Embedded Files
1. Stories about Banjo (our good hunting dog) Dueling Banjo, Price Check and Bonfire of Beauty are up.
2. Coming Soon--Stories about Delta (our bad hunting dog)
3. General Dog stories. "Going Out" is up
Dueling Banjo: “Thunder Chicken”
Over a year ago, against my will, we obtained a hunting dog puppy, a German short hair pointer, which we named, “Banjo”. Since then he’s been trying to train me to hunt birds. My Uncle, who would be Banjo’s “Grandpap”, made it clear that when I took him home, any dog of his was to return a hunter (no pressure, especially since I wasn’t even sure I wanted a pet dog). He also informed me that he’d been “shooting over” Banjo since the day he was born and I must continue this activity with him to ensure he didn’t become gun shy. So, of course, right off the bat, I made a huge mistake.
When we got him home and settled in we got around to start our training. Training which I’d never done alone and from the beginning. I’d only participated in portions of bird dog training previously. Figuring gun shy prevention would be the no-brainer part, I thought I’d go easy on the little fella, and grabbed up my smallest shotgun a 20 gauge, took him out in the woods, stood over him and pulled the trigger. If he wore pants, he would have crapped them. Me being a, “if you fall off the horse get back on” kind of guy, or more, “if your dog ruins his pants when you shoot, shoot again kind of guy”, I laid another crack over his head and at that point he wanted to run for the hills (feeling so light and all). When I gathered him back up, I figured I’d show him guns were no big deal by cuddling this now eye twitching, nervous tick jumping, shivering pile of fur into my arms and as I caressed and consoled him I pulled up the gun and fired again. That time he crapped my pants…Ironically, my bird dog, the grouse hunter, had become a “thunder chicken”.
After that solid start, not everything was downhill from there. Banjo loved the idea of running through fields and brush and even bullying small animals such as grouse and rabbits…as long as I wasn’t carrying a “hell stick”. All was well and good and fun until I picked up a branch and held it like a gun, then, it was straight back to the house and up under the tightest space he could get hidden up under. At that point, I deduced the current situation and his relationship with guns would impede any aspirations I may have had of hunting with my dog. To make matters worse; I couldn’t figure out a way of talking my Uncle into going hunting without guns when we took him back down to the family farm for “inspection”. He is a traditionalist who holds the notion that humans should fully participate in a hunt. So, I had to seek help. First tip I got about gun training was to shoot a small cap gun or starter pistol far from a puppy and work your way in and whatever you do, never ever cuddle a dog that is afraid of guns then shoot…great.
Banjo had proven to be a smart dog and was keen to all my tricks into getting him and a gun together and then shooting him with cupid’s arrow. If I put a gun with his food, he refused to eat. If I took him for rides and made him sit with the gun he would tolerate it until the truck stopped and he could get out, fast. Meanwhile, a funny thing started to happen. As he worked beautifully in the field and I became responsive to all the cues he was giving me, I started to enjoy working with him and wanted even more to be able to act as team to actually hunt. As a reward for our long hours of work in the field, he contracted lymes disease and I rocky mountain spotted fever. Among other things, he trained me to move right and left and to inform him, verbally, when I knew there was a bird nearby and to carry “birds” or chase sticks for him. He also managed to make me bird crazy. He was pretty proud of how far I came and pretty happy with our communication and relationship but he really wanted me to ditch the idea of playing with guns.
Finally, we had a break through last Spring, after he finished doing my taxes. (What? I couldn’t keep him down forever). He agreed to allow me to come with him to bully small animals and carry the gun too but I couldn’t load it or raise it to my shoulder. It was a start. After many hours (and so much dry firing I broke a firing pin), I got to shoot at a distance from him and bring it somewhat closer. Then we got some help from his “Grandpa” and got to work quail together and he managed to begin to forget about the gun.
The night before grouse season, he considered running away but decided to just break out and spend the night having a dog’s “rumm-shpringa” you know; running all night, rolling in dead stuff and other dog debaucheries but to my surprise he came back. He explained that he didn’t think he could afford to buy his own food and support his two packs a day cigarette habit. He didn’t believe he had employable skills (especially after I gave him the impression that he made several mistakes on my 1040 EZ form and the dog warden was with the IRS...ooops.) So, on the fateful brisk fall morning, after he lapped up a bloody mary, we went out. Eventually, he pointed, a bird went up and I shot and he stuck it out! Sure his eye twitched some as he lit a butt took a long drag then ground it out with his paw and as I held my breath (second hand smoke is bad), he looked over and said, “Let’s do that again.” Yahoo! Off we went as a bonded pair, enjoying the satisfaction of working together on a common goal.
