Preacher John Amateur Hour: Part IV-B

Part IV-B       

After a fitful night of sleep, Trey was the first one up.  He had two horses and he picked the younger one who had a better lope.  Good handlers move forward at a fast walk while their scouts gallop wherever they are needed to help keep track of the dogs.  Sal pulled hard as Trey led her to the line for the first brace in the chill of the prairie morning.  The sun had just cleared the eastern horizon and begun its climb into another cloudless sky as the prairies stretched seemingly forever in all directions.  With a nod from the judges, Trey and the other scout turned the dogs loose, mounted up, and rode out on either side of the main party.  The dogs separated after a couple of minutes forcing the scouts to switch sides as Trey’s charge went to the left and the other dog headed to the right side of the course.

      Trey could see Sal clearly as she crossed mowed ground and wove in and out of the round bales scattered around the half section field.  He loped his horse farther to the left without getting in front of the judges as the dog seemed to shrink as she opened the distance between herself and the field trial party.  As she reached the edge of the field he saw her turn and stop.  Trey looked to her handler who continued to sing to the dog.  He apparently couldn’t see her from where he was.  Trey yelled to get his attention and then raised his hat in the time honored tradition of signaling a dog on point.  The banker, one of the judges, and most of the gallery turned and headed for Trey at a gallop.  He pointed forward, and walked his horse towards the dog.  They all arrived at the same time.  Trey got down and took the reins from the banker’s horse as the handler walked in to flush the birds.  A big covey of Huns blew out and flew far before setting their wings and gliding over a slight rise in the ground.

      They watered the dog and Trey held her until the banker was back in the saddle. He called the dog into heel and took off to regain the front.  The judge, Trey, and the gallery that had come to see the find followed.  Once they caught up the banker slowed his horse to match the other handler and his dog shot out to the front this time going to the right side.  Trey followed and almost rode ahead of everyone before he realized the course was following the dog.  He slowed a bit and swung out a little more to the right.   So did Sal; she was on a mission, going forward on the right side of the course lifting her head slightly but not slowing down as she passed each objective.  Every time Trey would lose sight of her behind a bluff, he would get a twinge of fear in his gut and push his horse a little harder.  He checked the progress of the handlers who seemed to be riding on with no concern.  When he turned back to look for the dog, she went behind a bluff and did not show on the other side.  He wanted to call point but he wasn’t sure if she had stopped or gone on and he’d missed her.

      He aimed his horse at the bluff and pushed up from a lope to a gallop.  He had bought the horse in South Carolina last winter from a field trial trainer who leased land near his farm.  He thought he had probably paid too much for the horse at the time, but now felt he had gotten a bargain as the horse seemed to know exactly what his job was as he raced to find the dog.  Trey had always loved to ride but this full speed dash across the prairies had the adrenalin rushing to his brain.  The horse saw the dog first and almost unseated Trey when he came to an abrupt stop.

      Trey turned to the field trial party and raised his hat.  They weren’t there.  They had apparently ridden into a small dip in the prairie and were out of sight.  There was only one thing to do.  He spurred his horse and galloped off in the direction he had last seen them.  When he got to the high ground they were still well away from him and he once again yelled and raised his hat.  Again the cavalry charge came at his signal.  He turned his horse towards Sal, whom he could see from his vantage point.  She never moved.  When the banker got to him, Trey pointed to Sal and followed him and the judge to the dog.  This time, a brood of sharptails blew out of the bluff when the banker went in to flush.  Sal raised her head and watched them sail over the prairie.

      Once again they watered her, and then heeled her to the front.  Trey figured the hour had to be just about over.  He looked down at his watch and couldn’t believe that they were only at the halfway point.  He knew the watch had to be right; it ran on solar power and was regularly updated by the national atomic clock in Fort Collins, Colorado.  For the next 15 minutes, Sal just laid out to the front for all to see as she continued to scorch a path across the prairie.  Trey was able to stay close to the gallery but rode far enough out to the side to have an unobstructed view of Sal.  With 10 minutes to go she broke to the right down an old fence line that had small clumps of brush growing along it.  They watched as Sal seemed to shrink into the distance.  When she was just a tiny white speck near the end of the line, she stopped for the third time.  Trey was relieved that he wouldn’t have to find her this time.  It took them almost five minutes to reach her, but the birds were still there – more sharptails.  The entire gallery buzzed when Sal was sent on from there and just flew forward with her feet hardly touching the ground.

      When the judge called time, Sal was once again just a speck on the horizon.  Trey and the banker took off at a full gallop and headed for Sal.  She heard and then saw them coming and knew the time was up for the day.  She thought about finding more birds and her desire almost overwhelmed her need to do as she’d been trained.  Caught in the dilemma she neither went on nor came to her owner.  She waited for them to come to her.  They watered her, put her in the harness, and she pulled hard as they rode to the dog truck and the start of the next brace.  As they put her in the truck, the other participants came and slapped the banker on the back or shook his hand.  Everyone there wanted to win the trial, but they knew the hour they’d just seen Sal put down was something special and would be hard to beat.  There were even a few who thought the Day Dog from yesterday should still be on top, but they were a distinct minority and speaking more from a personal bias for the other dog than from an objective analysis of the two performances.

      The lawyer was up next with the banker scouting.  The dog did well, had a single find, and was capable of winning, but not on this day.  Field trial dogs are like baseball hitters – the very best of them will place 3 out of 10 times.  Many hit 200 or less and are still top competitors.  A dog that approaches Ted Williams’s magical 400 average is as likely to come along as is another Ted Williams.  That afternoon Bobby’s customer from Atlanta ran his dog and he put down a credible performance that all were happy with but it did not change any opinions in the gallery.  At the end of the day, Sal was named Day Dog which everyone agreed with.

