John knew that was coming, “I can’t afford to campaign a dog. And you know it. So, it would just be the same deal of you supporting a dog with my name on the papers instead of yours. Buster needs a new owner that will believe in him like we do.”
“You’re right,” Bobby finally agreed, “but owners are not all that easy to find in this economy.”
That was the end of the conversation as they pulled into the yard. Mack was finishing up the last horse. That afternoon they watched a preseason football game and didn’t talk any further about Buster. Monday morning they were back at it. Friday they would head out to the next trial and Bobby was a little worried about it. The gallery talk at the last trial was that the grounds they were going to were really short on birds. They were just far enough away to have experienced some different weather during the critical nesting and hatching time. A late spring snowstorm followed by a very dry summer had the bird numbers way down. Everyone said it would take a heck of a dog and some luck to find birds during the championship and the derbies would have to run after the championship when what birds were around had already been pushed.
John continued to run Buster every day with cables to slow him down. On Thursday he and Bobby ran him with one of Bobby’s best dogs. Mack just about wore out his horse trying to scout both dogs as the workout turned competitive between the two dogs. They swapped finds and backs for nearly an hour until John called for Mack to put Buster in the roading harness. Bobby did the same with his dog and just shook his head as he looked at Buster, “If we could get him qualified, we could run him in a championship or two before we head South.”
“That’s a pretty big if, and there’s no reason to rush him into the hour stakes.” John said as Mack handed him the rope attached to his harness.
“It might make it easier for us to find him a new owner.”
“If Buster’s meant to be with us, things will work out.”
“Faith is a good thing to have, John, but it’s been my experience that it rarely pays the bills.”
“We’ll see.”
In the morning they headed north and crossed into Canada
The first day of the trial only two dogs had any bird contacts and one of those was lost before the end of the hour. The other was the dog that Buster’s owner was looking at. It had not been a very impressive race, but it was the only dog on the board at the end of the first day. In the second brace on Sunday morning, Bobby put down the dog that had run with Buster on Thursday and he scorched the prairie with a true all-age race that took him to the farthest corners of the course. With only five minutes left in his brace the dog swung wide to the right and stopped. He was just a white speck in the distance standing near a small bluff. Bobby raised his hat out in front of the judges and spurred his horse into a lope. One of the judges and the gallery did the same.
Buster’s owner was riding, as were a couple of other owners, as well as a young guy nobody seemed to know. He had shown up Saturday pulling a couple of horses, but without any dogs. Even at a lope, it took a few minutes to reach the dog. Mack and Bobby got there first and waited for the judges. They both dismounted and Mack held the horses while Bobby went in front of the dog to flush. At first nothing happened and you could feel the disappointment starting to build in all who were watching. Then a single sharptail boiled out of the far end of the bluff, set its wings, and glided for the horizon. Bobby fired his gun and then collared the dog. There were literally only seconds left. He led the dog back to the horses and handed him to Mack. He mounted and was about to have Mack turn him loose when the judge called time and told him to put the dog in the harness. The judge could have asked that the dog be turned loose to show that he wasn’t going to follow the bird in a delayed chase, but this was a performance that he would be happy to use as champion, if it didn’t get beat by one of the remaining dogs, and he didn’t want anything to go wrong.
The dog truck came up and everyone took a break as they swapped dogs. John was standing off by himself drinking a Coke as Bobby and Mack put the dog that had just run back on the truck and got another one out for the next brace. The young guy who had ridden the brace walked over to John and stuck out his hand – he was the second surprise, “Mr. John, I doubt if you remember me, but we met a long time ago.”
John shook his hand and looked carefully at his face. There was something familiar about it, but it didn’t register. John had a knack with names and faces and even after being away from the sport for 25 years could put names to faces that he had known back in the day. But the man standing before him looked to be in his mid-30s. He didn’t sound like he was from South Georgia , and if John knew him from his field trial days he must have been just a boy back then, “You get to be my age and it’s sometimes hard to keep all the faces straight.”
“My grandfather was one of your customers before your wife took ill.”
That’s all it took. The young man standing before him resembled his grandfather, William Sutton, and as John looked at him he remembered the boy. They called him Trey, as he was William F. Sutton, III , and he had come south to some trials with his grandfather to watch the dogs run. One of the two dogs John had qualified for the National the year Etta Mae had her stroke had been one of the senior Sutton’s dogs. John remembered that Trey had even come to the house with his grandfather to look at some puppies when they were down for the Masters. John had ridden in the gallery with Trey and explained what was going on to him. He remembered him as a serious little boy who took it all in.
“They still call you Trey?”
William F. Sutton, III broke into a huge smile and then became serious, “No sir, Grandpa died about 10 years ago, and my father died this past winter, so there isn’t much point calling me Trey anymore, although I always liked it when Grandpa introduced me that way.”
“He was sure happy when he had you along.”
“It was mutual.”
“I don’t think I ever met your Dad, but I’m sorry to hear about his passing.”
“Thank you, and my condolences on Miss Etta Mae. I remember sitting at her kitchen table and drinking iced tea while she made lunch for you and Grandpa and me when we visited.”
“Thank you. I remember that as well. Your grandfather let you pick out a puppy that day. Whatever happened to him?”
“Grandpa kept him at the farm and he and I hunted him whenever we got the chance which was never often enough. I got busy with girls and sports then college and grad school. Then I joined the family business which I just sold after my father died.”
