I often smile to myself when I think of two pets in particular that once graced our acreage north of Wagner. We acquired Brown, a female Chesapeake Retriever pup, back in December 1977. At this same time our kids befriended a tomcat they named Morris. For reasons unknown to me, Morris decided to “mother” Brown. They were inseparable as they slept side by side. There was no need for us to do the hot water bottle thing with our new pup. As Brown grew, Morris slept on top of Brown.

While I worked with Brown on commands such as “stay” and “sit,” as well as gun shyness by first firing a .22 around Brown and gradually working up to my 12 gauge shotgun, it became obvious that most of Brown’s training came from Morris. Morris taught Brown to sneak up on gophers and such by inching along on her belly. Morris was a hunter, and he loved to display his skill by laying dead rabbits on our backdoor step in the morning. Brown followed this lead! One spring morning I found a young dead fox on our back doorstep. Imagine a dog sneaking up on a fox!

Brown learned the fine points of pheasant hunting in one afternoon. On the October 1978 opener, I had Brown follow me into the 80 acre cornfield that adjoined our property. She had absolutely no idea what was going on. Halfway across that cornfield I downed a rooster pheasant and had Brown sniff it. From that point on she led me with her nose to the ground. She retrieved the next bird and was “soft mouthed” while doing so. Within the next hour she was pointing birds in the adjacent cattail slough. I don’t know that Brown ever lost a bird that she saw go down.

Getting back to Morris, he displayed a behavior I found most unusual. He liked to go along on hunts, and would walk behind Brown and me as we walked through a field. He preferred row crop as it was more manageable than CRP. I’d like to say that Morris pointed or found dead birds, but that never happened. I’m sure her presence related to Brown.

Brown was exceptionally smart. When I dropped a bird or two in a slough in the middle of a cornfield, rather than traverse the heavy cover and go directly to the bird, she circled the slough and entered through the backside. How she kept her bearings I don’t know. She also guarded our property. When a strange vehicle pulled into the yard, she held the inhabitants at bay until I gave her the OK. From that point on she remembered and permitted their entry without provocation.

Brown could also be incredibly obedient when she wanted to, but she was hard-headed at times. Brown knew that she could enter our entryway but never enter the house proper. One afternoon I caught Lisa, our middle daughter, trying to lure Brown into the house. She assured Brown that t was alright. When that didn’t work, she laid out cold cuts of luncheon meat on the floor just inside the doorway and told Brown to come in. Brown trembled, but she didn’t enter. I can’t remember, but I hope she gave Brown the cold cuts once they had been spread on the kitchen floor. In her final days, Brown couldn’t get up on her hind quarters, but if I picked up my shotgun, she jumped up like a pup. In my mind, no greater dog ever existed. When Dr. Dressler, our local vet, put Brown down with a merciful injection, she was 14 years-old.

Back in the later 70’s and through the 80’s, I got home from my principal’s job at school around 4:30. Usually I had to be back at school by six, but this gave me 45 minutes to hunt pheasants. Brown and I walked from our yard, and I always managed a bird or two. Those days are gone because the pheasants are gone. What happened? The governor’s bounty on predators is fine because it encourages our youth to trap, but there’s no doubt in my mind that the problem relates to pesticides and herbicides. Clean rows spell profit, and that’s not about to change. Let me know your thoughts.

See you next week.