      At dinner, Bobby, Mack, John, and the four owners sat at a picnic table eating hamburgers from the grill and talked about Sal’s performance.  They all laughed as Trey got all wound up telling about his scouting and his headlong dash across the prairie to find the dog on her second find.  They all knew the feeling, that rush of adrenalin in the heat of competition when for that hour nothing else exists except the horse between your legs and the dog punching holes in the horizon.  The bank transactions, the bust in the housing market, the thoughts of the jury all disappeared as they concentrated on their dog and its performance.  For the three other owners whom Trey now considered his friends, the thousands of dollars they spent each year on their dogs would be worth it if all they got out of it was this one day on the Canadian prairies where their cellphones didn’t work and they felt a connection with all the thrills and traditions of the sport. 

      As a boy, Trey had loved field trials because he got to spend time with his grandfather all to himself.  But after today he had come to understand why his grandfather had loved it.  He silently thanked the old man, long gone, for the gift he had given him.  He hoped he would still feel the same way after he ran Jack.  His stomach began to turn as he thought about the morning.  His greatest fear was that he would do something to mess up the dog.

      He was quiet in the truck as they rode back to the motel and once they were in the room, Preacher John turned to him knowing what he was thinking, “The dog knows his job.  He’s done this many times.  You just got to relax and let him do it.”

      “Just relax.  That’s easy to say.”

      “What’s the worst that could happen?”

      Trey thought about that for a moment, “There’s all sorts of things.  I could lose him.  I could flush the birds wrong. I could . . .”

      “You’ve been doing just fine in workouts, just think of it as another workout.”

      “But it’s not.”

      “You played ball in college, did you go into a game thinking about all the things that could go wrong?”

      “No, sir, but . . .”

      “No but to it.  Think about the course – where the dog’s likely to find birds.  Trust your scout and act like you’ve got all the confidence in the world.”

      Trey reached up and shut of the light, “I’ll try.”

      “That’s all any of us can do.”

      John was soon snoring lightly while Trey tossed and turned.  Buster finally gave up on the bed and curled up on the carpeting between them.  Trey must have finally fallen asleep at some point because he woke suddenly thinking he had slept through the alarm.  When he looked at the clock he realized it would not go off for another half hour.  He laid there for a few minutes than gave up and slipped into the bathroom for his shower and shave.  Dressed, he hooked a lead to Buster and took him out for a walk.  The cold morning air helped settle him a little and by the time he got back to the truck John, Bobby, and Mack were ready to go.  Bobby looked at Trey with a smile on his face, “We thought maybe you skipped out on us.”

      Trey started to answer but John cut him off, “Leave him alone or I’ll tell some of the stories from when you first started running some dogs for me.”

      “Did he get nervous?” Trey wanted to know.

      “He ran to the outhouse more than once before he ran in his first championship and I suspect the nerves had his stomach and his bowels reacting kinda adversely, to put it delicately.”

      “How’d he do?”

      John looked at his former protégé and waited.  Finally, Bobby spoke, “Let’s see, I fell off my horse, I almost shot the judge with the wad from the blank in my shotgun, and, at about the 40 minute mark with three finds already in the book, I lost the dog.”

      “Well, if that’s the standard I have to shoot for I might be able to do this.”

      They all laughed and got in the truck.  Bobby fired up the diesel and drove them back out to the grounds where in the predawn glow they tended the dogs and horses.  The other owners arrived and they all began saddling up.  Trey was going to ride his other horse to handle from.  He was a quiet horse with a really smooth walk.  The banker was going to scout for Jack and had asked to ride the horse Trey had been on when Sal ran 24 hours ago.

      Mack brought Rebel Yell over in a roading harness and hitched him to Trey’s horse.  Trey turned to Bobby, “So, all I have to do is stay on my horse, not shoot anyone, and finish with the dog.”

      Bobby smiled at him, “That’s about it.”

      Bobby, Mack, and John would be passive observers at the back of the gallery.  It would be up to Trey, his scout, and the dog for the next hour.  Trey was braced with one of the older gentlemen at the trial who had known his grandfather and had had dogs with John back in the day.  The scouts got down and hitched a lead to their respective dogs then handed them back the roading harnesses and ropes.  Once those were stowed on the saddles, they walked the dogs to the starting line and waited for the judges.  Trey was already feeling overdressed and peeled off his jacket despite the fact that the temperature was still around 50 degrees. 

      With a nod from the judges the scouts let go of the dogs.  Rebel Yell turned and looked up at Trey as if he was checking to see who was behind him this time and then turned to the front and was gone.  The other dog had a couple of stride head start but Jack soon passed him and headed off to the left as though Sal had told him there were birds way over there at the edge of the hay field – and there were.  The banker raised his hat and Trey followed by one of the judges and some of the gallery loped over.  The Huns flew just like they had the previous morning and they were soon rushing to catch the front.  When they caught up, Jack was on a mission and blew by everyone like they weren’t even there.  Trey was so excited that he went forward with him keeping his horse at a lope, as he passed the other judge and the rest of the gallery.  He went by the other handler the same way and was soon a couple hundred feet in front of him before he realized he needed to slow down.  He brought his horse down to a flat walk and had to fight him a little to keep him there until the other handler showed up.  The old man smiled at him, “Take some deep breaths, we still have more than 50 minutes.”

