How Stella Got Her Groove Back By JD. Wills
Copyright © 1998
Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of the information contained in this novella, we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein. Any slights of people, places or organizations are entirely unintentional.
DedicationThis story dedicated to my Mom, Ruth "Tootie" Wills for teaching me love everything wild and free
To my Dad, Dr. Charles "Doc" Wills for teaching me to hunt and love it.
To Claude Butler for teaching me to love bird dogs
To Ed Caudle for teaching me to always go to the front, 'cause you can't win from behind
To Lee Sienkowski Sr. for teaching me how to train a bird dog.
And finally to Dottie and Ren for teaching me that every dog does indeed have its day.
Chapter 1Stella jumped off the tailgate of my pickup and began to hop around excitedly as we uncased and loaded our guns. She belonged to Jim Holcomb, one of my oldest and dearest friends. Jim and I are about the same age and come from the same part of rural America, but Jim is still trapped in the sixties in many ways. He still calls people "man", says "neat", "groovy" and "far out." He is against the death penalty, he is against war of any kind and is as convinced now, as he ever was that the government or "The Man" as he calls it, is out to get us. It's hard to believe he is a very successful Financial Consultant.
I knew Jim way back when he really was a hippy in the late 60's, but like most of our generation once he earned his degree, and the money from Mom and Dad ran out, he went to work. He still wears his hair a little long and he has a beard, though not the long ratty one he sported in his college days. Jim like me was raised in rural America, and is at heart, a country boy and a hunter. I'll bet it would be awfully hard to find a man of our age who, like us was raised in Rural America that does not, or at the very least did not at one time, pick up his trusty shotgun and head for the fields and farms looking for what ever is fit for the table. Jim and I, unlike most of the other friends of our youth, have stayed in touch over the years and several times a year when schedules and life permitted we still scoured the brush and brambles for game. Today we were in central Iowa hunting that noble bird, the Chinese Ring-necked Pheasant. An import to our country to be sure, but the bird like so many other immigrants, my Ancestors included, has made it their home.
Dottie and Ren, my two German Shorthaired Pointers, were running up and down the fence looking for an opening to slip through. I called them back and Ren stopped to hike his leg on the way. Dottie came over and greeted Stella doggie fashion, sniffing and posturing. Dottie and Ren are Stella's parents, and the three dogs made a deadly team in hunting the wily Iowaigean Roosters that were our intended quarry that day. Ren soon joined in the sniffing and then all three dogs headed back to the fence. Jim and I were ready to go, so we followed them to the fence and helped each other cross into the CRP field we were sure would be, as always, full of pheasants.
We had hunted this field many times and had always had great success. Wade Iverson, the land owner, had told last night at dinner he had seen lots of birds all year and had only combined the neighboring bean field two days ago. He said while combining he had seen hundreds of birds move into the shelter of the CRP.
The dogs quickly headed into the high cover and in a few minutes we heard the shrill tones of a beeper collar, indicating a dog on point. We moved towards the sound and found Stella on point, with Dottie and Ren backing. As we approached, Stella began to move into a stalk. The bird was running. Ren and Dottie carefully followed and in a few moments Stella locked on a solid point. We moved in front of the dogs, and a pheasant came barreling out.
"HEN!" We both yelled as the bird rocketed into the air and headed out of sight. All three dogs stood steady watching as she set her wings and began that long glide that would take her to safety.
"All right, let's go. Birds in here. Hunt 'em up." I said to Dottie and Ren.
"Ok Stella, get in the groove girl." Bill said. And the three dogs began once again hunting the tall grass again. Twice more hens were flushed. The first time it was Dottie on point alone. Then Stella and Ren had one pinned between them at the edge of a drainage ditch with Dottie backing.
We turned and headed down the ditch with all three dogs acting very birdy. Each seemed to be working a separate scent trail. They crossed, crisscrossed, overlapped, backtracked and at times were lost. Suddenly all three dogs locked up on separate rock solid points. We moved carefully in front, and in an instant the cover seemed to explode as pheasants began to boil out, headed for the presumed safety of the open sky. A large rooster broke my way, and I rolled him up with a clean shot.
"Ren, Fetch!" I barked, and the big dog dashed after the crumpled bird. As he went by me another rooster broke cover at my feet startling me for an instant. I quickly recovered quickly and snapped a shot at the speeding bird. It took him in the rear, dropping both legs and he plummeted to the ground hurt, but nowhere near dead.
"Dottie fetch!" I shouted and turned to look and see how Ren was doing with the bird I sent him for. He had the big Iowaigean Rooster and was headed back, one large wing obscuring his face, blocking his vision.
"Over here Ren!" I called with a chuckle, helping the dog find me by my voice, and in a minute he placed the bird in my hand. "Good boy." I said as I took the bird.
Ren stood for a second and I patted his big head, but only a he had only second to spare for praise and he was off hunting another bird. I looked over at Jim and saw Stella bringing him a rooster.
