When Simple Just Isn't; A Reproductive Adventure. Part 1

     Nothing in life is really simple, is it? Some things sure seem to be. Other things certainly don't seem to be terribly difficult. According to some television commercials there are thousands of unwanted puppies out there, so how difficult could breeding a dog be? Well, it sure isn't simple.

     My wife and I decided a while back that we'd breed our Springer Spaniel, Ginger, at some time. Over the years we'd scouted out potential mates at hunt tests and field trials. After a while we decided on a mate, and approached the owner. He was in agreement that our two dogs had the potential to contribute some nice pups to the spaniel world. All we had to do was wait for the right time. Well, the time had come, or so we thought. Ginger, who usually comes into heat around the end of March, and then again around the end of September, decided she didn't want to wait until March, and came in early, mid-January. This meant I had to do a bit of scrambling. So phone calls were made, and vet appointments scheduled. Straight off we got Ginger checked for Brucellosis. What is Brucella, you ask? In short, its basically a venereal disease a dog can pick up, though not necessarily the same way humans do, and is bad news. There was also Progesterone timing tests to be done. What? I was beginning to realize how little, despite having a seasoned mentor, I knew about dog breeding. Just because a bitch is in  heat does not mean she is ready to be bred. In addition to estrogen, a certain level of progesterone must be achieved to successfully breed. A minimum progesterone level of 5 is needed for a bitch to be bred, and then one has 4-5 days to get it done before she starts to come out of heat.

     Fortunately for us there is a vet which specializes in reproduction somewhat nearby. Fortunate for them I wanted to do this the right way and opened my check book,... several times. So began the testing. Jan 29th, Progesterone level 0.8. Feb 1st, Progesterone level 2.2. We're on the right track. Feb 3rd, Progesterone level 5.3. Showtime!! All I had to do now was fill the gas tank and head north to Wildwind kennel in Maine where Ginger's suitor, Tommy, awaited. But, nope. We had a small unrelated issue. I was scheduled for orthopedic surgery on Feb 4th. That's right, Ginger hits optimal breeding hormone levels the day before I'm scheduled to have a few bones screwed together, and another removed completely from my wrist. Well, theoretically there is a window of a few days to get the breeding done.

     The morning of the 5th, against my surgeons wishes, my wife and I pointed the car north and we were off to Maine. Full disclosure; I was not behind the wheel. I was somewhat sore, and under the effect of a prescription narcotic, and the lingering effect of a nerve block. Did I mention that a snow storm had blown in, and that most of the east coast was getting some pretty heavy snow? Not the best conditions to drive 220 miles. But puppies are important, so off we went, limping slowly north on the Maine Pike, and a few other roads. It was slow going, and we stopped frequently, but we eventually made it almost all the way there, but not without a little help. Unfortunately the snow got the best of us, preventing our passage about a 1/2 mile from the kennel. Mercifully Jim drove down from the kennel in his truck and helped us get unstuck and accompanied us the final stretch. After the long, rather treacherous drive in the snow my wife could barely contain her joy at seeing Jim's familiar face when he pulled along side us on that snowy hillside, and I think we both thought she was going to jump out of the car and give him a big hug. He certainly deserved one.

     Now that neither surgery nor snow had kept us from getting Ginger to her rendezvous with Tommy, we introduced the two to each other and let nature run it's course. Except that it didn't run. Not right away. Anyway, we had the weekend, and could commit even more time if it was needed. Perhaps the two of them just needed more time to get to know each other?

     My wife and I had booked a couple nights at a hotel in Belfast, just a short drive from the kennel. Again Jim took mercy on us and insisted that we stay the night with them, as the snow and the driving conditions really weren't getting any better. We agreed instantly. That evening we enjoyed some great conversation over a bowl of delicious venison chili with Jim and his family. The next morning we carried on right where we had left off over some  eggs and sausage. Of course we intermittently took a break from socializing to put the dogs together, after all, that's why we were there.

     About mid-day the next day, my wife and I began making preparations to depart for Belfast. Unfortunately the dogs hadn't tied yet, though there appeared to be some signs of hope. We would leave Ginger at the kennel with the hope that some magic would happen between her and Tommy. Before we left we were fortunate enough to meet up with Dan, a friend of Jim's we've met on a few occasions field trialing, and his wife, who came by the kennel to see Jim and his family. Some tentative dinner plans were made, and we were off. At the hotel in Belfast we kicked off our shoes, quickly got comfortable with the view of Belfast Harbor, and relaxed a bit, my swollen wrist held aloft on a large pile of pillows. Phone calls were made, dinner plans solidified, and a reservation secured for later that evening.