      Trey looked down at his watch just as the stopwatch function reached 10 minutes.  He still had plenty of time to shoot someone, fall off his horse, or lose the dog.  When they reached the section of the course where Sal had her second find, the banker swung wide trying to keep Jack in sight.  When Trey reached the point where the course began to turn away from where the dog had gone, he wasn’t sure what to do.  He stopped and his bracemate whose dog was in plain sight continued to ride to the front.  Trey continued to call on the dog.  The judge who was watching Jack rode up beside him, “You can either ride on and hope he shows to the front or we can head over that way and take a look ourselves.”

      “I’d like to go look, if that’s ok?”

      “No problem.”

      Trey and the judge, along with the two others, who had begun referring to the four of them as Team Bobby, began to ride off where they had last seen the dog.  When they got to the high ground where Trey had signaled to them the morning before, they could see the banker headed their way with the dog running along beside him.  When Jack saw Trey and the others he shifted up into high gear and soon was streaking away from them to the front.  They continued on without incident catching sight of the two dogs from time to time as they hit all the objectives to the front.  When they reached the fence line where Sal had her third find, Jack took the line – took it all the way to a corner which was almost three quarters of a mile away.  He paused briefly just to get his bearings, causing Trey to start to reach for his hat, and then broke to the front at an angle that would have him cross in front of Trey about the time the hour ended. 

      The judges called time and Trey rode off to round up Jack.  He and the banker were soon back at the truck.  Trey was disappointed and excited at the same time.  He knew that with only one find and a race they wasn’t up to his sister’s, Jack was not going to hit a home run today.  But Trey hadn’t fallen off his horse or shot anyone, and he had the dog in the harness.  He gave Jack a big hug and then lifted him up into an empty box in the dog truck.  His heart was still beating faster than normal but he was coming down from the adrenalin that had come and gone during the hour.  John brought him a bottle of water and a donut and they all congratulated him on living through his first hour as a field trialer.

      John clasped his arm and leaned in close, “Your grandfather would be some proud of you today.”

      Trey turned away, knowing the truth to it, and wiped a tear from his eye.

      The seven of them, Team Bobby, rode the last three braces together at the back of the gallery.  The banker hardly said a word as he watched the other dogs and handlers give it their best shot as they tried to beat Sal who most assumed was winning the championship.  But each came up short in one way or another.  They didn’t run as hard or as big or find as many birds.  When they got back to camp, the AFTCA secretary blew her whistle and they all gathered in front of the porch steps.  This was a lot less imposing a setting than the steps of the “Big House” on the Ames Plantation where the National is run but the air was still full of anticipation.  She unfolded the slip of paper and then looked at those gathered around her, first she thanked them all and mentioned all the sponsors, then looked back at the slip of paper, “The judges want to give an honorable mention to Trey Sutton and Rebel Yell.”

      Everyone clapped politely and those closest to him shook Trey’s hand.  Trey knew they did it in part because this was his first time at a trial but he still appreciated the gesture.  The dog from the first brace was called as runner-up and then the secretary paused while the owner was congratulated and received his plaque and ribbon.  Then she looked down at the slip of paper again and read, “This year’s champion is Rebel Girl.”

      Team Bobby was truly excited and most at the trial offered sincere congratulations to her owner, scout, and trainer.  That afternoon the open stakes started and Bobby and Mack went back to work.  The developer from Georgia had offered to help Trey with the driving and they pulled out shortly after the breakaway of the first afternoon brace.  The lawyer and the banker rode that afternoon and flew out in the morning.  Bobby, Mack, and John stayed and ran their dogs.  Bobby got runner-up in the open with the lawyer’s dog and John and Buster placed first in the derby.  John had grown found of Trey and wished he’d been able to see Buster’s performance but he called him as they headed south and gave him a full account.  When John closed the cellphone, Bobby hit the play button on the CD player and Robert Earl Keen sang, “The road goes on forever and the party never ends . . .”

Preacher John Amateur Hour: Part IV-A

William F. Sutton III had sold the family beer distributorship to get away from the day-to-day grind that had contributed to his father’s massive heart attack at his desk before his seventieth birthday.  Although it had been his to sell, his mother, two sisters, his father’s sister, and a few cousins all had a piece of the business and now had a claim on the family trust that had been set up, with “Trey” Sutton as trustee.  Trey had done well on his own before joining the family business, but the others hadn’t, and they were constantly calling him about money.  They wanted to invest in a wide variety of schemes, some of which were extremely dubious while others were possibly viable.  Under the terms of the trust, the proceeds were disbursed in regular payments according to each family member’s share.  There were provisions for access to the capital behind each share but required the approval of the trustee.  Trey received daily calls from his mother, sisters, aunt, and cousins who always needed money for something.

      The only relief was when he either shut off his cellphone or was in a spot where there was no reception which was unlikely to happen as more towers sprouted on the horizons daily.  When he wasn’t on the phone he was on his laptop e-mailing and reading the various prospectuses that he had to consider.  His older sister’s husband who had worked in sales at the beer distributorship had found a plantation that would make a great place to break up as a private retirement community for well heeled snowbirds who dreamed of living some Nash Buckinghamesque Southern sportsman’s life that hadn’t existed for more than half a century.  His other sister wanted to open an art gallery that Trey assumed would feature the artwork of her current boyfriend whose art looked like a revival of 1960s drugged-out-hippie-psychedelic posters — probably with good reason.