"Good girl, Stella babe." Jim said with pride, as he took the trophy and patted her lovingly. "Far out Man, looks like Stella's in her groove today." Jim said beaming as he took a minute to lovingly stroke and pet the dog. Stella had been my "Pick of the Litter" puppy out of Dottie and Ren's second litter and I had given her to Jim when she was eight weeks old. At first he wasn't sure he wanted her, but that didn't last long. In a few days they were the best of friends. Now three years later Stella adored Jim all most as much as he adored her.
"Yes she is." I agreed, "They all are."
I looked towards where I had sent Dottie for the injured bird and saw no sign of her.
"I knocked another one down over there." I said, pointing. "But I don't see Dottie. Maybe we better go help her look."
"No problem, Man." Jim replied. "Come on Stella. Hunt dead."
"Ren, let's go help Dot, she's got one on the run."
We headed towards the spot I had seen Dottie disappear and the dogs were soon making game. In a few minutes we came upon all three dogs locked up on point. I slowly walked in front, looking for the bird, expecting to find it dead or frozen in place. Suddenly, a big rooster broke cover and barreled skyward, cackling his cry of defiance. I was so surprised I missed with both barrels, and Jim had no shot.
Thinking it was the injured bird I barked. "Dottie, Ren, fetch it up!" The two dogs streaked past me after the rapidly departing rooster.
"Stella is still on point here." Jim said softly. "Man, this is like too cool."
I turned and looked seeing Stella standing frozen looking intently into a heavy patch of cover. Jim, smiling with pride for his dog, walked in front of Stella, his gun at the ready. I quickly reloaded and moved up to cover the right side, in case the bird ran or flew that way.
"There he goes!" Jim shouted as the Rooster dashed into the open. Now Stella like Dottie and Ren are broke to wing and shot and will stand until sent for the retrieve, but we still never shoot a bird on the ground unless we know our dogs are standing. So I was surprised when Jim threw his gun to his shoulder without looking at his dog because this time Stella broke with the bird. In a split second Stella was flashing past him after the escaping bird.
What happened next, seemed to me to happen in as if in slow motion, I can still see it in my mind's eye, a moment of time frozen forever. The bird dashed across an opening in the cover headed for a multifloral rose thicket. Jim's gun was on its way up. Stella reached the bird and snapped at him. The big rooster turned and leapt into the air, his long spurs flashing as he tried to fight off the attacking dog. The spurs made contact with Stella's nose just as Jim pulled the trigger. To his credit he tried to pull off the shot, and the main blast missed her. She yelped as the rooster's sharp spurs slashed her nose, and then she screamed as the edge of the shotgun blast tore into her. Stella and the rooster were both rolled away disappearing into a cloud of exploding dirt and foliage. Time snapped back to full speed and I could hear Stella yelping and screaming in pain. Jim and I were frozen in place by what had just happened. Just then Dottie and Ren burst back through the cover and began to look around in confusion.
Jim dropped his gun and ran to Stella yelling. "STELLA! OH NO! STELLA!"
I called Dottie and Ren to me, and whoaed them. Both dogs stopped and looked towards the cover where Jim and Stella were.
"Jim, is she ok?"
"Oh, damn man! I don't know, she is bleeding everywhere, this is bad man, really bad."
'Jim come on, pick her up and lets head for the truck. We need to get her to a Vet."
I heard Jim sobbing and hurried over to where he crouched over Stella. He had dropped his gun and was on his knees just rocking back and forth stroking Stella's back. Stella was pawing at her face, shaking her head, whining and yelping in pain.
"Jim, come on we have to get her to a vet. Here, you take the guns and I'll carry Stella."
As I stepped by I handed him the guns. Then going down on one knee I carefully and gently picked up the injured dog. Stella yelped as I did, Jim dropped the guns and rushed over.
"You're hurting her man! Put her down!" he yelled.
"No, Jim, if we stay here she'll die! Now get the guns we have to get her to a Vet NOW!" I said sharply, a hard edge on my voice.
Jim stopped and picked up the guns. I cradled the injured dog against my chest. She whimpered, but did not try to wiggle free. I called Dottie and Ren to heel, and we headed towards the truck. It was a long walk and by the time we got there I could feel blood seeping through my coat and shirt.
Jim climbed the fence, and I handed Stella over to him and then lifted the guns and dogs over. As I bent to help Ren I saw he was carrying the dead rooster in his mouth. I took the bird, stuffed it in the back of my coat and patted Ren. I boosted him over, scrambled over myself and trotted to the back of the truck. I shoved the guns in the dog box storage compartment loaded and uncased. Dottie and Ren jumped in their kennels, and I closed the doors. Jim had lain Stella on the tailgate of my pickup and I got my first good look at her injuries. The left side of her face was covered in blood and in was still flowing out and dripping off her tattered ear and chin. Her left eye was full of blood and I knew she could only see me out of her right one. I took off my coat and tossed it in the back of the truck. Then stripped my blood soaked flannel shirt and carefully wrapped Stella's head in it. She didn't fight, but I could see the fear and confusion in her single good eye.
"Come on Jim, I'll help you get in the truck. Let's go."
