're moving into the Puppy Room," I went up on the hill to sit near him.  I got there just in time to watch what media folks were calling "the Super Pink Moon" grow right out of the eastern horizon.  

The Shawnee who hunted this hills before satellite dishes beamed in names to the natural world called the one that heralded our month of May "the Strawberry Moon." We'll go with that handle instead.

The writer in me wanted to hear a woodcock peenting as the sky began to glow;  instead, Doc and I got an angry wild turkey gobbling somewhere up Donkey Hollow, probably scolding an owl silly enough to try to claim this night as his own.

"We're moving into the Puppy Room," Lynn Dee wrote.  In a year dominated by other "p" words - Pandemic, Protests,  Parasite,  Prison for "Aunt Becky" (Lori Loughlin),  Ariana Grande's "Positions" -  I suppose "puppy" doesn't hold the candle that maybe Doc and I think it should.  

But this is our hilltop, our night.  We'll decide between moonshine and shinola.

                                            

Dreamboat Annie, riding a little low in the water at birthin' time.

After all, that's Doc and Mustang Sally's own daughter, all moody and miserable 6 and 1/2 hours north of us.  Reports are that she's refusing food, tottering out into the yard to relieve pressure - some pressure, any pressure - trying to get comfortable on the couch, on the floor...and now in the Puppy Room.  

P-words.   "Precipitation" is another.  It snowed today in Mio, and that's fitting, as a whiteout played a role in this litter from the start, threatening to derail the mating with Tip, from foolhardy travel to endless maddening foreplay in the upstate New York drifts. 

                                
In fairness, Annie's no Lady.  But then Tip's far from anyone's idea of a Tramp.


 Oh, and we can't forget "Pool," as in the one Lynn Dee Galey sponsored amongst the Firelight Faithful, trying to predict when Dreamboat Annie's cork would pop.  My date, May 1, is not looking so good under this big puppy pulling moon.

In the end, the "P" words holding Doc and me together tonight are "progeny" and "posterity."   Those are Doc's grandpuppies itching to get born.  Progeny,  Posterity, and Proof - proof that even though he cannot leave this hillside, Doc is not done, that his blood runs thick with class and companionship, grit and smarts and a predator's keen edge.  

                                                                       

  October Blue Doc in the alders.

He will hunt on through this batch of what, in a matter of hours, will start out as white mewling hamsters and then suddenly turn into little dogletts, surely some of them sporting a telltale "Doc Spot,"  all of them - every jack 'n' jill of 'em - a piece of Doc...which means a piece of maybe the best of me, too.

C'mon, Dreamboat Annie.  Ship full of dreams.  May this Strawberry Moon light you safely into port.




                                                            

Sunday, April 25, 2021

Checklist Time

 by Lynn Dee Galey

It was over a year ago that the juggling in my head of pedigrees and talents landed on breeding my Annie to Firelight KM Tip.  Both dogs were escorted to their respective vets for orthopedic xrays and cleared that hurdle easily with OFA ratings of Excellent/Normal and Good/Normal.  Back to the vets in January to verify clear of brucellosis and overall excellent health.  Eight and a half weeks ago a 16 hour drive through snowy whiteouts and then breeding maiden dogs outdoors as another foot of snow fell didn't stop us from achieving the actual breeding.  

Annie knew that she was pregnant by the time we got back home.  Subtle signs were there and by week 4 - 5 she had me convinced as well.  With only days now until the pups arrive she lays beneath the table at my feet, not wanting me out of her sight, and her normally slim athletic body is round and full.



I have been teased that I am a Girl Scout because I like to be prepared. No matter how many litters I have whelped over the many years, I still walk myself through a checklist to try to be ready for when the puppies arrived.  I am almost ready:

  • whelping box disinfected and placed in puppy room   
  • heated nest install into box and tested
  • new sofa for naps (me!) and overnight supervision as needed
  • new monitor/camera to replace my 1970's static-maker so I can sleep in my own bed yet keep an eye on things in the puppy room
  • side box and heat lamp to temporarily hold pups while Annie is still busy
  • call vet to make sure they are available. This was a big one this year. The one downside to having wonderful vets who are themselves bird dog breeders and hunters is that once a year they close shop and travel to their major breed event. When they told me they would be gone from Weds - Sun my heart skipped a beat. I rarely need vet assistance in whelping but when I need one, I really need one. I totally lucked out though as one of the hunters who is on the list for a pup is a vet and he generously agreed to be available to Annie and I if needed.  He is kind, experienced and knows me and my dogs.  Whew.
  • I have ample calcium and pedialyte here if Annie needs them during whelping
  • refrigerator is stocked with food for myself and Annie so I don't have to drag my sleep-deprived self out into public for a bit
  • there is a stack of clean "dog" towels ready to use
  • the usual equipment of scale, suction, clamps, etc are at hand
  • to be done this afternoon is to scissor down Annie's lovely feathering for hygiene and preventing puppies from getting tangled
  • my well worn dog reproduction book is at hand although I have read and re-read it so many times that I quote much of it.  My favorite section addresses the difficulty of being patient once the dog starts the earliest signs of labor. It says to begin reading a mystery novel and that about when you get to the who-dun-it part the puppies might be ready to arrive.  Now where did I leave that new novel that I want to read...... 

