22
March 2012
Sometimes Even the Best Laid Plans go Awry - Thank Goodness! by John Martino It’s interesting how even some of the best laid plans don’t turn out as expected. But I’m not complaining. This was the case with our two dogs
Jesse and Liza-Jane. It began a little over three years ago with a conversation between my cousin Jim and me. We had just lost our previous pet, a beautiful yellow lab named Josie. My cousin was the owner of several high powered English Pointers. They were born of champion blood lines, which really didn’t matter to me. All I wanted were decent hunting dogs and more importantly, pets. “I have just had this one bred,” he said, patting his sweet-faced liver colored female on the head. “I want your two boys to have pick of the litter,” he added. My family is no stranger to animals. We have had dogs our entire lives, not including livestock and other assorted critters. I have grown up around dogs, yet I have never wanted any animal, dogs included, to share the inside of our home. Our pets are allowed to run free on our property, until night fall, where they are then relegated to the comfortable enclosed kennel, under roof, located behind my shop. Several months later, my cousin’s dog Penny gave birth to a beautiful litter of multi colored pups. Seven weeks later, after they were weaned, my two sons Anthony and Joseph picked out their pups. Even though they were technically the boys’ dogs, I knew in reality who would end up with the responsibility of raising them. Jesse was primarily white in color with liver colored spots like her mother. Liza sported a black face and ticking which became more predominate as she grew older. For the first several days, the boys pleaded their pups be allowed to stay in the house. “They are only babies,” they whined. Less out of compassion and growing more tired of being continually nagged, I conceded. The “girls” as I called them, spent most of the daylight hours outdoors, but night time usually found them scampering around the house. It was time for me to establish ground rules and I was going to draw a firm line on dog behavior. “They can stay in the house for only a while
longer,” I said, “but in no way is this permanent.” “There is to be no barking, no messes on the floor, no running around, no stinking…and NO sitting on the furniture!” They could stay in the house as long as they laid on the floor, as motionless as the carpet itself! By the second or third week, both Liza and Jesse would rest on the sofa, curled up in my lap. I loved stroking their silky ears as I watched their small chest rise and fall with each breath. “I am glad you’re sticking by the no furniture rule,” Anthony would say with a smirk. I quickly learned that when hunting dogs join your family, you are not head of the household any longer. I have to admit, from the dozens of dogs we have owned, these were by far the most beautiful. Even as pups they had deep chests, sculpted muscles and a face that would break most people’s hearts. “These dogs sure are lookers,” the vet and her staff would always say when we took them in for their shots. As time went on, they grew more rambunctious and even more beautiful. Their athleticism amazed me as they could run like the wind for hours on end. I looked forward coming home from work just to watch them prance around like proud, gaited horses. I have always believed there are
A well-deserved rest for a hard working hunter.
few sights more beautiful than a bird dog, swinging from side-to-side, vanishing then reappearing in the thick cover, then locking up firmly on point. Eyes blistering with intensity, nose stretched outward and tail ramrod straight. From the onset I began, albeit it short, training sessions. I quickly realized if you ever hear someone say they don’t
John Martino with Liza and Jesse on a northern Indiana pheasant hunt.
have time for a hunting dog, they are probably telling you the truth. Without plenty of time, most of us will never get to know our dog or ourselves for that matter. I also realized at no time in my working career could I have sufficiently cleared my schedule, or my mind, to understand that training is not about teaching it to act like a human. Learning in dogs may take up to 2,000 repeated repetitions. And a puppy can only take a few short sessions each week. You definitely cannot rush things. Because of this, both dogs have become pets rather than hunters. Sure I take them in the field each year, more out of respect than anything else. Most of the time I watch them rocket out of sight, waiting for them to return later. If I’m lucky, I watch them point for a few seconds before busting birds into flight then chasing them in an effort to run them down. “They sure are good hunting dogs,” my brother Jimmy always tells people. “John turns them loose then spends the rest of the day hunting for them,” he muses. Then a little over a year ago, tragedy struck. We had noticed a lump on Jesse’s belly. It started out small but grew quickly. After several trips to the vet it was finally diagnosed as cancer. “It’s inoperable,” she sadly admitted. “Damn!” I said out load. “Even dogs can’t escape that dreadful disease.” The vet suggested putting her down but probably from our own selfishness, we couldn’t. She had become part of the family so we decided to take her home and let her live the rest of her life where she belonged. After several months, she got to the point where she couldn’t even raise her head. Her eyes would still follow you’re
every move. Even though I have always been the one to take care of things like this around our house, I couldn’t bear the thought of me being the one. We couldn’t stop petting her and thanking her for the joy she brought to our lives as she was driven back to the vet. She is back home. Although we still had Liza, it just wasn’t the same. Losing 50 percent of our dog population wasn’t easy. We missed our pet and Liza missed her sister. Since then, the love and affection that was divided between two dogs, is now reaped upon one. Life has moved on and Liza has become the sole princess of our house. My emergence as a dog man has even surprised many. I have always loved field dogs, but as I mentioned earlier, I never wanted them in the house, much less woven into the very fabric of my life. I am beginning to believe the bond between Liza and myself is that thing called love. I feel so blessed when she jumps on the sofa and falls asleep with her head in my lap. Even though there have been only few moments that contained a point, a pheasant and me pulling the trigger, there have been others that are equally as important. Yes, things sure didn’t turn out quite as planned. But I’m not complaining!
John Martino has traveled the world as an outdoor writer. He’s found the true trophy is always the experience.