      He had come west to visit a few prairie field trials and try to recapture some of the joy he had felt as a boy when his grandfather took him to trials or hunting on the farm in South Carolina.  Now, he felt their hold on him slipping away.  It wasn’t that he was shirking his responsibilities; he was just keeping them in perspective.  Riding hardworking horses following big running dogs on Bobby Phillip’s lease with Bobby, his scout Mack, and especially John was more relaxing than anything he had done in a long time.  There was a rhythm to the days that started before sunrise and ended after dark.  He had come to know the dogs in Bobby’s string – their strengths and their weaknesses.  Although at the level Bobby competed at there wasn’t room for much in the way of weakness in the dogs.  The best of the all age dogs have to search to the far reaches of the country but still show to the front.  They have to be responsive enough to their handlers to fill up the prairies but still handle the tighter grounds in the South.  And they have to be broke.  When a dog disappears on point far to the front it may have to stand for a long, long time.

      Most of all, Trey had come to feel a bond with the two dogs on Bobby’s string that he had bought since coming West.  The all age champion Rebel Yell would give him a chance to do something his grandfather had always dreamed of – win the National Championship at Grand Junction, Tennessee in February.  Jack, as they called him, had already sewed up the prairie award and would have a shot at dog of the year honors if he could make the adjustment to the tighter grounds of the South.  Buster, the derby, slept on his bed each night and had the potential to compete at the upper echelons of the all age world.

      The next trial that Bobby planned to take the dogs to was in Saskatchewan and would be preceded by an amateur championship.  He was encouraging Trey to enter Jack in the amateur as some of his other owners would also be there.  Every other time they put Jack on the ground for a workout, Bobby had Trey work him.  Trey had not worked dogs since his teens when he had still hunted with his grandfather, and, before this trip to the prairies, he had not been to a field trial since he had visited his grandfather’s old trainer in Georgia more than 25 years ago. 

      That same trainer, John Jones, was snoring lightly in the next bed as Trey waited for the day to begin.  He thought about running Jack in the upcoming trial and made his decision.  Bobby had assured him that he could do nothing to hurt the dog’s potential to compete in the open championship.  Just thinking about being in the heat of competition was appealing and the tightness he felt in his stomach when he ran Jack in a workout was lessening each time he did it. 

      John’s snoring had stopped and he was getting up for the day.  John liked to get the coffee started and make breakfast for the four of them.  Trey knew he would have to head home after the amateur trial and would not be able to join them again until they were back in the South in the late fall.

      When he could smell the coffee and sausage in the kitchen, he slipped on his jeans and he and Buster joined John in the kitchen.  He let Buster out into the yard and poured himself a cup of coffee, “John, did my grandfather ever run his dogs in trials?”

      “Before he gave me his dogs, he often ran them himself in local trials.  But I can’t remember him ever running one of the dogs I carried for him.  What are you going to do about Jack?  We’re going to be there with the other dogs anyway.”

      “I think I’ll do it.”

      “Good.” Bobby said as he came into the kitchen at the tail end of the conversation, “You’ll have fun and we can ask one of my other customers to scout for you.”

      So it was decided.  At the end of the week, they loaded the dogs and horses into the two trucks and trailers and headed north across the border.  When they pulled into the headquarters for the trial there were already a number of rigs arrayed in the dooryard of the old farmhouse that served as a clubhouse for the trials that would run over the next 10 days to 2 weeks.  As soon as the dogs were staked out and the horses put in the corrals, Bobby began introducing Trey to his other customers.  They were all older than Trey.  One was a banker from Boston who also owned a place in Georgia.  Another was a developer from Atlanta who was barely holding on in the current recession.  The third was an attorney from Chicago.  All three had flown in and rented a car together.  They would ride Bobby’s horses when they ran their dogs, scouted for each other, and followed along in the gallery.  Other amateurs had hauled their own horses and dogs to Canada.  Some of the more serious amateurs had their own training grounds in the Dakotas.  Others came in from the far West with trailer plates from California, Idaho, and Washington as well as many others from the Midwest and South.

      That evening, the secretary of the Amateur Field Trial Clubs of America (AFTCA) put the names of 40 dogs into the bowl and drew them for the running order.  It would take two and a half days to run the event and then the open championship would begin.  Jack and Trey were drawn in the 17th brace which would put them in the first brace of the third and last day of the trial.  It was a good course, especially in the morning, but as the trials progressed the birds tended to get jumpier.

      The first brace of dogs broke away at 7:00 am on Thursday morning and everyone was wearing a jacket or a fleece which they would be soon shedding as the sun climbed higher into the sky and began baking the harvested grain and hay fields interspersed with grass pastures.  Running early in the day was an advantage as the afternoon temperature would climb to 80 or more, but some of the greatest prairie performances ever had seen dogs overcome the heat as well as the competition to find birds and win.  Trey and Bobby’s other owners rode as a group close up behind the judges as they headed out for the first morning.  Bobby and his scout Mack, along with John, and a few other pros trailed along well behind the main gallery as they were not allowed to assist the dogs or their owners in any way during the running of the trial.  But they were all anxious to see how many birds were on the grounds this year and where they were found during the running on the 20 miles of continuous course that they would travel before they ended up back at camp for lunch. 

      The two dogs in the first brace were both owned by AFTCA trustees who were very serious amateurs who breed their own dogs.  One of them also did most of his own training.  The other had turned the training of the dogs over to his son who had become one of the top pros on the circuit.  There were definitely plenty of birds as one dog had two finds on sharptails and a back while the other had three finds – two on sharptails and one on Huns.  Both dogs put down strong ground efforts and the bar had been set.  The dog with three finds was named Day Dog and most who had seen all the dogs go assumed his bracemate was being carried in the runner-up slot. 