Jim stood with his head down, tears streaming out of his eyes and dripping to the ground.
"COME ON JIM! NOW!"
I picked Stella up and put her in his arms. Then guided him to the passenger door. I eased him into the seat and ran around and climbed behind the wheel. I looked over and saw Stella looking at me out of her right eye. It was wide and filled with fear and confusion. My shirt covered her left eye, and she lay unnaturally quiet as we sped towards the vet's office 20 minutes away.
Chapter 2When we arrived I crashed in the front door in a bloodily tee shirt calling for a Vet the surprised customers and staff must have thought I was crazy. But, as soon as Jim came in with Stella they quit trying shush me and went into action showing us right into a room. The Doctor came in a few moments later and I could see by the look in his eye that it wasn't good. He asked us to go to the waiting room and I took Jim and led him out leaving the Doctor and his staff to do their job. It was more than two hours later before we saw the Doctor again.
"Is she going to be all right, Doc?" Jim asked jumping to his feet as the young Vet came into the waiting room.
"Well, she's going to live." He said with a tired smile.
"How is she?" I asked.
He pursed his lips and looked for the right words. "The main shot missed her as far as I can tell, but what hit her hit her pretty hard. I think we saved her left eye, but I'm pretty sure she is going to lose the sight in it. Her left ear is full of holes and the eardrum is ruptured badly. So she will be most likely be deaf in her left ear. But, a dog's hearing is so much better than ours I don't think it will affect her too much. The lucky thing is none of the shot got through to her brain. That whole side of her face and neck was full of pellets. I removed most of them, but some are in too deep to risk trying to get to them."
Jim was sobbing into his hands as the Vet talked. "Oh man, that's bad, really bad. Oh man..."
"Oh, and her nose is cut pretty bad too. Maybe a pellet ripped through it."
"Must have been that rooster she was after. He spurred her just as the shot went off."
The Vet furrowed his brow and asked. "What exactly happened?"
He listened intently as I told him the story.
He nodded and said. "Well accidents happen."
"But, I shot my dog man. Not just my dog, but Stella man Stella."
"We'll keep her overnight and if all looks well tomorrow you can take her home."
"Is she going to be all right, Doc.? I mean, will she still be Stella?"
"Well in most ways I would say yes. She will adapt to her loss of vision and hearing relatively quickly. Dogs are extremely resilient."
Jim slumped down in a chair his head in his hands as I talked to the Vet. He was a hunter himself and seemed to understand.
"This is why I never ground swat a bird." He said.
I nodded and said, "I agree, but our dogs are all broke to wing and shot and Stella more than most."
"Until now."
"Until now." I agreed.
"I don't shoot a running bird and didn't think Jim would either, but like I said she was dead broke."
"Well this time she was almost just dead."
Jim never looked up or said a word as the Vet and I talked.
"Can we see her?" I asked.
"Sure, she is sleeping, but I don't see any reason you can't see her."
Jim and I followed the Doctor into the back of the clinic and when we stood in front of Stella's stainless steel cage even my eyes filled with tears. The dog lay sleeping on her uninjured right side. The blood was gone, but the whole left side of her neck and head had been shaved, and the holes the pellets had made were visible. Her left eye had been bandaged, and the bandage was soaked with blood.
Jim stood staring at Stella's ruined face. "Oh man, this is not good. This is not good at all."
Tears filled his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks running in twin rivulets down into his beard. He turned and slowly walked away. He was in the truck when I came out the door and remained silent on the ride back to the motel. I parked, and Jim got out walking to his room without a word.
I put Dottie and Ren on their stakes and fed them. Then I cleaned the birds we had shot while waiting for the dogs to eat and do their business. I walked down to the freezer the motel provided for hunters and put the birds in. Back at the truck I unloaded, then cleaned the guns and put them away. As I did I thought about what had happened. Like Dottie and Ren, Stella had been broken to wing and shot. She stood steady until given the command to fetch. This done for safety's sake, a way of keeping the dog behind the gun. Stella was the one of the brokest dog I have ever seen, she never made a mistake. She always stood, even when other dogs broke and ran past her Stella would stand until Jim released her. It had all happened so fast. The bird had run and Jim had shot just as Stella caught the bird. Of course he was sure she would stand like she always had. Damn, poor Stella, poor Jim. Once the dogs were ready, I put them in their dog boxes then walked down and knocked on Jim's door.
He answered the door and let me in. Without a word he sat on his bed, and I took a chair at the table beside the window.
"You doing ok?" I asked.
Jim nodded, but I could see it was not true.
"Jim, it was an accident, it could happen to anyone. Stella is broke to wing and shot, you had no way of knowing she would break on that bird."
Jim nodded. "Yeah I know Man, but I still shot my dog. Not just my dog, my best friend. I should 'a checked before I shot, but damn man she always stands, always. I am really bummed. You know how feel about Stella. I've had her since she was a baby and I shot her, Man. I mean, I really shot her, bad, real bad Man"
"I know, Jim. I know, but she's a great dog. She'll be ok."
