Three Collars

[C.O.B.]

As the golden days of fall grow closer I was in the gun room getting the target shooting stuff gathered together to put in the shed. Hulls, wads were sorted by gauge, shot put away and target guns moved to the back of the safe and the upland guns moved forward. Any clay shooting from now on will be done with the small bores I'll use for bird hunting.

There is a place on the wall where three collars hang in silence and solitude a remembrance of companions and hunts that have gone into the coverts of time and memory. I paused in my reorganization and took the collars down and just held them for a while as the memories came back.

The first one belonged to my first GSP a white and roan colored dog I named Sturm. He came on a referral from a friend that knew the breeder and my wife and I drove an hour to look at the litter. We had a tough time deciding between him and a female who was the more traditionally colored GSP. I decided it was to be Sturm but by the time we got home we called the breeder and made arrangements for the other dog we named Gretta. To make a long story short Gretta found a new home but Sturm stayed.

I didn't know much about training a dog back then and Sturm wasn't very good about training me. He was hard headed and would hunt where he pleased with or without me. We hunted on his terms for a while and found Pheasants and Grouse. Technology came into Sturm's life in the form of a Tri Tronics E collar. Once I got his attention he would do things my way and we got along well. it didn't take much to get him to come around.

Two hunts with Sturm among the many stand out after 30 some years . We were hunting Pheasants on a very windy day on a friends farm. I didn't have Parkers then but did have an interest in Belgium Browning A5's and that day I was using a Sweet 16. Sturm was working a running bird that flushed wild but not to far away. The 16 came up, the shot was off and the bird fell. I rushed to where it landed as Sturm didn't see it at all and jumped a rabbit along the way. There was no evidence of a bird anywhere in the tall CRP grass. I marked where I thought it landed with my hat and urged Sturm to "hunt em up dead bird". Sturm paid particular interest in a hole that in my infinite wisdom knew to be the home of the flushed rabbit and admonished him for forsaking the bird for the bunny. Time and time again he returned to the hole and it was only after he started digging that the light came on. I went to the barn got a shovel and assisted my dog. It wasn't long and I could see tail feathers. I reached in grabbed a leg and pulled a very mad rooster out of the rabbit hole. A broken wing was his only injury and if he hadn't run into the hole he probably would have escaped only to become a meal for another predator.

It was now winter and Sturm and I were doing a late season Grouse hunt. We were working a hedge row overgrown with wild rasberries and some scattered grape vines. Sturm locked up on point and a Grouse flushed and flew straight away. I hade a M12 28ga that day and only shot once as I just could believe I had missed a straight away shot! The bird flew to a small woodlot and we were off for the reflush. Along the way I saw a small drop of blood on the snow. Sturm was about 30 yards into the woods when he locked up on a blow down. I kicked the brush but nothing flew. He was ever staunch and wouldn't budge. As I kicked and tugged at the brush he lunged under a trunk and came up with the Grouse. The autopsy revealed a single pellet that hit the lung. That would have been a lost bird for sure with out Sturm.

When he was 8 Sturm got sick and wouldn't eat. He lost weight and an exploratory surgery to run the bowel revealed he had liver cancer. This was to be the first time I would have to reach down into my gut and suck up the courage and make the tough decision to do the right thing for my friend . His final ride home was in the front seat of the truck with his head on my lap and I cried all the way home....and still do.

The next collar was Ilsa's another GSP who came my way in an odd sort of way. I was hunting Quail at the Haymarsh with a group of friends. I still had Sturm at this time. There was a gentleman there who was looking to sell a female Shorthair as he was going to change his kennel over to English Pointers. The price was $600 and Ilsa was already a started dog who knew the basics and wasn't afraid of the gun. One of my hunting buddies Joe borrowed the money and bought her. Here's a guy who buys a dog without the cash and had no place to keep her. Our Rott has recently had a litter of puppies and I offered kennel space for a couple of weeks until he could get a place ready for her. Weeks turned into months and I taught Ilsa to whoa, heel, back and honor a point. She was turning into a finished dog right before my eyes. One day Joe shows up and with no offer to repay for food or anything takes "his" dog home.

A couple of months passed and I learned Ilsa was neglected and lived in squalor. A half assed fenced in area with a dirt floor, & tepid water at best. Joe owned what he called a sporting goods store that reeked of dead bait and was poorly supplied to say the least.

I went to his house while he was at work to check on Ilsa. She was so glad to see me it tore at my heart stings to see her in such deplorable conditions. I let her out and she jumped and licked my face and went straight to the truck. I took her home that day to a nice clean kennel gave her some food and fresh water then went to Joes store. I walked in and put six $100 bills on the counter and when he asked what it was for I told him I took Ilsa home end of story.

Ilsa was a great dog, one you never had to raise your voice to. We had many,many great hunts together and she taught me to trust the dog as she found more than one bird in a place I wouldn't have looked. The pictures I have of her on point are some treasured belongings that I look through from time to time. Digital wasn't around yet so sometimes I would take the 35MM camera along and shoot the dog so to speak.

