Outdoors - Macho dog

   After the hunt the other day, a couple of friends and I were standing around shooting the breeze as is required. A good hunt requires more talk than walk.  Eventually, the conversation got around to dogs. It is a guy thing, especially for a hunter, to have a dog. The macho image would just not be the same without one. 

   One guy’s dog was Jake, the other’s, Bud.  My dog’s name is Billie. That is a good solid name. I was holding my own in the arena of macho until we got around to what kind of dogs they were. Jake is a lab, Bud is a German Short-hair, and Billie is a poodle.  When the laughter subsided, I explained, poodles really are hunting dogs. They are about the size of labs and were originally bred as water dogs. They make excellent retrievers for duck and goose hunters. I do not happen to hunt ducks and geese, so Bille is a bit confused about what to hunt. Last spring was his first experience with geese. We were walking along the lake shore and spotted a pair of geese with ten or twelve goslings on the lawn in front of the cabin. As we got close, they headed into the pond. Ancestral instincts must have been triggered in Billie and he thought he needed to retrieve the geese.  He bounded down the hill, jumped into the water and started swimming after the closest one. Apparently unaware the goose is supposed to be shot before retrieving, he was startled when the old gander turned on him. With flapping of wings and much honking, he chased Billie back to shore, much faster than he had gone out. He has since not gone into the water after a goose or for any other reason. He has though retrieved other things. Our morning routine consists of letting him out to do the necessary things while I get the get the mail, feed the livestock and drink coffee. I let him back in the house when I head downstairs to the office. It is early when I am leaving, so in the darkness and my semi-somnolent state, I do not always notice all the details I probably should.

   One day last week, Billie caught a chipmunk and brought it in the house when I was leaving. As I went downstairs to the office, the dog thought it appropriate to show his trophy to my wife who was still sleeping. Billie’s pacing the floor and whining caused my wife to finally open one eye to see a large happy dog holding a furry critter in his mouth. During the somewhat incoherent yelling, I was able to determine the animal was indeed a chipmunk, it was dead, my wife was not happy, and the dog thought he had done something wonderful.  This was not a good day for the relationship between my wife and Billie. It did not help to explain that I thought chipmunks hibernated or that it was at least dead and not running around the house. Things did not improve yesterday. I made it all the way to town when I got a call from my wife about another furry forest creature in the house. Billie had caught a mole or a vole, I am still not sure which and had deposited it inside the back door. He at least had learned the folly of his ways and not awakened my wife with his prize. I have also learned the error of my ways and will thoroughly search the dog when he comes in. He is learning to hunt, sometimes not at the appropriate time or the proper game, but he is going to be as macho as the next dog.