"She was a great dog man, but I ruined her."
"How do you know that? She might be fine. She has as much desire as any dog I have ever seen. She will bounce back."
"I shot her man, you saw her, she's a mess."
I know Jim, but it was an accident and even if she never hunts again she will still be Stella."
"I hope you're right man, I really do."
'Me too.' I thought.
Chapter 3When we picked Stella up the next day she was groggy from the tranquilizers the Vet had given her to keep her calm. She was so wobbly Jim carried her put and lay her gently in the back seat of my pickup. I had let Dottie ride back there too and seeming to realize her daughter was hurt she tried to mother her, gently licking her wounds and then curling around her for comfort. Jim seemed to be a little better now Stella was back with him, but every time he glanced back at her he cringed. The sight of her shaved and damaged head reminding him of what had happened. We stopped several times to let the dogs out, and although, she had to be helped out of the truck each time, Stella seemed to be doing ok. A little sluggish, but she seemed more like herself with each stop.
When we got back to my place it was after dark. I helped Jim get Stella in the back seat of his car and he headed for home. As I was unloading my gear, I realized Jim had left his gun. I looked down the drive and saw the lights of his car as he turned on to the road. I shrugged he could get it next time we hunted. I let Dottie and Ren out to run around a few minutes and then we went inside. They went to their corner of the living room and settled on their dog bed while I stowed my hunting gear. I grabbed a cold beer and sat down thinking back on the events that had unfolded of the last couple of days.
I was sure Stella would suffer some psychological damage as well as her obvious physical injuries. What had happened was tragic and had been one of those freak accidents you could never predict. I felt bad for my friend Jim, and as I sat there in the dark a tear rolled down my cheek unheeded. I felt for him and Stella. I could not imagine how I would feel if it had happened to Dottie or Ren. Stella was a fine young dog who had many great years of hunting ahead of her. I hoped this wasn't the end of her promising career.
I didn't hear from Jim for several weeks. Then I called and asked how Stella was doing. Jim said she had recovered as well as could be expected, but it was clear to me he didn't want to talk about it. We exchanged pleasantries and told him I had his gun and he said he would pick it up next time we hunted then we said goodbye. I felt a deep sense of loss. I was sure, I had seen the last Jim and Stella.
I didn't hear from Jim after that, and I am ashamed to say didn't call him either. Hunting season ended and after a cold snowy winter I was happy to see spring arrive.
I was surprised then when in early May, Kristi, Jim's wife called and asked me if she could drop Stella off. I said of course she could and asked how long Stella would be staying assuming they were going out of town and wanted me to watch her for them. Kristi said, she wanted me to take her and keep her at my kennel for good. I was silent not know what to say, astounded by the request.
"JD" she said "Jim never pays any attention to her anymore. In fact it seems to me actually tries to avoid her. I don't know what else to do. Its killing him and me too."
"All right Kris, you can bring her I'll ge happy to take her." Kristi seemed relieved and said she would bring her right out.
About two hours later I went out to meet her as she pulled in the drive. She looked stressed and seemed about to cry as she opened the door and called to Stella. The dog that crept out the car that day was a mere shadow of the fine young bird dog I remembered. This Stella was rail thin and out of shape, it seemed her desire and love of life, were gone. My eyes filled with tears, and I had to look away as I thought of the tragedy life had brought to this wonderful dog and her family.
"Hey Stella." I said.
The dog looked up at me, and I saw her left eye while still there was clouded and milky white. Her graceful head and ear were scared and tattered. She walked slowly over to me and sniffed. Her tail wagged, and she brightened for a second.
"Ok, she's all yours. I'll send you her papers." Kristi said in choking back a sob.
"Wait a minute Kris." I called. She stopped and I walked over to the car.
"Kris, why are you doing this? Stella is Jim's dog."
"JD., Every time Jim looks at her he gets tears in his eyes. I have been after him all spring to take her out and work her. So a last week end he took her out to the forest preserve and he said had to drag her out of the car. Once she was out she wouldn't even go into the field. Every time he stared to walk that way Stella would run back to the car and try to get in. He brought her home he put her in her kennel and he hasn't gone near her since. He told me what had happened and said not to ask him to take her out again. My God, she would have starved or died of thirst if I hadn't of fed and watered her, but even then she barely eats. You know when I asked what happened and he said she's lost her groove. Whatever that means. You know he blames himself for what happened JD., and to tell you the truth in a way so do I. Damn it JD I love that dog too but, as much as I love her, I love Jim more and her being in our house is killing him and ruining our marriage. Christ, he won't even use the grill or the deck anymore because he can see her in her kennel from the there." She stopped, her voice cracking.
"Kris, what happened that day was an accident, it wasn't anyone's fault, really, it just happened." I looked at Stella. "Are you sure about this? What are you going to tell Jim?"
"Yes, JD., I am sure. I know you will give her a good home or put her put of her misery. And as to Jim, I'm not going to tell him anything, and I bet he doesn't ask." Tears were running down her cheeks now.