Now it is late season, the prime time of my grouse season as I am, primarily, a post Christmas small game hunter for a number of reasons. We are working on a few little things like reading when he is “birdy”, when he is not, trusting each other, the balance of him staying the right distance ahead as I work on keeping up with him. Yep, everything is going almost perfectly. Almost everything, other than he’s grumbling about figuring out a way to train me to actually hit the birds that he kicks up. He thinks it would be a good idea and I’m trying to please him but I’m just not getting it down yet…
See you along the stream
PRICE CHECK
I’ve been goofing off in the woods again and as such have come to another deadline with nothing to write. Such is the life a dreamer. This year I’ve been a bit more melancholy during the turn of the season. My Father passed this summer and his birthday came and went. It is soon followed by the anniversary of the passing of our beloved hunting dog Banjo. Those two have taken up what little space is left between my ears. To commemorate the time I decided to dig up an article discussing the care and comfort we tried to provide for Banjo before he passed. He had to have a catheterization daily and so we had to try to make it easy for him. The efforts spawned this article from 2010, “Price Check(Y)”. Enjoy your dogs. Especially if they hunt.
The lengths I’ve gone through for my dog haven’t matched my wife’s efforts but I have forced myself out of my comfort zone on his behalf. For example, we needed more KY Jelly to help him get his catheter in. (I never thought I’d have an excuse to talk about KY jelly in an outdoor article: How can I pass that up?) I was tasked to get the personal lubrication my dog required. This is no time to brag but That took a large lump of bravery on my part. I’m pretty shy and I had an impossible time acquiring such things for my own benefit from that isle back in the days when, you know, I was told to be prepared or be lonely. The same old familiar terror gripped my throat when I strolled into the pharmacy (in another town). Just like the old days, as I passed under the establishment’s threshold, everyone in the store looked at me as if they’d been expecting a pervert. At least this time I didn’t have to worry about any protective relatives working the register. So, with that tidbit of comfort, I pulled my hood up around my face and scurried into the toothpaste section, then regrouped.
Darn the luck; there was no sign indicating where I might find the product I required. I casually looked up and down the pharmacy lanes praying to the Saints that what I needed would come with a different name and be found with something; not embarrassing. Then I found embarrassing stuff; medicine for pinworms and lice, etc. I was overjoyed and relieved as I scoured through that section that I might get lucky and people would just think I’ve got a case of pinworms with lice. But noooo, of course, they couldn’t put any lubricants with the parasite medicines, so on I went. Just to be sure and hoping against hope, I looked in the shoe polish section for lube and found none. Then I wondered if I could just use a little gun oil on Banjo’s catheter and maybe he wouldn’t notice, after all he reads English poorly. This seemed to be a good plan until I noticed all the label instructions included Spanish AND German; I was out of luck trying to fool Banjo with a false lubricant.
So there I went in the aisle that had all the prophylactics, etc. I swear everyone in the building stopped in their tracks just to stare. “No problem, I could do this for Banjo.” I thought as I wiped the sweat off my brow and took in the products in the section. I can say this, “Oh my”. Things have changed since my “heydays”, so many selections, some even intriguing but it was back to business. Quickly, I sorted through the many different types and brands and I do mean many. Finally, I noticed a generic brand of KY type jelly. I admit, I wondered how that would go with a fellow human, you know expressing your devotion while trying to use a generic brand and all…awkward. A “slippery slope” indeed, Banjo would have to deal with it. I grabbed it.
I’m no rookie so I didn’t just run to the counter with my product. First, I checked three times to see if it had a price tag on it and it was clear. There’d be no embarrassing price checks on the loud speaker...this time. I had already cleverly remembered to pick up $200.00 dollars of other miscellaneous items in order to bury the real sale, too. I dropped all my goods off in front of a nice seeming older lady who had just got done talking about church with another lady in front of me. While that had been going on; I wondered who would be a better person to make my purchase from. I hadn’t come to a conclusion yet when she looked at my veritable cornucopia of products overflowing her counter and asked, “Is that all?” I gave her my best, “Seriously?” look. She shrugged and started inputting the costs into her register (I suspect she had also reached under the counter to push a secret button). I tensed as she got to Banjo’s lubricant. She picked it up and then…she paused…and looked at me; I hate that. I couldn’t help it, I had to defend myself. I blurted out, “It’s not what you think. It is for my dog!” An eyebrow went up. I thought, “Maybe that didn’t come out right.” I started to make a correction to my statement when she picked up the micro-phone and asked loudly, “I need a price check on a box of lice medicine and pinworm cream.” Whew, I relaxed. I made it. All I had to do now was wait for the manager to come up and give the parasite prices then pay. My strategy of overwhelming her with extra products had worked! Everyone just thought I had parasites. Success at last! Relieved and slightly proud of my cunning success, I picked up my bags and proudly walked out the door, imagining great applause.