At the request of many friends and followers I continue to chronicle the process of producing my next litter of Firelights.  Send us good wishes and stay tuned.....





Saturday, April 24, 2021

Blest Be The Vines That Tie

 

by Randy Lawrence

Made during one of the very first Delmar Smith Bird Dog Clinic, this check cord has tales to wag.

Ok, so I confess.  I used to be kind of kinky for check cords.

They were in the middle of my everything.  I bought them.  Made them.  Worked dogs with them.  Worked horses with them when I was too lazy to fetch a lunge line.

I lost them.  Found them with the bush hog (!) and three times over the years had to cut them out of the riding lawn mower blades.  I broke them towing heavy things when I couldn't find a log chain or snatch strap.

I experimented with different lengths, thicknesses, material - even colors.  I mean, "Who could ever lose a blaze orange cord?"  I did.  The second one under the lawn mower ...

I soaked them in the horse trough, left them in a mud puddle to give them a gritty body.  I loaned them, never to be returned, and have been gifted them in the wrong ply, wrong shape, wrong clip, by well-meaning folks who didn't understand the kind of proprietary zeal I had with what they saw as "just a piece of rope" (or poly or nylon or hemp or any number of other unsuitable materials).

Nossir.  No, ma'am.  A check cord has to be slick so it can snake along behind the dog with fewer hangups than a Buddhist monk.  It has to be stiff but supple for easier translation of ideas between the dog and me.  Length and weight depend on the age and "burly factor" of the dog and what we're trying to accomplish.  

I know that a "lock jaw" snap is more secure, but my hands are trained for the standard bolt type connector...on a swivel of course.  After thousands of trials and triple that number of errors, the dogs and I have figured out what works for us in making connections.  We teach "Heel" with what we fondly call "The Hillbilly Half-Hitch."  We use a check cord with "Come here, *&#@", on quartering drills,  reinforcing steady to flush.  Most often a check cord just makes it easier to recapture a dog and bring her back in to be set up, loved up, coached up...then sent on, our handy handle vining through the cover behind her.

Pro Trainer George Hickox uses a check cord to employ what my friends and I call "The Hillbilly Half-Hitch" in honor of the Kentucky dog trainer who showed us this in 1982.  George is using it here as part of a steadying exercise for a very intense GSP; we use it with our setters only for very rudimentary "Heel" schooling.

I have seen miracles worked with check cords in the hands of master communicators.  I have seen train wrecks with check cords, too: over-controlling, under-schooled splatterninnies on one end and confused and annoyed canines on the other.  I have seen city hands scored with rope burns and have helped to untangle panic stricken gun dogs.  I have seen how quickly clever dogs (and horses) learn exactly how far he or she has to remain from the handler to keep the slithering, tantalizing end of that cord just...out...of...reach.

The root problem is this: As basic as it is, a check cord is mechanical.  It still can be misused.  It can actually interfere with connecting important dots, can douse enthusiasm, can encourage laze "training," can take the place of important repetition and shaping that takes longer but embeds a more lasting and deeper bond between handler and dog.  I have seen folks (with whom I've never trained again) run backward to time an outgoing dog just so that the animal is flipped arse over applecart as punishment for breaking some poorly trained and communicated command.  I have seen dogs learn to flag and go soft on point because some control freak was diddling with the checkcord instead of positioning him or herself where best to support the dog's stand.

I am check cord poor these days.  I have but two: a heavier model that is (embarrassed pause here) 80 ft. long.  A puckish setter fancier took one look at it and said, "That must be your pointer cord."

(OK...maybe there might have possibly, allegedly been a pointer on the business end of that cord a time or two.  She's not talking and neither am I.)

That bully cord was once bright red.  But I left it out all last summer on the porch after using it to pull that devil riding lawn mover out of a tough spot in steep terrain.  Now it's kind of a pale pink.  I am here to admit I am a secure enough male to flip a pink check cord.  