"Ok, Kris, I'll take care of her."
"Just one thing JD., If you put her down please don't tell us."
"Don't worry Kris I promise, I will never put her down until she is old and gray. Not until it's necessary. She will be taken care of."
She smiled, tears streaming down her cheeks and started to say something, then stopped and just kissed my cheek turned and walked away shaking her head. She paused a minute at the car looking at me and Stella then she got in and drove away. Stella saw the car leaving and looked confused. I bent down and petted her.
"It's ok, Stella. You're going to stay with me now."
The car stopped halfway down the drive and for a moment I thought Kristi had changed her mind. Stella started after the car, but I called her back. She stopped and looked at me then at Kristi's car. But, after a few seconds Kristi drove away.
"Come on Stella, let's go get you in a kennel." I said, and headed towards the kennels. I looked back and Stella was standing looking down the drive. She looked at me and I called her.
"Stella, come." She started my way at a slow walk, looking dejected. She walked beside me to the kennel, but she didn't react to the barking dogs as we walked along in front of the runs. When I opened the door of an empty run she walked resignedly in then turned and looked at me, her one good eye was full of confusion and pain. My eyes filled with tears as I closed the door and started back to the house. I didn't even make it halfway. I went back and opened the door to her kennel.
"Come on Stella you can go live in the house with Dottie and Ren. It may not make the wife very happy, but I'll be damned if I can leave you out here girl."
Stella walked beside me back to the house. When we walked in the door Dottie and Ren ran to greet her. Stella stood and let them sniff her, but made no attempt to greet them back. In a few minutes Dottie and Ren went back to their places on the dog bed and Stella walked slowly after them looking around the house. I sat down and began doing some paperwork. When I went in to check a few minutes later and she was sitting in front of the fireplace, looking dejected. I walked over and knelt down in front of her. I gently stroked her head and tried to reassure her it would be all right, but I knew it wouldn't and it seemed she did too. Dottie came over and nuzzled Stella then she licked her face as I stroked her head.
Chapter 4Stella was no trouble in the house, but she was so stoic it was unsettling. In time we got used to her and she fit in to the household without too much disruption. A few weeks after her arrival I was going out to work a new batch of dogs and since I wasn't shooting any birds I thought I would take Stella along. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help her get over her fears. Stella however thought otherwise. At first she refused to leave the house, apparently sensing my intention. But, I finally coaxed her outside into the yard and then over to the training trailer where I lifted her into a dog box. She struggled briefly as I put her in and looked unhappily out at me as I closed the door. I almost relented and let her go back in the house. Pausing a minute I gently reassured her it would be all right, then climbing on my ATV drove out by the pond to one of my training fields.
Going to a shady open spot overlooking an open field spotted with clumps of cover I set up the chain gangs and got ready to unload dogs. In case you're wondering what a Chain Gang is, I'll tell you. The "Chain Gang" takes it name from just what it sounds like. It is one long chain held in place with two stakes and off of this chain at regular intervals are several shorter chains with snaps to which you attach a dog. This way they can see what's going on and when the "Gang" is excited they make can that chain shake, rattle and roll. My chain gangs each hold five dogs and this day I was using two, so I could have all ten dogs out at once. I like to work off Chain Gangs especially when I have new recruits so all the dogs can see what's going on. It eases the tension in the ones who are out for the first time and builds desire in all bird dogs no matter their training or experience level. Nothing will fire-up a young or inexperienced dog like a Chain Gang.
Since these were raw recruits and I knew most had never seen or smelled a bird. I took one of the homer pigeons I used for training out of its carrier and walked along the front of the closed dog boxes letting the bird flap its wings, rubbing it against the doors teasing them with the sight and smell. Stella shied away when I got to her so I just ignored her and moved on. I replaced the pigeon and then unloaded the dogs, snapping them on the chain gang. When opened Stella's box she didn't come out, so I reached in to get her. Recoiling in fear she plastered herself against the back of the dog box and when I stuck my hand in to get her, much to my surprise, she growled at me.
I stopped, not because I was afraid of her, I lost the fear of getting bit long ago, but because I didn't want to force her to do anything. I knew I could drag her out of her box and put her on a chain, but I saw no reason to force the issue. Forcing a scared animal to face its fear will only make it fear it more. Maybe that works for people, I don't know I'm not a "Shrink", but it does not work for animals I can promise you that. to get an animal over its fear takes patience, patience and more patience and even that may not work.
As a human being we can rationalize what's happening to us and find a way to deal with it, an animal can't. Oh I think they can rationalize on a limited level, but they see the world much differently than we do. I think for animals magic, monsters, demons and even gods are very real. So Stella could stay in her box if that's what she wanted. I would just wait and see what happened. Besides as the old saying goes "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." I was sure if Stella was ever going to get over her fear of fields, birds and guns, it would have to be done with patience and understanding not force. So I would let her proceed at her own pace.
Unlike many of today's trainers I did not attend the, "Beat 'em, Kick 'em, Shock 'em, Shoot 'em, Stomp 'em, School of Dog Training". I think you need to use patience, kindness and understanding, trying to let the dog almost train itself by figuring out what it is you expect and doing it.
