In the back of the choir loft last Sunday, I found myself talking pheasant hunting with the fellow next to me. It was inevitable; we’re both hunters, and tenors can never stay focused for too long.
Anyway, I asked when he was going to do his big group trip to North Dakota. He told me it would be the end of October, and the conversation turned to how they always get lots of birds.
“I don’t really care about that, though,” he said. “I just love to watch the dogs hunt. For me, that’s the biggest thing.”
This is a common sentiment among owners of hunting dogs, especially when it comes to pointing breeds.
Funny thing is, though, this guy doesn’t even own any dogs. He’s simply a fan. And that got me thinking (maybe or maybe not during the sermon).
I, too, am a fan of dogs. Yes, I’m an owner, but it goes deeper than that. I have long admired the bond and partnership between humans and dogs.
I’m not sure exactly what to call it, because no words are quite adequate. And it’s not like there is a parallel example elsewhere between species.
To the best of my knowledge, we can only hypothesize how this better-than-symbiosis began. At some point, perhaps tens of thousands of years ago, some wolves or wolf-like canids decided it was in their best interest to live in proximity to humans. And we took them in because it was somehow better than keeping them out.
Now, domesticated dogs are recognized by some as their own species: Canis familiaris. They’ve been selectively bred into an incredible range of sizes and forms, most indicative of their place of origin and/or original purpose with respect to humans. With that breeding came training, and instincts that became hard-wired into their brains. And that is endlessly fascinating to me.
Simply put, dogs have purpose. If nothing else, that often manifests as a protective instinct. Until quite recently in our mutually-beneficial relationship, companionship was little more than an afterthought or luxury. For eons, we bred “man’s best friend” to make best use of everything they can do better than us. Usually that revolves around their senses and natural inclinations.
My first dog was a Vizsla, a relatively old breed (a thousand years or so) from Hungary. He had a heck of a nose and would float over the land on his long legs— traits treasured in the Old World for finding and pointing game.
I once read that a dog’s point was something humans fostered, an elongation of the pause of a predator just before pouncing on its prey. True or not, my twenty-first century hunting companion excelled at doing that and other things his ancestors did in eastern Europe, countless generations ago.
Most breeds are much newer, but carry as much purpose. The variety is astonishing when you stop and think of it.
Finding and retrieving. Herding and protecting. Pulling, tracking, rescuing. And nowadays, we ask them to guide, provide therapeutic services, perform tasks we can’t, and even screen us for diseases.
Astonishing, no?
This week my English setter and I took our first grouse hunt of the year. To my surprise and delight, he was on his best manners from the get-go. It was as if he knew I had been marveling at this incredible interspecies arrangement we have, and didn’t want to let me down.
Of course, this is ridiculous as he has proven innumerable times that he cannot read my mind. Moreover, he demonstrates routinely that he does not even understand most of the words coming out of my mouth. Perhaps his comprehension is conveniently selective. Or, perhaps I yearn too much for the eager and affectionate Hungarian, and should resign myself to the aloof Englishman.
At any rate, The White Blur displayed a new level of discipline. The first hour wasn’t spent on turbo mode, for once. He trotted along at a reasonable pace, checking in with me as he should. When we encountered bird scent, he handled it delicately rather than impatiently. He was acting like a day-four dog on day one.
I dare say he’s grown, which points to the intelligence and adaptability of dogs. Owners and trainers of pointing dogs know that, if we allow, they actually train themselves to a degree, in order to achieve a more desirable outcome. And this week, I witnessed the product of that self-evolution, and stepped into a new level of teamwork.
Meanwhile, at home, our cat of fifteen years still has trouble using the litter box reliably. I’m not saying all cats are unintelligent, but ours is. He provides a stark contrast to his bright-eyed, perceptive housemate.
Yes, I’m a “dog person,” though I’m sure cats have their own redeeming qualities. Let me know if you find any.
Kidding. Seriously, though, thinking about our relationship with cats has helped me ponder our relationship with dogs and see how fortunate we are to have them in our lives.
I mean, can you imagine training a cat to fetch a duck? How about a “seeing eye cat”? Or a “bomb-sniffing feline”? Cats and dogs are obviously very different, and it’s amazing there is any animal at all whose existence is so closely enmeshed with the human experience.
So, take some time this hunting season to marvel at the wonder who smells feathers on the wind and sleeps tamely at your feet. Safe to say I will continue to do the same.
And if afforded enough time in the field, I promise not to let my mind wander on Sunday mornings. Not too much, anyway.
Roy Heilman is a Minnesota writer, outdoorsman, and lifelong dog admirer. Keep up with his adventures at neveragoosechase.com.