Jus' sayin'...for the record...

But I digress.  It seems the only check cord I use now, and I use it less over time, is probably 40 years old.  It was handcrafted by the patriarch of dog training clinicians, Delmar Smith, a patron saint of all we try to do with dogs and horses on this old farm.  By 'handcrafted," I mean a friend of mine paid crisp American greenbacks to wait in line at one of those early bird dog clinics, listening to Delmar tell stories while sitting in the shade during lunch, cutting lengths of 5/16" nylon, wrapping one end with electrician's tape around a bolt snap, and burning the other end black with a lighter.

We've had to replace the snap once.  If I think of it, I re-burn the free end when it gets frayed.  We're due for a singeing as I type this.

I wish I could bring back (most of) the dogs that wore that cord.  (Some of them) would wear it far less this time around.  

Delmar Smith's "Best Way To Train Your Bird Dog," ghostwritten by the best and brightest gun dog writer of them all, Bill Tarrant, was the first training book I ever purchased.  I still have that copy, signed by Bill.  It is stained, spine-warped, dog-eared, and fittingly puppy-chewed on one corner.  I don't necessarily recommend it as a cookbook, suburbanite-suited dog training manual, but I do consider it one of the very few Bibles in our sport in terms of fundamental methods, attitudes and ethics toward bird dogs and game birds.


From "Best Way To Train Your Bird Dog" by Delmar Smith and Bill Tarrant 

It only took about ten readings for me to understand that the three unifying principles of the book that matter most are Delmar's (and Tarrant's) notion of "Point of contact, repetition, and association."   In Delmar's training rubric, the check cord is just one mechanical means for "point of contact."  

For too many years, I needed all of those check cords (and a bunch of other gadget gear) in part because of all the knowledge I didn't have about establishing the very spirit of those three cornerstones.  Admittedly, part of that was the sort of dog I was running at the time.  Most of it was due to my infatuation for what I mistakenly perceived as short cuts and my moronic insistence that communication on the roll collar-pinch collar -chain collar-check cord-eCollar ran only downhill.

"Me, Tarzan.  You, Bird Dog.  Ungawa!"

The Firelight setters, Labrador retrievers, and (may God have mercy) Great Pyrenees that are charged now with my advanced education will put up with exactly none of that stuff.  They show me over and over that they do best when "point of contact, repetition, and association" is a broad bandwidth streaming into every aspect of our living together.  We all have things to say; we are all duty bound to respect those things in context.


Yogi, the Occasionally Great Pyrenees says, "Check cord, schmeck cord!"

My crew insists that school be in session from dawn til after dark, and "point of contact, repetition, and association" inform our every interaction, from who goes through a door first, how we take our meals, crate manners, the sanctity of the kitchen countertop, what is a "toy" and what is an expensive leather boot, when I want a 55 lb. English setter in my lap and when I don't, how we walk into the farm feed store and...oh yeah...how we go about our business in the field on birds.

We all do best when I spend more time receiving rather than sending.  Clumsy as I am, they are mostly patient and give me do-overs on lots of our interactions.  It's mostly a virtual check cord for us now, but I've brought the pink T-Rex cord in from the porch.  It's hanging in the mudroom where all and sundry can be reminded that Tarzan can still swing, albeit on a much more informed vine.



(Note:  Training suggestions in this blog are based on the experiences of the author of individual posts.  They have been proven to work for that individual with his or her dogs.  Neither Lynn Dee Galey nor Randy Lawrence presume there is just one way to develop a pointing dog;  however, these are "best practices" that have worked for them over a combined 90 years' field experience.)





Saturday, April 17, 2021

Of Puppy Prices, Innernet Surfing, and Trout Pate

By Randy Lawrence 


Firelight Cool Hand Luke

In a post-hunt huddle over smoked trout pate and adult libations, a guest went on at some length about the price of puppies, one of those yawn-inducing songs-of-himself that insured he would not be invited back.  Apparently he wanted us to know what he'd paid for his most recent prodigy, shipped into Columbus all the way from West Texas, dontchaknow.

As he laid out his outlay in graphic, cringe-worthy detail, I found myself carefully studying the label on my beer, you know, to see if they still admonished against drinking during pregnancy or operating heavy equipment.  I wasn't scheduled for either of those activities that afternoon, but I kept busy with my research, dreading what I knew was coming.

And come it did, just as our guest stopped to catch his breath and cram his boasting maw with trout-on-a-Ritz. I heard the rocking chair in the corner squeak.  Ice rattled in the signature plastic drinking glass, the Jameson all sipped away.  That's when our host, a curmudgeonly bird dog veteran from since before his guests were born, leaned forward and began the beguine: The Price of Puppies -  Lecture #9.