Just like people each dog is an individual and what works for one may not always work for another. You have tailor your training to fit each dog, taking time to figure out the best way to get through to the canine brain. This way when done you will have a dog that, like you is out there to have fun, not one that is there by force and fear. One thing I know for sure, to train a dog you have to be smarter than the dog, but knowing that it's a wonder I ever get a dog trained.
Once all the dogs were out I went back to Stella's box and called her. She poked her nose out for a moment, but that was all. So I left her door open and went to set out birds for the first dog. He was quick moving young English Pointer who had never seen a bird until that day. But, when he did all the instincts buried in those noble Pointer genes came awake with a bang. From that moment on this was a dog with a mission, and that mission was to find birds. I smiled knowing he would be a good one. At that moment he would have done anything to get the object of his boundless desire, "A Bird!". He and Stella shared that commonality, or they had before Stella decided birds and hunting could hurt.
The first couple of birds the young Pointer winded he hardly paused and ran right in on. So I popped the releasers and held him as he watched in frustration while the pigeon lazily circled us before headed for home. On the third bird I brought him into across wind and when he hit the scent cone it surprised him. In an instant he spun to the bird and froze head high, tail high and ramrod straight, cheeks puffing as he inhaled that intoxicating scent every true bird dog loves. He stood poised every muscle tight as piano string pointing straight to where the bird lay hidden in the releaser. He only stood for a second or two then he pounced, but I was ready and with a push of a button the pigeon rocketed skyward to freedom, leaving the frustrated pup spinning circles barking, yelping loudly. Perhaps telling the pigeon in doggie language what a dirty bird he was and what would happen the next time.
I worked all nine dogs and Stella never ventured out of her dog box. Right then, the Irish rose up in me and I decided I was going fix her.
From then on I took Stella with me everywhere. She became my constant companion. The only time I left her home was if I was shooting birds. Otherwise, she watched me work dog after dog from the open door of her dog box. In a few days Stella was peeking out the door. In a few more days she was sticking her head out for a better view. I kept all my bird work on Stella's right side so she could see it better. Soon, she would even get out to pee and then jump back in. Then one day Stella jumped out of the dog box to pee and when I looked back she was backing the young dog that was pointing. I just ignored her, flushed the bird and moved onto the next one. When I looked for Stella she was back in her dog box, but had her head out looking intently my way.
The next day when I opened her dog box she came right out so I put her on the chain gang. I worked the other dogs, then put the last four birds and turned Stella loose. She started into the field, then turned and came back to me walking along beside me.
"It's ok Stella let's go, there's birds out here!"
Stella moved a little in front of me and when she entered the scent cone of the first bird she froze on point. Not much of a point, but a point none the less. She had no style and looked ready to turn and run any second.
You see sent comes off of a bird in a cone, now I suppose it comes off everything that way, but I know it comes off a bird in a cone. The scent is strongest closest to the bird and gets weaker farther out as the cone gets bigger. But, since a dogs can smell so well they can catch even a tiny hint of scent way out there. But they do have to be downwind. Did you ever see a dog run by a bird only feet or even inches away and wonder why? It's because the dog was upwind of the bird. Some people contend a dog can miss one on the down wind side if they're exhaling as they go by. I'm not sure I buy that though given a dog's sense of smell and the rate they are breathing when they are hunting. I have seen dogs catch sent at incredible distances and then move in to pin the bird. With bird dogs its scent that matters and that's what triggers the pointing instinct.
So when Stella entered that scent cone her instincts took over. Now she lacked style and she seemed nervous and worried, but she pointed. I slowly got down beside her, gently reassuring her as I stroked her back and tail. Once she calmed down I carefully reached down and pressed the button on my remote control, releasing the bird. When the bird releaser popped open Stella jumped back in fear, but the sight of the bird flying away seemed to pick her spirits back up. I released her, and she watched as the homer circled and headed back to the coop. We went to the next bird. Stella's style was better and she did not jump when the releaser launched the bird skyward. The third one was better yet. So on the fourth bird I stood beside her and when the bird was launched I ran after it encouraging her to chase shouting. "Come Stella, let's get him!"
Stella started after the bird with me, but stopped after a few steps. I went back to her, got down on one knee, and loved her up.
"Good girl Stella babe, you're a good girl." Stella wagged her tail and licked my face. This was first sign of the old lovable Stella I had known. She walked back to the trailer with a little spring in her step.
Over the next few weeks, Stella improved almost daily getting bolder and more excited. Until finally she almost seemed like her old self, but she still had not heard a gun shot. I spent several sleepless nights lying in bed, thinking and planning the best way to reintroduce Stella to a gun. I knew a mistake could be the end any chance of bringing Stella back.