      After lunch Trey swapped horses and rode the afternoon braces.  Some of the older handlers had known his grandfather and a couple claimed to have met Trey when he had traveled to Georgia with his grandfather as a boy.  Everyone was cordial as they talked about the state of trials and the various controversies that plague any sport.  Some were still arguing over the implementation of the DNA testing rules that caused a number of dogs to lose their registration status.  Others worried about the use of GPS tracking devices to recover lost dogs although many still used their telemetry collars and receivers at trials.  It seemed that most had adopted GPS as a training aid and were generally pleased with it.  They also talked about the politics of the sport.  Trey took it all in and kept his opinions to himself.  The politics really didn’t bother him.  He accepted politics as a part of the human condition and realized as soon as three people got together in any venture the politics begin.  One of the three is always trying to sway one or both of the others.  He had experienced it in his investment banking career, in the family business, and now as he managed the family trust.  The only difference with the trust was that there was no democratic process involved.  His aunt had found that out when she had tried to get his mother and sisters to agree to change the trust.  They had formed their majority to no avail; Trey did not give in to the pressure to give everybody their shares of the capital he was overseeing for them.

      After the first day’s running, when all the dogs and horses had been fed, everyone gathered around the Hasty Bake in front of the house where two of the participants from Alabama had been slow cooking a number of pork butts since early in the morning.  In the evening twilight they were pulling the pork as others brought coleslaw and potato salad from the crude kitchen in the back of the house.  Cold Canadian beer was iced down in a couple of coolers and Trey smiled to himself about the ubiquitous nature of this ancient beverage simply made from barley, hops, yeast, and water.  Most likely no one in his family would ever need to work again thanks to people’s unending thirst for beer.  It was late when they rolled into the motel where he and John were sharing a room with Mack and Bobby next door.  A few of the participants seemed determined to stay up and drink a little bourbon but most were soon sleeping – honestly tired from the day in the sun on horseback and around camp.

      The next morning they were up in the dark and back at the camp.  Volunteers had breakfast going when they arrived.  All three of Bobby’s other customers had dogs to run on the second day.  The dogs all had championship placements and two of them had already qualified for the National the previous spring.

      Trey was asked to scout for the banker’s dog, a littermate sister to Jack called Sal in the first brace and he had reluctantly agreed.  Last night and this morning as they rode back and forth from the motel in Bobby’s Dually, Trey quizzed the three veteran handlers about scouting and they mostly told stories of some of the less than savory scouting practices that were in part “urban” legend, in part reality.  The bottom line was to try and stay out on the side the dog goes to and if she doesn’t show to the front to look for her around the bluffs.

Preacher John Part III-B

Part III-B

      Over the next few days the four men fell into a pattern of rising early and working dogs.  Bobby even had Trey handle Jack a few times in case he ever wanted to run him in an amateur stake.  The first time, Bobby rode over and took back the whistle that he had given Trey.  In his nervousness, he kept blowing it, and each time Jack would break further to the front until he was more than a half mile away.  After a couple of times running Jack, Trey began to settle down. He also paid more attention to what Bobby, Mack, and John did when they were handling dogs.

A few days after Buster had received his correction, they were running him and he had a beautiful find along a slough that usually had a brood of pheasants in it.  When John got off his horse he didn’t go in front of the dog, instead he turned to Trey, “I need you to get down and help me with your dog.”

      Trey slid down off his horse and walked over to John, “What do you want me to do?”

      “Go in there and flush those pheasants.  Buster isn’t going to break again when he can see me in front of him, so we need to change things up a bit.”

      Trey shrugged his shoulders and stepped in front of Buster.  John could see the dog’s head tilt slightly as he snuck a look at Trey.  When Trey moved out in front of him, Buster’s muscles began to quiver as he fought the urge to beat Trey to the birds.  Trey took two more steps and Buster broke.  John had a firm grip on the cable and dumped him once again, then repeated the process of setting him back where he had been standing and working him over with the flushing whip until Buster was once again standing up on his toes.  The birds had never flown as they had most likely moved down the edge of the slough in the heavy cover.  John stepped aside and nodded to Trey who moved forward away from the dog walking more than 30 feet before the small pheasants started to bust out.  As each bird lifted John fired another blank from his pistol until the cylinder had gone full circle and it clicked on a fired round.

      Trey walked back, “Do we put him in the harness now?”

      “No, I think we’ll leave him down this time and give him another chance to mess up.”  John actually expected that Buster would be perfect on the next find even with Trey flushing.  And he was right.  The next find had Buster pointing on the edge of a mowed hay field.  This time John stayed on his horse and nodded to Mack who snuck in behind the dog and picked up the cable.  Trey went in front and another brood of pheasant took off.  Buster never moved a muscle and was still standing on his toes with his tail up when the birds flew to the far end of the field.  John finally got down off his horse, went to the dog, led him off point, handed the cable to Mack, and hooked his roading rope to Buster’s harness.  He hooked the rope to Trey’s saddle who was riding one of Bobby’s spare horses that morning, “I wouldn’t do this with one of your horses until we’ve had a chance to be sure they’re rope broke, but you might as well learn to help with the roading now that you’re my assistant dog trainer.”

      They all laughed as Trey mounted up and took his place at the back of the group where the dogs being roaded belonged.  John who had Buster’s bracemate in a harness fell in beside Trey, “What do you think your grandfather would say if he knew you were now an assistant dog trainer?”

      With all seriousness, Trey looked out at the distant horizon, “If there’s a heaven, I’m sure he’s up there looking down and smiling right along with us.”

      “I believe there is, and I’m sure you’re right.”  The two men rode along in silence each thinking his own thoughts of heaven and those they had loved whom they assumed were there now.

