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It was dark when they reached the old clapboard farmhouse that John knew so well. Inside Bobby had done some modernizing over the years. There was also some newer furniture in the living room and a big flat screen TV attached to a satellite dish. But it was still familiar to John. They didn’t dare put the dogs in the kennel until morning when they’d had a chance to check for snakes. They ran out their chains and fed and watered the dogs, then put them back in the trailer for one more night. During the night the temperature had dropped down into the low 50s and their day began at first light. They killed two snakes that had crawled into dog boxes in the kennel, washed down the runs, and then put the dogs in them. They killed another snake in the run-in shed and then turned out the horses in the corral. The rancher who owned the land had recently put a fresh round bale in the feeder and the horses were soon arrayed like spokes on a wheel around the bale.
They continued to set up the place. The two dozen pigeons that they brought for yard work went in the coop, the grain and dog food went in the shed. They got the four wheeler running and rigged it up with harnesses. Mack put eight dogs in the harnesses and took off down the road for a half hour work out – he would do that three more times to get all the dogs started on their summer conditioning program. Bobby grabbed a checkcord and a young dog and started doing yardwork. Many of the dogs in the kennel belonged on Bobby’s field trial string, the young dogs were field trial hopefuls, and there were a few gun dogs that were being worked for one of the smaller plantations that didn’t have a full time trainer.
As Bobby led a dog out to the one old cottonwood in the yard, John followed along and asked, “What do you want me to do?”
Bobby had expected the question and had thought long and hard about his answer. It wasn’t in John’s nature to sit around and watch – he’d want something to do. “As much or as little as you want to. Although I have one problem you might be able to help me with.”
“I will, if I can.”
“See the big male pointer with the full liver mask?” Bobby pointed and John nodded, “Well, he goes back to some of those dogs you used to run. But he’s a derby this fall and I haven’t been having any luck working him. He fights me every inch of the way and every time I turn him loose I wear out a horse trying to round him up. The man that owns him told me not to bring him back south if I couldn’t place him in a derby up here. I think he’s got what it takes but I can’t make the connection with him. He’s your kind of dog, John.”
John wandered over to the pen and just looked at the dog. The dog didn’t bark or jump around, he just looked back at the old man, hoping that he would unhook the latch and give him a chance to run the country like he did last summer as a puppy. John reached for the latch and he could see every muscle in the dog’s body tense, but still he didn’t move. John started to open the door and then shut it hard as the dog tried to bolt for freedom. He calmly said whoa and then walked away.
“Let me think about it.” John said as he walked back over to Bobby and the shade tree. They talked of dogs and field trials for the rest of the morning while Bobby kept up the yardwork. When Mack had finished roading all the dogs, they took a break for lunch. As Mack and Bobby headed for the kitchen door, John went over to the kennel and repeated the process of getting the dog to attempt a break out. Bobby smiled. He knew he had hooked John. He also knew that John was the best chance the dog had.
In the afternoon they saddled up three horses and took a ride out around the lease. Bobby kept riding down along the sloughs and into bluffs checking for birds and found them in most of the expected places. It looked to be a very good bird year. John worked the kennel door twice more after their ride and on the last time the dog stayed put, allowing John to enter the run. John spent a few minutes stroking the dog and talking quietly to him. When he left the kennel the dog tried to seize the opportunity and found the door one more time.
John fell asleep in the chair in front of the TV while Bobby was fixing dinner. After dinner they talked for a while before going to their beds as the evening twilight still lit the western sky. That night John’s dreams took on a new aspect – the liver and white pointer that was now his responsibility ran the prairies and pointed birds.
The next day they fell into a routine they would follow until the 15th of the month when they could begin working the dogs on wild birds. Mack got up and cleaned the kennels and then roaded dogs until they had all been out. Each day he added a little time and a little more speed to the workouts. He and Bobby had agreed long ago that roading should be faster with less pulling. They wanted dogs that would be able to run the endurance stakes in the South as well as go flat out for an hour in the late summer and early fall trials on the prairie. Bobby kept after the younger dogs in the yard.
John could go in and out of the kennel with ease now and Buster – he had re-named the dog – as in “watch it, Buster” – would sit patiently and wait for the old man to put a pinch collar over his head. Buster came up hard against the collar a couple of times before he allowed John to lead him around the yard. John drove a stakeout right next to where he and Bobby were working the young dogs and Buster would spend the mornings there. He fought it at first and then gave in. After a few days, John went out after supper and took Buster for a walk down the road. When they came back John took the dog to his room and closed the door. In the morning he took him for another walk and then brought him in the house where John gave him a bowl of water, a strip of bacon, and a pat on the head before the dog laid down on the floor next to the old man’s chair. The next time they went to town, Buster rode in the back seat with Mack.
Buster began doing the same yardwork as the rest of the puppies and derbies. He mastered each task John asked of him but it was obvious from his body language that he understood this was not what a real bird dog was designed for. When up on the whoa barrel, Buster would stare off to the distant hill dotted with small bluffs, with a look in his eye that would lead you to believe he knew where he should be and was only doing this to humor the old man. When they checkcorded Buster into carded pigeons he would slam into a majestic point and then all the style would drain out of him as he realized it was just another dumb pigeon.
When the 15th arrived the program changed. Dogs were turned loose on the prairies and birds were found. Some were pointed. Some were busted and chased. When that happened Mack or Bobby would ride down the offender and bring him back to the spot where the birds had got up. At first, they would just get a couple of taps with a flushing whip – as the summer progressed the price of infractions would escalate. For the first hour each morning, Buster found himself in a roading harness attached to John’s horse. After just a few days he was backing the pointing dogs on his own. By the start of the second week, John wanted to turn him loose.
