|
Peninsula Daily News Port Angeles, Washington Copyright 2000 Eric Rush www.ericrush.com |
|
|
|
One dog at a time is all my heart can handle. Some people immediately replace dead dogs with new pups to dispel the darkness in their hearts with their exuberant enjoyment of life. It was just three years ago that cancer took my English Setter. Buddy was my first bird dog, my first dog of any kind since childhood. For more than two years after his death, I had no interest in replacing him. Then, this past winter, I began to think it was time. I studied ads for setters in magazines and even considered other breeds. If my setter had a flaw, it was that he did not hunt close enough to suit me, or anyone else not mounted on a swift horse. Part of the reason may stem from my lack of training experience, but part of it results from breeding for trials in which covering ground fast is an advantage. Brittanies, and French Brittanies in particular, tend to hunt close to the gun. Since most of my hunting is for grouse in thick cover, I considered getting a Brittany this time. But my dog isn’t just a hunting accessory. He’s part of the family, an animal to live with. I like the shape and personality of a setter, its long, flowing tail and dark brown eyes. Brittanies have short tails that are docked for uniformity, and their eyes are butterscotch brown. I asked a nationally known Brittany man if it would be possible to get a Brit with an undocked tail. He suggested that, if the tail were that important, perhaps I should stick with setters. I was considering his advice when I saw an ad in a national magazine for English Setters bred to hunt close. I considered calling the kennel and, if I liked the vibes, perhaps I’d go back east to meet the people and their dogs. Or maybe I’d get a Brit, short tail and all. I wasn’t in a hurry to get a new pup. I was just trying on the idea to see how it felt. My summer schedule was filling fast with weddings and reunions. I wanted to be able to give a new pup daily attention for the first few weeks, so I considered waiting another year. Then I got a phone call. About ten years ago, when Buddy was a young dog, a Port Angeles man saw him in my truck and struck up a conversation about him and dogs in general. Some time later, he called to ask if I’d let Buddy sire his Gordon Setter’s pups. I agreed on condition he not tell who the father was unless the pups turned out to be good ones. They did, and some are still around. He called this time to say that he’d bought a pregnant English Setter. He intended to sell the females and give the males to people he thought deserved them. He knew Buddy had died, and he asked if I’d like one of the pups. My wife believes things happen when they’re supposed to. I’m not superstitious, but I had to admit the timing of that phone call was perfect. I felt honored that the man had thought of me. Of course I said yes. The pups would be born in late May and be ready to take home about the time we got back from our daughter’s wedding in California. I had some vacation left over from last year that I could take and tie two short summer vacations together. That would give me a few continuous weeks so spend with the pup. The man’s daughter had named him Sparky, but that sounds too much like the name of our other dog, Molly, so I thought I’d drop the ‘y’ and call him Spark. For some reason, Spark didn’t catch fire with either my wife or with me. One evening Barb was describing how “Spike, Sprout, whatever your dog’s name is” had been helping her pick raspberries and eating all he could reach. Sprout? What a goofy name for a dog. Sprout? It doesn’t make any sense. Sprout? I laughed at the idea. Sprout. Back to archives Next Article |