See you along the stream
BONFIRE OF BEAUTY
Banjo is gone. I feel guilty about this article. I included you in the process by doing the previous articles about Banjo. To be honest, I did so because it was supposed to be a happy ending. I don’t surrender well. I really thought we could pull this out and Banjo would run again. 1. So I’m sorry to have to end this story with the news of failure. I shouldn’t have put myself in the position to feel obligated to write this one. It has been very tough. 2. We all have losses to bear; it is part of life and highlighting the loss of our dog seems petty compared to what others have lost and others we have lost. We recognize that we are very fortunate and feel very grateful for our time with that damned dog but we are still heartbroken. My personal feeling is that there are many forces that control the destiny of man and beast during our time on earth. Observations over time and reflections on those we’ve lost has lead me to believe that maybe we are all here to do something and we are here to achieve a perfection based in achieving an ability to love selflessly. Once you achieve that and if you’ve managed to take care of what impact you are meant to have, then the Lord takes you back. Those of us who grow old may still have a role to fulfill or maybe haven’t achieved that perfection yet and eventually may be tasked to try again. Those who’ve passed young were taken because they are the ones who achieved the light of perfection early and accomplished their missions quickly.
Of course, for a dog, loving comes easily. I’ve had several dogs in my life before and I’ve loved them all, but Banjo had a special spark about him that was uncommon. There is a bond that grows with a hunting dog that is stronger than just a house pet. Working, walking and training builds a literal inter-dependence on each other. It will be very lonely now walking the forest without my “satellite” working in perfect tandem. It is like I lost a half without each of us showing each other stuff; working on each other’s behalf in constant communication.
Like so many dogs, Banjo knew what we were saying to him better than we could determine what he was telling us. I’d ask him if he wanted, “to go” and before I could say where, he was up with those happy eyes shuddering and ready. To Banjo “go” meant “together, with”…it was his favorite word. It didn’t matter where we were going to go just that he was going to be “with.” He knew the words for the places, though, too. He understood where that was, if it was Vet or Farm or anything in between - he knew the difference. Heck, he’d not only get excited, he’d prod you along and get out the appropriate clothing for the occasion. Even though he hated the Vet he’d be excited to go just to be with us saving any complaints for when we actually got there.
Of course, his favorite thing to do was hunt birds at our farm. He was bird crazy but incredibly gentle. He would “retrieve” training quail and pigeons multiple times and I was always able to release them alive when we were done.
There’s no doubt he was part of our family. Born of a bloodline that my relatives have hunted with for decades, the kids picked him out and Dana brought him home and mothered him as if she herself gave birth to him. In return he loved and protected them right back, twice as hard. The last time he stood, he mustered it when someone came to the door and he managed to put himself between Dana and the door and give his best bark.
So, my gravest sadness is that we had to send him off without us. As his hunting companion my instinct was to go with him but I can’t yet. There was almost an audible tear in the air the moment he left us. He’ll be okay, he’ll be taken care of even though he had to go without us. He was ready. He was suffering terribly and took a turn for the worse. The bones seemed to be healing but apparently there was damage to his guts that we couldn’t overcome.
On October 6th, 2010, two years and two months to the day after Earth got a little spark, dog heaven received a new light, a new star. They are getting him in his prime, freshly trained and proven to be an excellent hunter with incredible stamina and speed on a radar of a nose. He pranced when he walked and lived to run. There have been so few things so soothing to me as watching that coiled ball of love and muscle tear across fields and forest with that expression of joy on his face, perfection, pureness and innocence was with me, if only for a moment.
Three days after Banjo’s last, I was able to go to the farm. While there I looked down at a spot along the road only a few yards from where Banjo was hit and laid down. It is a spot I’m very familiar with. There is no grouse habitat nearby; I have never seen a grouse near there and there is no reason for such a bird to be there. Yet, there lay a beautiful grouse, still warm but dead without a mark on it. I don’t believe in coincidences, I got the message. That bird will be mounted.
Within my family’s lore is the story of my Great-Grandmother’s passing. On her deathbed, surrounded by family saying goodbye, she was very quiet but uncomfortable. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and a look of calmness and happiness came over her. She sat up and looked almost healed as she exclaimed, “Oh, Mary, you’re so beautiful!” Then she was gone. If I am blessed enough to have a similar moment, I don’t think I’ll have to ask, “Where’s Banjo?” He’ll be “with”, it was his favorite word.
See you along the stream.
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