Sweeping through the straw, our dogs routed those singles one by one. Even respectable dogs will sometimes lose their heads when things are popping too fast. When we got there, not a blessed bird was left. What can take an unruffled and philosophical spirit and tear it to tatters like that?
"And that's what makes a fellow quit huntin', I reckon." Will slumped forlornly on a log. "Twenty birds in that covey, and we got how many? Nary a one!"
"Pretty thorough job they made of it," I added dismally. "We hunted for that chance a whole week, and had it ruined in two minutes."
"Straw too dry."
"Dogs too fast."
"Birds nervous."
Thus we tersely diagnosed the case, and Will added the clincher: "Ain't goin' to be any better until it rains, and…" – he looked toward the discouraged skies – "it ain't gonna rain no more."
"We got to do something about it," I ultimatumed.
"Yeh. Got to," Will dully agreed. "What you got in mind?"
"Nothing." I chewed a sassafras twig and wondered if I could put a notion in Will's head without his suspecting my authorship. "By the way," I said, trying hard to sound honest, "how old is the Old Maid?"
"She's pushin' eleven."
"Too old to hunt, of course."
"Yeh, too old."
"Fattish, too. I reckon."
"Yeh, fattish, too."
"We agreed last year not to hunt her any more, besides."
"Sure. Shook hands on it and promised Mary."
"Never do to lie to Mary."
The Old Maid knew why she had been brought along, and she knew her own limitations, which is about the finest thing either dog or man can learn.
A pretty satisfactory conference, I figured, knowing Will as I do. And when we met the next morning, there was the Old Maid in person, an amiable old blue-ticked Llewellin, squatting like a fat dowager on the front seat of the car. And there was Will, looking happy and sort of sheepish.
"Got her but had to stand a lot of kidding from Mary. Said we ought to be ashamed of falling back on an old pensioner, us with our two-hundred-dollar dogs. But my pride is gettin' easy to swallow here lately."
"Of course, we've got to favor her," I conceded, fondling a shaggy ear.
It was soon apparent that the Old Maid would do her own favoring. Quietly she trotted behind us, contenting herself with an occasional excursion to check up on a likely thicket or a tentative clue that the other dogs had found and abandoned. Nothing could induce her to try her fortunes with the rollicking trio that swept the fields ahead. The Old Maid knew why she had been brought along, and she knew her own limitations, which is about the finest thing either dog or man can learn.
Within half an hour the other dogs had raised a fine covey, the birds flushing wild as usual and sailing off into an over-grown field.
"Now let's call those rambunctious hellions in, tie them to a sapling and let the Old Maid speak her piece," decided Will.
So saying, he produced three lengths of rope and tied up the traveling trio, much to their disgust and the jeopardy of the sapling.
The Old Maid has seen the covey and watched it down. As we approached, she trotted sedately ahead of us and began to insinuate herself through the undergrowth. Step by step she minced along, sneaking through the dry weeds and straw like a ghost.
"Walking on pins and needles," Will called it. And presently she announced a single, which Will brought down, and which she retrieved with the same daintiness, carefully retracing her steps on the retrieve to prevent invading untested ground.
"Notice how she came out the same way she went in? Old thing doesn't mean to risk a flush," beamed Will.
"I don't need a guidebook to the Old Maid's virtues, thank you," I answered, and bagged the next bird myself.
Back she went unbidden to her task, tiptoeing tediously about, warily testing every clump of weeds for her high-strung quarry. Once she pointed a single with a bird in her mouth – a heartwarming sight however often you have ever seen it. And once she brought in a twosome – not to be dramatic, but because common sense dictated such a procedure when two birds lay side by side.
When her tedious job was done, bless my soul if the Old Maid hadn't pointed and retrieved nine of those singles without a mishap or accidental flush!
One of her traits that had particularly struck me was her quiet self-sufficiency. Not once had she let her anxiety to retrieve betray her into rashness, as might as well have happened with a less practiced hand. Not once did she require instructions as to her job. We never talk much when the Old Maid is on a hard case. Matter of fact, she never thinks such a touchy situation appropriate for idle chatter. When a bird was downed, Will simply announced the fact. In him she had complete faith, never requiring reassurance and never relaxing her quest.
That very thoroughness of hers cost us an hour's delay the next day and gave me a sidelight on Will's training methods. Will has a way of his own with the dogs, and the incident, although a trifle irritating at the time, was highly revealing.
"No dogs like her nowadays, Will," I insisted, caressing a ragged ear. "Sometimes I think that nothing is as good as it used to be, anyway."
A wing-tipped bird had scurried into a hollow log and baffled the Old Maid's efforts to extricate it. Valiantly she laid siege to that log, prying, scratching and jamming her muzzle into the hollow, but to no avail. Nor did our added efforts help any. I tried to talk her into resigning the case, but no amount of persuasion could induce her to abandon the beleaguered quarry.
"We can't do anything with that derned dog, Will. We've lost fifteen minutes already. Tell her to be reasonable and come on."
"Just against her principles to leave a wounded bird, I reckon," replied Will.
"Heck! Pitch another one near the log and let her retrieve that. Maybe that'll satisfy the fussy old dame."
"That would be hardly honest, would it?" demurred Will.
"A dog should be taught not to lie. Best way to teach 'em that is not to lie to them. I taught her the same thoroughness when she was a puppy, and I'm not goin' to fuss with her now. She's right and we're wrong, only she has more time than we have."
With that, Will smiled indulgently and stalked off across the field. A quarter of an hour later he was back with an ax and a wedge, and we fell to splitting that hollow log so that the Old Maid could satisfy her conscience.
"That's what comes of having too good a dog," I chided peevishly. "And damned if you ain't as stubborn as she is."
But in my heart I felt a sneaking admiration for the pair of them.
For the next four weeks, as long as the dry weather lasted, we followed the same procedure: letting the other dogs hunt the coveys and the Old Maid the singles, especially when conditions called for delicate maneuvering. They were altogether the most satisfying hunts I've ever had. And three-fourths of the birds we bagged during that time we owed to the patience and finesse of the old lady.
"That dame is a genius, and nothing else," I conceded after a particularly fine day. "Just as an academic question, Will: what will you take for your half of her?"
"Well there's my car, my gun and the other dogs. There's the farm, the mules and the kitchen stove. And there's my wife, maybe. But the Old Maid, I reckon she's about the only thing on the place that ain't for sale."
"Think I'll put her in a story," I ventured.
"If you do, be sure to say she ain't for sale."
"No dogs like her nowadays, Will," I insisted, caressing a ragged ear. "Sometimes I think that nothing is as good as it used to be, anyway."
"Oh, you're getting mellow over your shootin' these last few days. Matter of fact, the puppy I'm workin' on now will be just as good as the old lady in time. It's not hard, if a fellow has the patience, time, the birds – and a dog to start with. But unless a man is cut out by Providence to fool with dogs, I reckon he'd better hire his trainin' done. Best money he ever spent. Or buy one already trained. If he's an important fellow that gets off just now and then, he'd better buy a dog that's set in his ways, an old dog that's got more sense than he has – one he can't ruin. And I don't mean any harm by that. A fellow has got to be out of a job and not worried about it to train a dog right, I reckon." |