      The middle of the next week came and it was time to go on to another field trial.  It wasn’t a championship but it was still a National Qualifier and the draw that had been posted on the Internet showed that almost all the trainers on the prairies would be there.  The pay out on this trial would be a substantial share of the total entry fees and the winning handlers in both the derby and the all age would go home with considerable checks.  The owners always liked to win championships — the handlers like to win the big purses.  The monthly fees and handling expenses pay the bills, but the handlers who collected the big purses are the ones who drive the new trucks, have the best horses, and can afford the better leases for training.  As in many endeavors, success in field trials is self-perpetuating with the most successful handlers getting the best clients with the best dogs, which in turn win more championships and more purses.  There are a number of professional handlers in all aspects of field trials but only a small percentage who stay at the top year in and year out.

      Rebel Yell put a lock on the Prairie All-Age award with a win at the trial and Bobby and Trey had ear to ear grins when the picture was taken.  Trey was excited about his first win as an owner.  To be honest, Bobby was thinking about what he’d do with that big check.  One of the handlers, who wasn’t that good with dogs, was one of the best horse trainers on the circuit and he had a big grey horse that Bobby coveted.

      The derby also had a big entry and Buster was drawn in the second brace.  John brought him to the line as a large gallery gathered to see Buster go.  For the first time in many years John had butterflies in his stomach.  He knew why.  There were plenty of birds on the grounds and it was open enough that he would be able to let the big pointer roll and still be able to keep track of him.

      John spoke quietly to Buster, “If you’re going to get it right one of these times, this would be a good time to do it.  Trey is letting you sleep on his bed and saved you from a life of probable misery.  So you owe him big and today you should start paying him back.”

Mack came up and took Buster from John and held him while John mounted his horse.  He was braced with a young trainer who considered himself pretty funny, although most didn’t share his opinion.  When Mack was on his horse the youngster, which is how John thought of him, spoke so all could hear him, “You just let me know if you need a head start, old man.”

      No one laughed. John turned on him with fire in his eyes, and then he gained control of his temper and spoke softly, “In my day, sonny, I took your granddaddy to school, and then I did the same to your daddy.  It looks like it’s your turn.”

      Before the boy could think of an answer the judge said, “Let ‘em go.”

      Both dogs were off like they were shot from a cannon and streaked out to the front until Buster was clearly in the lead, then he veered off to the left side of the course and headed for a far bluff.  The kid’s dog continued straight ahead, and, he pushed his horse into a lope.  Soon he was far ahead of John, the two judges, his scout, and the gallery.  He came to a rise of ground, reined in his horse and pointed far to the front.  When the judges didn’t acknowledge his dog he turned to look at them only to find they weren’t there.  John had veered off slightly so that he would be closer to Buster if he went on point.  Both judges and the entire gallery had followed him.  One of the judges turned to the marshal for the stake and said something.  The marshal then spurred his horse and rode after the kid.  When the marshal got to him, he conveyed the message from the judges that he might want to stay with them a little more, turned, and galloped back to the judges.  When the kid looked again he could not see his dog and had no choice but to go look for him. 

      His dog had also swung to the left and had run back to get in front of the judges.  John saw both dogs, but kept his mouth shut as Buster slowed and pointed in front of a bluff on a hillside around 300 yards away.  John raised his hat to signify his dog was on point and spurred his horse out of a walk for the first time.  He stopped well back from the dog and dismounted.  He walked slowly to the dog watching his bracemate out of the corner of his eye.  When the other dog saw Buster he didn’t slow down, but went in front of him and flushed his birds.  John quietly cautioned Buster who wanted to do the same.  John fired his blank gun and then collared his dog.  One of the judges turned to the handler who had agreed to scout for the kid and told him to get the dog.  As the dog was coming through to make sure he had gotten all the birds in the air the scout yelled whoa once, and the dog suddenly realized that he was in trouble.  He stopped and cowered down.  The scout walked over and put a harness on him and took his place at the back of the gallery.

      The kid came riding in at the shot, only to find his dog in a harness.  The scout handed him the rope, “Consider your entry fee the cost of your lesson.” He rode off with the rest of the gallery as John sent Buster forward.

      The kid started to say something, but no one was even looking his way.  There were two things to do – go back to the headquarters or follow the rest of the brace.  He almost put his tail between his legs and headed in but then he squared his shoulders and caught up to the gallery and the other handlers who were roading dogs.  Nobody said anything to him, but they all knew that Preacher John had just given the kid a lesson that you could never get in Sunday school.

Buster meanwhile had once more streaked to the front on a quest to find more birds and was rewarded with his second find with just five minutes to go.  When the judges called time, Buster was just a dot of white on the horizon and Mack and John went after him.  The judges really didn’t care if they caught him or not, he was still in judgment when they called time and they would both love to see the derby that could beat Buster.  John, Trey, and Bobby rode every brace until the derby finished the next day.  A couple of dogs came close but none of the riders who had seen Buster go thought any dog had beat him.  When it came time for the announcement one of Bobby’s other young dogs was announced as third.  Another handler took second with a very good derby.  Buster was declared first and the trial chairman handed Trey his second blue ribbon of the trial.  Both John and Trey were congratulated all around. 

      After the announcement, the kid came up to John and looked him right in the eye, “I called my daddy, and told him what happened.  He said if you were the same Preacher John that he remembers that I was lucky it wasn’t much worse.  He also told me I better apologize before you got it in your head to spend more time educating me.”  He stuck out his hand, “Mister John, I really do apologize.  Sometimes words come out of my mouth before I even think about them. And this isn’t the first time they have cost me.”

      John took his hand and shook it, “No hard feelings, and say hey to your daddy for me next time you talk to him.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      John watched the boy walk away and then looked down at the check that had been handed to him.  The amount startled him.  When he left the sport 25 years before, a check this size would have been a lot at a major championship.  He walked over to Bobby and held it out to him, “This is yours.”