Chapter 5The answer came by accident a few days later. I had left Stella home that day because I was going to be shooting birds. When I came home, I walked in carrying my shotgun, intending to clean it. The instant Stella saw the gun she got nervous and when I broke the gun open she yelped in fear running to hide behind the couch. I ignored her and slowly cleaned the gun calling Dottie to lie at my feet. I even lay the barrels against Dottie's side while I was wiping down the receiver. Stella peeked out from behind the couch several times while I cleaned the short Russian doubled barreled side by side I use in training, but I just ignored her.
The next day she went out with me and worked birds. She pointed each one stood steady, doing it all right and proper. I had taken a dead quail along and when we were done I whoaed Stella. Then took the dead bird out let her see it as threw it about 10 yards away. Stella looked excited and ready so I sent her for the retrieve.
"Stella fetch."
Stella dashed over, picked the bird up, and then as if only that minute realizing what she had done, she dropped it and with her tail between her legs slunk back to the trailer and into her box. I sighed and picked up the bird and headed back to the trailer. Maybe Stella was never going to get over what had happened that day in and Iowa field. I decided I was not going to give up. So I repeated tossing a dead bird every day for about a week until one day Stella finally brought me the bird.
I was so happy I had a tear in my eye as I lay right down on the ground with her and loved her up as if she had just won the AKC National. Stella was as happy as I was rolling around in the grass and licking and chewing on me as I rolled her back and forth. As we were walking back to the trailer with the bird dangling in my hand Stella took it from me and carried it all the way back. She gave me the bird when we got to the trailer, then jumped in her dog box and stuck her head out. I looked at her and she had the look of a happy satisfied dog in her one good eye. She had been acting more like a normal dog with each passing day. I guess the old adage was right. "If you can't fix a bird dog's problem with birds it probably can't be fixed." I had used birds, birds, birds tempered with lots and lots of patience, and a goodly portion of love to get to where we were, but Stella was still a long way from fixed.
She got better each time out becoming more and more the old Stella. But, I knew it all was for nothing until I shot a bird over her. The question was, did I do like I did with any other gun-shy dog or did I have to try something different. Stella hadn't been just gun-shy, she had been bird shy, people shy, field shy and gun shy. So what did I do? How did I get Stella's groove back? At that moment I had no earthly idea.
Chapter 6I kept on working Stella on birds, throwing a dead one whenever I had it and cleaning my gun every night whether it needed it or not, until Stella was no longer afraid of the sight. Eventually, she would even let me lay the barrels on her back while I wiped down the receiver. As time went by Stella came back to life, but I still hadn't shot over her, and I knew it was not something I could put off forever. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I followed my own advice.
The next day when it was Stella's turn, I took my large pheasant sized remote bird launcher and put a clipped wing pigeon in it and hid it in some light cover with open space all around. Then I loaded my blank gun with small crimped blanks and turned Stella loose. She hunted like the wonderful dog she had been and the instant she entered the scent cone she locked up on a stylish point. When I walked in front of her Stella never moved. She stood with style and intensity as I kicked around teasing her with the promise of a bird until she was up on her toes, then finally, I hit the button and launched the bird. The launcher built for a pheasant shot the pigeon high into the air. It sailed in an arch frantically beating its clipped wings to no avail. Knowing I couldn't and didn't dare try and hold her steady I sent her for the retrieve.
"Stella fetch!" I said, silently praying this would work. Stella flashed past me and pounced on the bird. As she took it in her mouth, I said. "Good Girl Stella babe." And pulled the trigger. The .22 crimp made its little pop and Stella dropped the bird and jumped back.
"Fetch Stella, fetch it up girl."
The bird began a mad dash for cover and Stella dove after it. I pulled the trigger again the .22 crimp made another little pop and this time Stella never even flinched. She picked up the bird and brought it right to me. I threw it again and again, until I was out of blanks and the bird was soggy. Stella had made a perfect retrieve every time. The next day I used regular .22 caliber blanks and each time Stella ignored the gun and retrieved the bird. The following day it was a .410 shotgun loaded with blanks. Stella handled it without a hitch. Then I went to a 20 gauge, loaded with blanks for two birds. No problem. In the third releaser I had loaded an unclipped bird and I put a live shell in the shotgun. When I flushed the bird and let it get out a ways before I killed it.
"Stella, fetch!" Not even looking back I said. "Stella fetch!" and the Stella of old flashed past me.
After that it all fell into place. Stella was a bird dog again. She hunted with drive and passion. She pointed with style and intensity; She retrieved with skill and dedication. Now I wanted to hunt her a time or two and then it would be time to call Jim.
Chapter 7A week later I walked into the Hidden Creek Hunt Club, which is right next to my kennel and Steve Reynolds, the manager, was sitting at a table having lunch.
"Hi Steve, what's up? I said
"Not much. How 'bout you?"
"I got Stella fixed."
"Hey that's great and it reminds me, I need you to guide a hunt for Saturday."
"Sounds good Steve, when, morning or afternoon?"
"It's a morning hunt. 8 am"
"No problem. How many birds and how many guns?"
"25 pheasants, 4 guns."
"Ok, I'll be here."
I sat down and ordered lunch. Steve and I talked about birds, and bird dogs. After lunch I said my goodbyes and went back to work.