He asked Bobby to put a set of heavy welding cables on him so he could not get away from him. Bobby offered John his electric collar, but John had quit training dogs before they’d gotten good and had never used one. He did agree to allow Bobby to put a tracking collar on Buster. Even dragging the cables, Buster took off for the nearest bluff at a full run. All three of them loped along behind him and saw the dog freeze into a beautiful point just on the edge of the thicket. Mack was off his horse first and picked up the end of the cable.
John got off, walked into the bluff, and a whole brood of sharptails blew out the other side. Buster never moved. He just watched them fly over the hill. John came back to him and spoke in his soft Georgia
“I’ll be damned.” Bobby said shaking his head, “What do you want to do now?”
John reached down and unhitched the welding cables. Bobby started to object but John spoke to Mack, “Just hand me that checkcord, when I get back in the saddle. That’s enough for today.”
Mack did as John asked. Buster fought the rope, wanting to go find more birds, but a “Watch it, Buster!” from the old man quickly had him headed back to the truck where more dogs were set loose. Buster finished his hour in the harness before being returned to the trailer. John stuck with his plan, slowly allowing Buster more time loose with the cables and always ending it with a find. The next step was to leave him down for two finds, and then to run him with another dog. It was going well, but John was not yet ready to turn him loose without the cables. The roading and running with cables had Buster rippling with muscles that were becoming harder as the summer progressed. He still slept on John’s bed and rode in the truck. He even went to church with John on a couple of Sunday mornings. Many of the people at the small church still remembered John and asked after Etta Mae and then offered their condolences. Buster was staked out in the shade and then many folks came over for a visit after the service as others talked in the churchyard.
John had already decided that no matter what, Buster would not be buried on the prairie if he did not get the obligatory placement. John knew the dog was capable of getting it done in a derby stake, but so were many others and there were always things that could go wrong. At times, at places like Mortlach in Saskatchewan
By the time of the first trial, Buster had proven to John, Bobby, and Mack that he knew where the birds were. John still kept him under control with cables but had reduced the weight and let the dog have more independence. Once or twice Bobby had used the tracking collar to locate the dog, but always found him on point – almost in a trance as he drank in the scent of the birds before his nose.
When they were loading up to go to the first trial, John turned to Bobby, “I’ve done what I can with Buster, now it’s up to you.”
Bobby’s mouth fell open as he looked at John, “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I’m too old to be running a dog in a trial.”
“I don’t remember ever reading that rule.”
“Your customer isn’t paying you to have some old man run his dog.”
“All the owner cares about is the dog getting a placement. He wouldn’t care if the devil himself ran the dog, if he could get him around. But you’re the only one that dog is going to listen to. Either you run him or he stays on the chain.”
John did not answer for a long time. He turned and stared off across the prairie. A tear welled up in his eye. He wiped it with his sleeve and then turned back to look Bobby in the eye, “I guess I don’t have any choice.”
The next day the championship began and John visited with those who knew him back in the day. Many of the younger trainers knew his story and he soon found himself surrounded by them in the gallery as they asked him about the dogs he had run. Some even asked his advice. The championship lasted for three days and for an hour each day he roaded Buster at the back of the gallery. One of Bobby’s dogs took runner-up laurels to make it a good start to the season.
Buster drew the sixth brace out of twelve for the derby and John had butterflies in his stomach as Mack held the dog at the breakaway. When the judges told them to, “Turn ‘em loose,” Buster broke away with a breathtaking burst of speed. Everyone watching assumed he’d let up in a moment or two. But he didn’t. At the 15 minute mark he was just a dot on the distant horizon going to the right side of the course. Then he went over the hill. As the course turned away from where they had last seen the dog, Mack was already wide to the right at a full gallop looking for Buster. When he got to the top of the hill, he reined in his horse, and raised his hat. The two judges almost beat John to Mack.
Buster was posed up in front of a small bluff with his head high and his tail pointing straight to the sky. John got off his horse and handed the reins to Mack. When he stepped in front of the dog, six sharptails came out of the thicket and sailed towards the distant horizon. John collared the dog and handed him off to Mack. He struggled a little getting back in the saddle but he was soon sitting tall as he experienced once again the thrill of a good dog getting the job done in the heat of competition.
As John rode to the front past the judges, one of them leaned towards him, “Just hold on to him for 10 more minutes.”
“All I can do is try. It’s up to the dog to do the rest.”
Five minutes later the dog was gone again. Mack was off like a shot as John continued to ride to the front, singing to his dog. When the judges called time five minutes later, Mack still had not returned. Five minutes after time, the judges conferred and then suggested they ride off in the direction where they thought the dog had headed. When they got to the top of a rise in the prairie they could see Mack galloping from bluff to bluff. They waited another five minutes before they turned to John and one of them said, “That is the best looking young dog I’ve seen in a long time, but we can’t wait any longer,” and handed Bobby his tracking collar receiver.
John knew how things were and thanked them for looking at his dog. When Bobby turned on the receiver it gave off the steady beep of a dog on point behind where Mack was now riding. John followed Bobby to a huge bluff where Buster was so buried in the cover that they would have ridden right past him as well, if they hadn’t had the signal from the tracking collar. John got down off his horse and flushed the birds for Buster then just hugged the big dog. Mack arrived and tried to apologize for missing Buster. But John just smiled as they put the harness on the dog and said, “There’ll be other trials.”
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