Of Kings, Queens and Knaves

There were still a couple hours of light left, and the old trainer wanted to work some dogs yet. The sky was overcast but appeared that the storm was gonna pass to the north and besides, the weather report that he listened to on the old AM radio, only called for a chance of rain. He went out and caught his old horse. He decided to road his two young irish setter derbies using a double snap, from his horse. He had a new fangled ATV, but he enjoyed roading dogs the old fashioned way occasionally, just as he did in his youth. He smelled rain in the air, so he tied his oilcloth duster to the back of his aussie saddle, and mounted up, just in case. He was halfway through his roading course, and a light rain started falling. He whoaed his two derbies, and they dutifully stood there as he untied the duster from the back of his saddle. He put on the duster and continued on, but was soon caught in a fast moving prairie storm. The thunder rolled across the prairie and the lightning lit up the overcast sky.

The old horse was edgy, feeling the static in the air, lightning struck on a low bluff not a quarter of a mile from him and the old trainer, knowing about cattle killed and haystacks set on fire, decided to head back to camp.

The wind had come up and he found himself heading into the teeth of the storm. His fur felt Stetson, had rivelets of water running off the brim, and he was grateful that the duster had a cape and collar to keep the cold water from running down his neck. He kicked the old horse into a fast racking pace, and the young derbies responded well. Evidently, they wanted to be back in their dry house too.

He arrived back in camp, and unsaddled the horse quickly, and turned the old horse out into the paddock, and the old horse immediately went into the loafing shed. The saddle was hung under the gooseneck of his trailer and the young derbies followed him into the house. He hung his duster and hat up on the hooks in the entrance of the house next to the door and went inside.

By now, the storm was directly overhead and lightning struck nearby and the electricity went off. He grabbed the kerosene lantern from the hook in the covered porch, that he kept for such an occasion, and struck a farmers match and lit the wick. The skies had grown dark and without the light from the kerosene lantern he would be unable to see.

Since there was nothing else to do he reached up on the shelf and picked up an old deck of cards, to play some solitaire to pass the time until the electricity came back on.

He set up the cards, and the first card he turned over was the King of Diamonds. He thought back to dogs of the past as he contemplated it. He thought of a big running black and white pointer. Doc was breed in the blue, all of his grandparents were in the Field Trial Hall of Fame. He was the first field trial dog he owned. Doc possessed a huge heart and the old trainer thought of the time in Arizona at a field trial, where the pads on all of his feet were raw and bloody but he would not quit. He had 5 clean finds at that trial and was still running hard and going away when the judges called time. He won that trial. The old trainer hunted and trialed that dog, all over the intermountain west and also in Texas. Doc had an uncanny ability to work running birds, often pointing only to self correct, make a wide loop and work back towards his handler to pin the birds in between. This trait had been the undoing of many birds, and often the old trainer came home with a heavy game bag when other hunters had not bagged a bird.

He continued to turn over the cards and make some plays, when he uncovered the Queen of Clubs, as he moved that card over to place on top of the King of Diamonds. He once again, thought of dogs past. His mind went to a beautiful, little brittany puppy. Misty also came from a long line of field champions, including a couple of Hall of Fame dogs. He thought of her insane drive for birds, in her puppy years she would often point only to break as he got close and bust the birds, just to watch them fly and chase them. When it came time to start breaking her, she proved to be exactly the opposite of the stereotype of brittanies. She was stubborn, obstinate and tough. He tried breaking her with a soft touch as everyone recommended and found that it didn't work. This was in the early days of e-collars and he never used one. He would work Misty with her dragging a check cord work her into birds, and she would break, and be corrected. Eventually, she started to stand broke on pen raised birds using a check cord. On wild partridge, and pheasants, she reverted quickly to her black hearted ways. He was young, and inexperienced then, at a loss, as to what to do, asked a trainer with a great reputation what to do. The trainer recommended that he use a flushing whip on her, and give her a sound thrashing for breaking.