In a way to raise funds for a trip to Alaska to hunt Caribou I decided a litter of puppies would be just the ticked for some extra cash. There was a member of the Hay Marsh who had an excellent male GSP and we made a date for the two of them to meet when the time was right. He wasn't interested in a pup so I paid the stud fee. Ilsa had eight puppies on the floor of the bedroom and I helped along with my wife to bring each one into the world. I had no thoughts on keeping any of them but as they grew we moved them into the downstairs and built an area to corral them. When they were about six to eight weeks they were running wild in the basement I gathered them up as we had a prospective buyer coming to look at them. I was one dog short and looked all over the basement for the "one that got away". I found him in the gun room, the safe was open and he was sniffing the Winchester M21 20ga. I knew then he was special. He was the first born and I scooped him up and introduced Gunner to Audrey and said "he stays".

Ilsa was with us for 13 years and she and Gunner hunted together extremely well. We had many a good day the three of us. One night she went into seizures and wouldn't come around. We were up all night with her. The phenobarbital wasn't working and in the morning we got her to the vet. He knocked her out and got some fluids into her. She was under observation for 24 hours. The next morning the vet called to say as she was coming out of the induced come she went back into a seizure. I asked the he just knock her out again and I would be there immediately. Once again my gut was torn apart as I petted her and spoke softly as the life and pain ebbed out of her and she slipped away peacefully and I brought her home for the last time.

By now you know the third collar is Gunner's. My little buddy needs no introduction to the members of this forum. A greater hunting companion never walked the fields and woods as Gunner. He is next to his Mom now but Sturm, Ilsa and Gunner hunt with me always and forever.

[Harold Pickens]

Not much to say Rich, except you brought both a smile and a tear to the faces of many of us as we remember our past "best hunting buddies'. See you in October.

[Cold Spring]

Rich, a wonderful piece of writing. Thank you for making time to tell us about each of your buddies.

[Craig Larter]

Rich great post. Your post brings many tears to my eyes. You are not alone my friend---the pain of loss and smiles of good days afield are permanently etched in our minds
I have lived long enough to share my outdoor life with four black labs and one golden. All the collars also hang in my gun room. My first dog after marriage was a golden retriever Maggie, she was a bit curly with a beautiful golden color and a heart as big as a mountain. I lived in southern New Jersey and hunted out of a sneak box and coffin box in Cape May County, It was early in my career running a plastic factory in Camden so I had little time for training but she was natural and retrieved a bunch of black ducks on the sedge islands around Cape May. She died at 8 of cancer and I still tear up when I remember my golden girl and the good times at the Jersey shore.
My next dog was a black lab Rena. By this time I had moved to western NY but I was even more occupied by a career and young family. She was another natural, a great natural marker but I never had the time to teach her to handle. She died at 13 with a bumper in her mouth and a wagging tail, she had lost control of her legs and I had to say good bye-----hard to do when they look at you with those big brown eyes that say I love you man. I cried for days and I still do as I type this post.
My next black lab was Tess, Vanderbilt’s Hy Test. She was my once in a life time dog. She came out of Mary Howley’s Candlewood Kennel in Madison WI. Her grandmother was a 4 time national field trial champion, I trained her myself and she was an AKC Master Hunter before 2 years old and qualitied for the National Master. We travelled all over the east coast hunt testing and went to North Dakota 7 years in a row to hunt. She retrieved hundreds of ducks and wild pheasants. She lived a good long life, her last hunt was at 13. I had to call her off a cripple because she would have killed herself retrieving that duck. She was so tired after making 12 retrieves I had to lift her back into my Jon boat----she was the happiest dog alive. I had to put down due to cancer in the eyes, she couldn’t negotiate the stairs-----one of the worst days of my life.
Next black lab was DeeDee my big clown. She was the happiest dog I have ever seen, life was a big bowl of cherries. She made me smile every day, just all go. She would jump in my duck boat in the dark and bark until the motor started, she would stop barking as soon as she knew we were on our way to the blind. She was also an AKC Master Hunter that I trained and campaigned all over the east coast and hunted out west 5 years. She was my most difficult loss. At 7 years old she started to pant on our morning walk. I took her to the vet and they found a large cancer mass in her chest----she was gone before dark.
Great hunting dogs are one of life’s great gifts from God. As Gene Hill said “when I die I want to go to the same place as my hunting dogs”. Craig

[Bill Murphy]

Thanks, Rich. My Wirehair Eva is still with us. A bird finding machine. I will tell my bird dog stories some day. However, they go back to 1948, so it will be a while.

[C.O.B.]

I wouldn't hunt birds without a dog they just add so much to the experience before, during and after the hunt.

Daisy is now 10 and my wife is adamant about no more dogs until her collar hangs with the others. When the right one comes along it will be a matter of asking for forgiveness rather than permission.

I've told her that if I go first I want to be cremated and placed between Ilsa and Gunner.

[Mike Franzen]

Great post Rich. Dogs add so much to our lives. I wish the good ones could live forever.

[C.O.B.]

There are no bad dogs some are just better suited to our bad habits than others. We recently lost two ,Tara & Willie both GSP both house dogs neither one hunted but both were great companions and in his younger days Willie was quite the guard dog. His knee was held together with 150lb test mono filament fishing line. He blew out his knee at about 18mos. It held but he never hunted. He was 15 when he made his last trip to the vet Dec 30 2014.

[Hammer Gun]

Rich, You brought back some hard memories, of my dogs especially Miss Mattie, I look out the window at her stone, and my mind races, of the the good times had with her, hopefully her gun will be done by Christmas, gary

[Steve Kleist]

Rich.
Wow! Great story as always. That one really tugs at the heart strings.
Thank you for sharing that very personal recollection.
Your shooting pal,
Steve Kleist Ely, MN