“Your grandfather had a big beer distributorship up North if I remember correctly.”
“Nothing wrong with your memory, Mr. John. People drink a lot of beer and the business had grown substantially in the last 10 years. But my father died behind his desk and I decided I didn’t want to go out the same way. I found a buyer and moved down to Grandpa’s farm in North Carolina
The break was over and the judges were mounting up. Mack stood at the breakaway holding another dog from Bobby’s string. When the call to “let ‘em go!” came the dogs were off across the prairie with the handlers singing to them. The judges fell in behind and the gallery followed. John and the young Mr. Sutton were at the back of the gallery.
“Well, Mr. Sutton, what did you think of that last brace.”
“I think it would be just fine if you called me Trey. “
They talked about the braces they had ridden that day and the lack of birds. Trey explained that he had added to his Grandpa’s farm and hoped John would come see it. He was trying to re-establish huntable numbers of quail there.
There were a number of prairie all age races to watch, but the birds were just not there. Just about everybody at the trial understood. They had all made the choice in their lives to run their dogs on wild birds as much as possible. These were hallowed grounds they were running on, and next year they might be covered up in birds as they had been in years past.
For this trial it was easy to sort out the winners. Bobby’s dog was the only truly all age prairie dog to handle a bird. The judges could easily have withheld the runner-up slot, but they knew the situation and went ahead and named the dog that Buster’s owner was thinking about buying. It solidified the deal, and Bobby was glad for the other trainer as he had lost his best customer to the recession. That left Buster’s status up in the air. Bobby decided to wait for the derby stake before he confronted the man about his dog.
It was hot during the championship, but even hotter when the derbies ran. The mercury had risen well into the 90s when Mack brought Buster to the line for John. The owner was in the gallery as was Trey. Buster already had some fans among the group and they rode along as well. And he didn’t disappoint them. When turned loose he flew to the front with effortless grace and deceptive speed. He was soon a white spec on the horizon – twice as far away as his bracemate. In the first 20 minutes of the 30 minute brace he showed to the distant front four or five times and John would point him out to the judges who were right up behind him.
At time, Buster was nowhere to be seen. Mack, John, and the judges looked for him for five minutes. The judges conferred and they all looked for another five minutes. In the judges’ minds, if they could just get a glimpse of the dog, even if he was still running, they would place him on his race. Derbies are about potential and Buster showed tons of it in the way he scorched the sun-baked prairie searching ever farther to the front for birds. Finally there was nothing to do but call for the tracking collar receiver. At Buster’s first trial, when they called for the tracker it emitted the rapid beep of a dog on point. This time when it was turned on it gave the steady slow beep of a dog in motion far to the front towards the lake. Bobby sent Mack for the truck, and he and John rode on leaving the gallery, judges, and other handlers behind to complete the stake.
It was a couple of miles to the lake, and as they rode in that direction they could see ducks and geese leaving the water in large numbers. They didn’t need a tracking collar to tell them that Buster had found the water and was probably having some fun. By the time they got close to him he was halfway around the lake running in the shallows watching the waterfowl flee in a great commotion of splashing, beating wings, quacking, and honking.
When John got close he yelled, “Watch it, Buster!”
The dog slammed on the brakes and styled up into as beautiful a point as anyone could ask for. The only problem was the water was almost up to his belly. And there he stood. Caught in the act, he wasn’t about to compound his crime by moving now that he was on point. There were still birds swimming around in the reeds in front of him. John blew his whistle and tried to call him into shore, but Buster wasn’t moving. Bobby started for the water but John stopped him, “It’s mine to do. Don’t worry, I won’t melt.” He said with a twinkle in his eye.
John walked out into the knee deep water and mud and bent down talking to the dog. He gently stroked Buster’s head as he explained to him that these weren’t their kind of birds. He told him he was proud of him for finding them but next time he needed to come back a little sooner. He finally slid the roading harness over the dog’s head and lifted him up out of the water and carried him to shore.
Bobby grinned as he looked at the old man and the young dog, “Do you think he was listening to you?”
John thought a moment before answering, “I know he listened to me . . . the question is will he remember what I said at the next trial?”
Bobby smiled and then thought about the owner. He hoped there would be a next time. This was not a dog for the owner’s new trainer. He wouldn’t give the dog the trust he needed to achieve the greatness Bobby and John saw in him. Mack was close to the lake with the truck and they loaded the horses and went back to the trial headquarters with an almost dry dog in the back seat. Mack gave him a similar lecture, in a similar tone, as they rode back in.
Needless to say Buster didn’t place, but many came over to John to comment on the dog – including the judges who said they’d be watching for him in the future. Bobby was off to the side talking with Buster’s owner and it was obvious that the conversation wasn’t going well.
Bobby came back with his head down and wouldn’t look John in the eye. He walked over to the chain and unhitched Buster. He started to lead him away. Trey stepped in front of him, “Where are you going with that dog?”
Bobby explained that the owner was moving him to his new trainer. John stared off across the prairie unable to watch as Buster was led out of his life. Trey asked Bobby to wait a minute and walked over to the other trainer and Buster’s owner. The conversation lasted for a while. Finally, Trey reached in his pocket and pulled out his checkbook. He wrote out and handed the man a check then shook his hand. When he came back to Bobby he said in a loud voice that all could hear, “Put my dog back where he belongs.”
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