Well, with a heavy heart the next time he worked Misty he carried a flushing whip. Misty true to form broke and he caught the check cord, hauled her up short and gave her a couple good whacks on the chest. He stood her up and a few late birds flushed and she stood there with style and poise. He continued to work her and she found five more coveys and never moved a muscle. She had learned to respect him, and although once in a while she would need a refresher for the most part she never tested him much. But, it was always in the back of his mind that she would. Yes, he reflected with great affection, the Queen of Clubs fit her well.

A few more turns of the cards and up came the Knave of Diamonds. As he moved the card over on top of the Queen of Clubs, he contemplated, the beautiful irish setter derby asleep at his feet. He was aptly named for a pagan god of war. Because, the dog attacked the cover and objectives with speed, style and a single determination, in the pursuit of his quarry. The dog was smart, and tough. He had shown that he was honest on his birds, but like all young dogs, he sometimes was caught up in youthful indiscretions. The old trainer had run him a few times as a young puppy in derby stakes in the South, the young dog had done well but was immature in application. Now, as a coming two year old, the young dog was putting it all together, on the prairies and the old trainer felt he was the next great one. Yes, the Knave of Diamonds fit him well.

A few more turns of the cards, and the King of Hearts was revealed. The old trainer contemplated that. His mind settled on a beautiful tri-color setter he once owned. He ran the dog in a few field trials and he did fine, but his greatest attribute was his sweet disposition and he was a great wild bird dog. The dog was his companion from the forest to the plains and everything in between. Grouse, partridge, pheasant, and quail were his quarry and he handled it better than any dog the old trainer had ever had.

The hour was growing late but the game was still not finished. He turned over the Queen of Spades, as he moved that card on top of the King of Hearts, his thoughts turned to a beautiful retriever bitch. She had been a gift to his brother for his 18th birthday. But, his brother was more interested in fast cars and girls than the sweet retriever, and he felt sorry for the sweet, black dog. He started by throwing a ball for her, and found that she loved fetching it to him. He was young then, only 15. But, soon he and the little retriever became constant companions. He trained her through the summer and when opening day of pheasant and duck season came. He found himself in a pothole bordered by sage brush that he knew held wood ducks. She was very obedient by then and walked at heel as he sneaked up on the edge of the pothole to ambush the ducks that he was sure would be there.

As he peered over the edge of the brush a huge flight of ducks lifted and his dads old automatic shotgun, flew to his shoulder and barked three times. The flight of ducks was raked by heavy loads of 5 and 6 shot. Six ducks hit the water, and the little retriever went out and retrieved the ducks floating on the water. It was a couple miles walk back home so he decided to skirt the edge of a corn field. The little black dog quartered in front of him and dove into the corn field, a gaudy colored pheasant exploded from the corn field and he fired as it cleared the top of the corn, it was not centered and fell with only a broken wing. The little black retriever was gone for a long time but returned with the still alive pheasant in her mouth. He bagged another pheasant that she flushed on the way home.

A few more turns of the cards revealed the Knave of Hearts. His mind drifted to a sweet setter. He was a big raw boned dog. Big, blocky head and a heart the size of Texas. He was a great wild bird dog, as well as a great trial dog. He remembered one weekend he had shot a limit of birds over him one day, driven 300 miles and had won a field trial with him the next. He shot many species of upland birds in several different states over the course of the dogs life. The dog was his constant companion for most of his life, riding in the car or truck almost wherever the old trainer went. He was at home in the live oaks of Arizona, the mesquite flats of Texas or the forests and streams of the Northeast. The dog was one of his greatest and he probably will never be duplicated, but the old trainer had tried with some success.

A few more turns of the cards, and the old trainer found he had no more plays. The night had grown late, and the electricity had just come back on bringing with it the distractions of the modern world. The old trainer blew out the kerosene lamp, put away the worn deck of cards and called the young irish setter to him as they both retired to the hope of a new day, with great adventures on the prairies.

Keith - Posting from Under the Rusty Windmill