      Bobby made no move to take the check, “How do you figure that?”

      “I was just helping you out with the dog — you should get the money.”

      “I figure you earned it, not me.  Besides I might have paid you that much to take that kid down a couple of notches.”

      John turned to Trey, “Help me out here. Don’t you think Bobby should take this check?”

      Trey thought about it, “No, John, I don’t.  From the way it’s been told to me you’re the one responsible for Buster’s success.  In fact, I was thinking that you, Bobby, and Mack all deserve a bonus.  I just bought some old grey nag for Bobby.  I haven’t figured out yet what I’m going to do for you and Mack.” 

      He took Buster and headed for the trailers.   Mack and John just shook their heads.

            Bobby looked at them, “How’d he find out I wanted that horse?”

Preacher John Part III-A

Part Three: The Lessons

Preacher John rode with Trey Sutton, Buster’s new owner, as they traveled down out of Canada and back to the Dakota lease where Bobby Pickett, John, and Bobby’s scout, Mack, were spending the summer training dogs.  Trey was excited about becoming Buster’s new owner.  Buster didn’t seem all that aware of his change in status as he slept peacefully in the back seat of the dually. As Trey and John rode along they could see that many of the crops were already being harvested and they shared the highway with trucks loaded with the bounty of the prairies as they traveled from fields to elevators and processing plants.  Directly in front of them were Bobby and Mack with Bobby driving a steady 80 mph.  Even so, trucks were still passing them.  Time is money on the farm and the truck drivers are paid by the number of loads they haul.  The bucolic life of the American farmer is a myth that is long gone.  Today, it is always a race – against the weather, against a variety of ever evolving pest and pestilence, and against the banks. 

      Except for driving through the bustle of the harvest, John and Trey were oblivious to the plight of the farmers.  They talked dogs.  Trey asked questions about dogs his grandfather had owned and dogs John had seen over the years at the plantation trials in Georgia.  And they talked about Buster whose head would come up when his name was mentioned and then go back down when he realized the conversation was not directed at him but was just about him.  Trey wanted to know what John intended to do with Buster in training in the time before the next trial. 

      John thought about it for a few moments before he answered, “That will be up to the dog.”

      “How so?”

      “Well, Buster’s training was going forward on a known line and he was going real good.  Now, he got off on his own and spent some time chasing ducks and geese.  We won’t know how that’s affected his training until we run him tomorrow.”

      “What do you expect will happen?”

      John looked into the back seat and thought about the dog laying there, “Well, I expect we’ll have to do some training.”

      They talked for a long time about the difference between running dogs and training dogs.  Many handlers are great at running dogs in a trial and showing them well, but a much smaller number are really good at training dogs, especially if there is a problem.  The training regimen for the dogs on their string was like the proverbial box that they rarely were able to think outside of.  John had always been able to adapt his methods to the dog and the situation at the moment.  He had learned many tricks of the trade over the years, but he never knew which one he would use until he was confronted with a problem that had to be solved.  Buster’s experience chasing the water birds at the lake at the end of his brace during the derby stake might not have any negative affect on the dog, although John doubted that.  He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew he would deal with it.

      The sun set with another magnificent prairie light show and they traveled on south through the lingering summer twilight.  John offered to drive, but Trey was fine.  This was an adventure of the kind he hadn’t had since he was a boy traveling in the shadow of his grandfather.  He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.  John had been asleep for a couple hours when they finally pulled into the yard.  There was a flurry of activity as dogs and horses were unloaded and fed. Trey pitched in, and the four of them made short work of the chores.  When Buster had finished his meal and the men were ready to go in the house, John let Buster out of his kennel and he made his usual tour of the yard, doing his business where it would be out of the way of anyone walking about.  Then he followed John into the house.

      Trey was directed to the spare bed in John’s room.  As the two men settled in Buster raised his head from the rug between the two beds and looked at Trey, then at John, then back at Trey.  He stood up, stuck his head in the old man’s face and nuzzled him gently.  John rubbed him between the ears.  Then the dog turned, jumped up on Trey’s bed, made one circle down by his feet and laid  down for the night.

      John reached up to turn off the light and said, “I guess Buster knows where his bread is buttered.”  He chuckled and pulled the chain on the light.

      When he awoke in the morning Trey and Buster were still sharing the bed.  The dog raised his head when John got up and then put it back down.  John was usually the first one up.  Years of habit and a 75 year old bladder made sure of it.  He soon had the coffee brewing and a pound of bacon frying in a big iron skillet.  He heard Mack get up and had a cup of coffee waiting for him when he came into the kitchen.

      “What are we going to do with Buster today?” Mack asked as he added cream and sugar to his steaming cup of coffee.

      “That will depend on Buster.  But make sure we’ve got our heaviest cable on him this morning.”

      “That’s what I was figuring, too.  Do you think one will be enough?”

      “Should be, but it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra one on your saddle.”

      Bobby and Trey were soon in the kitchen as well and John had toast and eggs going for everyone.  Once they were out working dogs, they wouldn’t stop until it was too hot to run them.  If the weather cooperated, their next meal wouldn’t be until early afternoon – a long time from breakfast, which was why John made sure that everyone got plenty to eat each morning. The evening meal was always after dark.

      Mack went out first and started tacking up the horses.  Trey followed him out offering to help while Bobby and John cleaned up the kitchen.  As the sun began to lighten the sky, the four men led their horses and dogs out to the edge of the CRP field closest to the house.  John had Buster by the heavy welding cable he would drag and Bobby had one of the all-age dogs ready to go.  Mack had two more dogs in harnesses.  The first two would be worked on the way out from the house, the other two would be worked on the way back, and then they would grab four more dogs and make a different loop until it got too hot.  After they took a break for lunch, they worked the young dogs in the yard in the shade of the big cottonwoods.