Saturday morning came I was there and ready. I had Dottie and Ren in my truck ready to hunt. After much deliberation I had left Stella at the house. She was fixed, but I wasn't sure she was ready for 25 pheasants and four guns. I was sitting having a cup of coffee when my party walked in the door. I looked up and almost spilled the coffee down the front of me. Jim Holcomb and 3 men I didn't know were walking over to me.
"Hi, Jim." I said, standing and holding out my hand. Jim returned my greeting then he politely introduced me to the men with him. He didn't ask about Stella, and I didn't either. I didn't know what to say. I was going to tell him, I just didn't know how... yet.
'You know, I have a gun that belongs to you Jim." I said. "You left it at my place when..." I trailed off.
Jim paused a minute with a strained look on his face then he said. "Oh yeah, Man, cool, could I get that from you?"
"Sure thing, I'll go get it right now Jim."
I walked over to my house and got Jim's gun. Stella met me at the door and it was obvious she wanted to go. She was almost frantic and tried to slip past me out the door.
"Not today, girl." I said, though for a second I flirted with the idea of taking her next door and giving her back to Jim along with the gun. But, I wasn't sure how he would react, so not wanting to upset his hunt I left without her. Maybe I would tell him after the hunt. When I went out Stella tried to slip out the door with me again. I felt bad, but I didn't take her.
A little while later Jim's hunting party and I were standing in the field getting ready to begin the hunt. Dottie and Ren were out, getting loose, while Jim and his friends loaded their guns.
Once everyone was ready, I gave my safety speech.
"Ok, gentleman, there are 25 pheasants out here. The dogs will find them and point them. You four will shoot them. The dogs will then retrieve them. DO NOT shoot low flying birds or birds that run. DO NOT shoot rabbits. You may however shoot other, in season, game birds that we find and flush if you wish. Of course if you do then you will be billed for them in addition to the 25 Pheasants. And finally, do not shoot yourselves, each other, me, but most importantly, DO NOT SHOOT my dogs."
I saw Jim flinch as I said the last sentence. I felt bad, I wished I could take it back, but I had given the speech without thinking, it was the same speech I gave every time.
So with nothing else to say I said. "All right, lets go." and turned toward the field.
Dottie and Ren headed towards the first strip and began working as a team one on each side. I put two men on each side of the strip. It wasn't long before both dogs were both locked on point. We flushed five birds out of the first strip, and the hunters killed three of them, but Jim never fired a shot. We paused at the end of the strip, and I dropped the dead birds. I would pick them up after the hunt.
Dottie and Ren were next to me sniffing the dead birds, and getting a drink from the bucket placed at the end of each strip when I saw a dog streak by me and disappear into the strip.
"Damn, someone's dog is in our field. I hope it points and holds." I said, looking around.
"Dottie, Ren let's go." I said as we headed into the strip after the dog. We had just entered the strip when I saw the dog standing on point. Dottie and Ren backed and I quickly walked up intending to grab the dog's collar and leash it, until I got back to my truck where I would put it in a dog box until the owner could be found. But, as I got beside the dog and reached for its recognition hit me. It was Stella!
I looked back and saw Jim was on her right side and he wasn't looking at the dog. He had no idea this was Stella. I didn't even pause I just stepped in front and kicked the bird out trying to aim it Jim's way. It was a big rooster, and jumped into the air cackling in defiance as it broke to the right towards Jim giving him a perfect passing shot.
"Take it, Jim!" I yelled and he did.
He folded the rooster up and I turned and shouted. "STELLA FETCH!"
Stella ran straight to the bird, picked it up, and I didn't say a word. I just turned and looked at Jim. He was staring transfixed at Stella as she came straight to him, the big rooster held gently in her mouth. She stood in front of Jim and waited for him to take the bird. He didn't move for a minute, and, then he dropped to his knees taking the bird from Stella. I saw tears streaming down Jim's cheeks as he laid the bird and his gun down. Then, taking his dog into his arms he buried his face in her fur and sobbed. Stella stood looking proud and happy wagging her tail. When Jim raised his head to look at her she licked the tears off his face.
Jim got to his feet and looked at me, his face and eyes asking a thousand questions.
I wiped away my own tears then winked at him as I turned to my dogs and said. "All right, let's go."
I held Dottie and Ren back from then on letting Stella and Jim take the lead. She had six more finds and retrieves with Jim handling her on each one before we hit the end of the strip. After the second bird, Jim was smiling and working with Stella like they always had. We stopped to drop off birds and let the dogs get a drink.
Jim came over to me and asked. "How did you do it, man? I thought she was ruined. I gave up on her"
"Stella did it, Jim, not me. She's a bird dog, and a bird dog lives to do just what she's doing right now."
"She's great, she's just like the old Stella, man. She is grooving. This is far out."
"She IS the old Stella, Jim. She's the same dog she has always been."
"Yeah man," Jim said nodding, "She is the coolest, isn't she?"
"Yep, she sure is Jim. I guess you could say, Stella got her groove back."
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