Firelight Encore Deacon and Firelight Encore Tucker

"Whatcha pay for a puppy is the expenditure that ought to matter the least," he said, teeing up the rest of the oration I'd heard, when prompted, for more than twenty years.  "Nobody ought to be impressed with the size of the check.  Nobody should be impressed by how far you flew that puppy in - matter o' fact, I got issues about people flying weanling puppies 'round the country, but that's a different discussion."

(Indeed.  That "discussion" I had archived under "Ya Don't Put A Puppy On A #@%*& Airplane, Vol. 1 and 2")

"What you want to talk about is why you went where you did to pick that particular dog.  What was it about the breeder's hunting that was like yours?  How long's he or she been breedin' the kind of dog you like?  Is she a reg'lar or just one of those, "I Got A Good 'Un An' So Does My Neighbor, Let's Bump Uglies One Time" people?  


Couch Full o' Firelights

"Didja get references?  Didja talk to folks who hunt like you do who have one of his or her dogs?  Did you get to see any of her dogs work or see 'em hunt over the innernet?"  

(The "innernet" reference was a recent addition to the text.  Our host was proud of being up to date on how folks puppy shopped in what he considered to be these debauched times.)

He shuffled to the sink and held his glass up to the window so his new pour could be backlighted.  Not a good sign.  That meant we were gonna get The Full Monty version of "Price of Puppies."  I was running out of beer and label reading material far too quickly.  But the cooler was out on the porch, and I figured I'd better sit tight.

The beleaguered guest sputtered into a meager pedigree defense.  "That's nice," our host said in a tone one might use for a child's Thanksgiving finger turkey drawing.  "I've heard of most of those dogs.  But did you get to see the sire of this puppies work?  What about the mama?  Do both of them hunt?  All wild birds?  Preserve?  A mix?  Did the breeder raise 'em?  Do they live in the house like your dogs do, or are they inside/outside like mine?"


Firelight Cool Hand Luke

There was a lilt of panic as our host offered "what a good business" his breeder had, given the price charged per puppy.  He'd have been better served to chew his own leg off to escape our host's frosty finale.

"Good business?  Seriously?  You think anybody who's doing this the right way is making real money?  Go ahead.  Do the math around what it takes to keep several, maybe even a half dozen or so good dogs in the field enough to really prove 'em out and know what you've got.  Think about the vet care that goes into a planned mating, especially one that happens away from home and a live mating is backed by AI.  Think about the time and effort put into planning a breeding of healthy dogs that are backed with OFA numbers...and call me crazy, but I want OFA numbers, not some ol' boy bragging that he knows what he's breedin', and these puppies' grandmammy was runnin' ahead of a jeep after quail until she was 14!" 



 Firelight Seth (top)
Firelight Storm

I didn't look up when the ice rattled. "Think about trying to arrange travel and work schedules to time up a heat cycle.  What about the vet costs in making that a little bit less of a crap shoot?  Think about whelping a bunch of pups, then givin' them the kind of medical care of shots, wormings, maybe even a BAER test, let alone constant handling and monitoring, stimulation and start on everything from house-training to blank gun conditioning to maybe even some pigeon exposure...Think about the phone calls and innernet mail, weeding through the trolls 'n' tire-kickers and bargain hunters, arranging pick-ups, meeting folks partway who come from off to get a nice puppy.  It's just endless.

"Hey - I made some money in business.  There isn't money in that business if you're doing things the right way.  I don't care what you charge a head.  The volume breeders turning out a bunch of puppies every year, speculatin' on pedigree paper, who don't hunt or trial or have any first hand way to evaluate their dogs, who don't x-ray, or who breed for looks or color or reputation or who knows what...maybe they make some money, at least for a while.


Firelight Mustang Sally and the Encore Litter by October Heath

"But that's a dirty business.  Disrespectful to the good dogs on those pedigrees, passing off puppies related to them as anything other than...related.  Disrespectful to customers who are after a bird dog.  Disrespectful to other folks tryin' to do it right."

Here's where I was ever so thankful for a pause filled by another guest who had brought a new shotgun for show 'n' tell.   His fetching that in from the front porch rack allowed The Puppy Guy to spread some more pate on a cracker to help swallow his pride, allowed our host to throw him a bone ("From what I saw when you had that pup out in the barnyard, she's a good lookin' rascal") and got me back to the cooler...just in case somebody mentioned "choke tubes."

October Blue Doc,  flush of an Ohio woodcock