      At first Buster ran like there was no cable attached to his harness, but it soon slowed him into a relatively close searching pattern as he checked all the spots where he had found birds during the summer.  He was soon rewarded and locked up high and tight.  Bobby’s dog came in and backed.  The two handlers got down from their horses and went to the dogs.  Bobby stood next to his and John started to walk in front of Buster.  He could see that Buster was moving his head slightly and thinking about all those birds he had made fly along the lake shore at the trial.  John stopped and waited.  Buster was caught in a dilemma.  He wanted to make the birds fly, but he knew that he shouldn’t even though he was unaware of the consequences.  He finally settled on point and John went in and flushed a whole brood of close to full grown sharptails.

      John came back and took Buster by the collar and led him away from the spot.  He looked at Trey and Mack on their horses and smiled, “He’s going next time.”

      Mack just nodded knowingly.  Trey wanted more, “How do you know?”

      “Ol’ Buster has got to this point based on his intelligence and his natural ability.  There were some little bumps along the road but he really hasn’t tested me yet.  I’m betting that test is coming on his next find or the one after that.”

      It was the next one.  When Buster pointed for the second time his feet began to move when John came up beside him.  This time John didn’t wait for the dog to settle and walked straight to the birds.  So did Buster. The birds busted and the dog stopped long enough for the old man to grab the cable.  Buster then started after them.  When he came to the end of the cable John held on tight and dumped him on his back.  Then he walked over to the dog, grabbed his collar and a handful of loose skin on his flank, and carried him back to the spot where he had first stopped.  Without saying a word he unsnapped a flushing whip from his belt loop and then started in on the dog.  He took full swings with the whip coming up into his chest with the leather straps on the end of the whip making a loud popping noise each time they hit the dog.  Buster never yelped or whimpered – he just stood higher on each stroke.  After 8 or 10 lashes, the dog was on his toes, his eyes were staring widely ahead, with his nostrils fluttering in and out.

      John noticed and stopped.  He walked out in front of the dog into the small bluff that the birds had flushed from and a sleeper blew out.  John fired his blank gun with a big smile on his face.  It couldn’t have been better if he had planned it.  Mack got down from his horse and looked to John.  John nodded and Mack replaced the cable with a rope and hooked it to John’s saddle.

      Trey looked at John with a puzzled look, “Don’t you want to see what’s going to happen on his next find?”

      John shook his head, “I might have if that sleeper hadn’t been in the bluff, but since he was, this is the perfect place to end the lesson for today.  Tomorrow or the next day we’ll see if the lesson took.  The key to getting your message across to a dog is to know when to stop the lesson.  Too much and it all becomes clouded in his mind, too little and he may not have got the message.  I’m pretty sure I got his attention.  Now, it’s time to let the lesson sink in.”

      Mack hooked one of the other dogs into John’s rope and let go of the other.  Bobby’s dog had another find and then was switched out as well as they made the turn back towards the house.  It was still cool when they got back to the house and four more dogs were brought out.  John roaded the spare dogs while Bobby and Mack handled the dogs that were running.  John and Trey watched the dogs, and Trey kept up a steady stream of questions which John was happy to answer.

      That night it was Bobby’s turn to cook dinner and Trey stayed in the kitchen with him.  John dozed in front of the TV only catching pieces of the conversation, but it sounded serious.  After dinner Bobby took his cell phone outside and walked about the yard as he talked to someone.  He came back into the house with a smile on his face and looked at Trey, “I guess you just bought yourself a ticket to Grand Junction in February.  And thanks to this economy, I only spent about half what you authorized.”

      There was only one dog on Bobby’s string that was already qualified for the National Championship and that was Rebel Yell, the dog who had just won the last championship and taken runner-up at the one before.  Jack, as they called him, was only five and had a long and promising career ahead of him.  He was a true prairie dog who could hopefully adjust to the tighter courses of the piney woods and the mid-South.  Bobby shook Trey’s hand and then John and Mack also congratulated him.

      With a twinkle in his eye, John said, “So, are you going to kick Buster out of your bed to make room for Jack?”

      Trey looked at him and realized he was being teased before he answered, “No, I’m afraid you’ve already spoiled that dog way too much to make him sleep in the kennel.”

      They all laughed and Bobby broke out a bottle of Woodford Reserve that one of his customers from Kentucky had given him.  He poured a couple of fingers of the amber liquid into four mismatched glasses and added a couple of ice cubes to each.  They toasted Rebel Yell and Buster and Trey becoming part of the team.  The relationship between owners and handlers in the field trial world is varied.  Some owners are happy to get a phone call after their dogs run and read about the outcome in The Field.  At the other end of the spectrum are owners who have their own breeding programs and often start their own young dogs before they put them with a handler.  Some ride the circuit and even run their dogs in amateur trials, while others don’t.  Bobby expected Trey would fall somewhere in between.  He had always believed in including owners as much as they wanted to be.  An involved owner always seemed willing to stay with a prospect a little longer while those looking for quicker gratification and their name in print often changed dogs with annoying frequency.  Over the years since John had introduced Bobby to the field trial game, Bobby had come to have a core of very loyal owners who respected his opinions and usually didn’t try to second guess him when it came to training the dogs.  Buster’s former owner was an exception and Bobby was glad to be rid of him.  He and Trey were already developing a clear working relationship and he would get him another dog or two when the right ones came along.