     Dinner in Belfast was terrific. We managed to put together a bit of a congress of spaniel folk. Jim, Dan, and their families, joined my wife and I, but we were also fortunate enough to be joined by Brad, owner of the Upland Journal Bulletin Board, and his wife Jo Anne. Brad and his wife are also spaniel people, sharing their home with both a Springer and a King Charles Cavalier. I initially met Brad, through the Upland Journal, at an event he'd hosted some years back. Jim also participates occasionally on the UJBB, and prior to meeting Jim for the first time at a trial we had corresponded via the UJBB. And to make the world even smaller, Jim's wife, Denise, and Brad's wife, Jo Anne, had crossed paths, and had mutual acquaintances as a result of working for the same company. The dinner conversations naturally revolved around spaniels, training, and hunting. Of course, me not being able to enjoy a beer due to the pain meds I'd been prescribed, coupled with the fact that I dutifully managed to hold my hand aloft like a student trying to ask a question, I became a bit of a target, rightfully so, when the situation presented itself. We didn't solve any of the worlds problems at dinner, but by the time the evening ended we all were certain that we were all pretty much cut from the same cloth.

     Sunday was scheduled to be our last day in Maine, and the outcome of the weekend would be a deciding factor in what came next. Unfortunately Ginger and Tommy had yet to tie as of dinner the previous night. We'd have to wait a bit longer, and see what happens. We packed our bags, and headed to the kennel once more. Sadly, the two of them had still not managed to tie. It was decision time. Jim was packing, preparing to head down south for a couple of months where the weather was better, and dogs could be trained. This didn't mean the breeding couldn't still happen; we knew we could leave Ginger in Maine with Tommy for a bit longer if needed. We were also given the opportunity to take Tommy home with us, the idea being we take both dogs to the repro-vet, and have them "assist" in making the breeding a reality. Being only the third day after my surgery I wasn't comfortable with having to care for another's dog one handed and sore, so we elected to leave Ginger in Maine for the week and hope that nature would run it's course. And at that, we said our good byes and headed home.

     And,....it must be said again,.......Thank You, Jim, Denise, and Deanna. I can't thank Jim and his family enough for their hospitality. They made us feel truly welcome at a time when we really needed a break.
   
To Be Continued in Part 2
   

Central Ct Spaniel Club Hunt Test Success

     The Central Connecticut Spaniel Club hosted a hunt test at Nod Brook management area in Simsbury Ct last weekend. The two day event saw lots of JH, and MH dogs, and a handful of SH dogs all working towards their appropriate titles. While Springers were the most represented breed, various Cockers, Boykins, Labs, and even a Flat Coated retriever were in attendance.

     The weather was beautiful, though a bit warm and humid, and the cover nice and full. The birds, despite their being wet with morning due for the early land series' cooperated and flushed nicely. Often at hunt tests Chukars get trapped by a hard charging dog before they get airborne, some where on the order of 50% of the time. This test saw a much lower percentage of trapped birds, with birds being flushed 75-80% of the time.

     This hunt test proved to be unique in the large number of dogs that earned a title, and moved up to the next level as well. While I failed to make notations, I'd guess that better than 50% of the dogs that made it though earned a title. And Ginger was one of them, earning her Senior Hunter title on Saturday, and moving up to the Master level, where she earned her first Master Hunter qualifying score. I couldn't have been any happier with Ginger's final Senior Hunter run, turning out what I think was nearly perfect. Day two, as is prone to happen, proved to be a bit more difficult (not only because we moved up to MH level), but she made it through.

Starbury Ponkapoag Ginger Snap SH

Winter? Weather

     Over the years I've heard a lot about the global warming phenomenon. Having spent a good amount of my time outdoors, in all seasons (no pun intended), I've pretty much discounted the theories of how the earth is warming up. One day in a duck blind in January will have anyone who is adamant the global temps are rising second guessing themselves real quick. This year I've begun to think a bit differently, as here in Massachusetts we've been having an extremely warm winter. This warm winter, is of course, great for things like dog training. Not so good for things like tracking deer. The snow has arrived, and the temps have dropped, so it seems the party is over. The dog training continues, none the less, as the depth of the snow fall has even necessitated the use of my snow blower, yet. Here are a few dog training pics from a recent pre-snow session. Enjoy.

**Photos by Junko Nakao Rich



Remembering, To Forget

     Keep dogs long enough, and sooner or later you'll find yourself reflecting, and remembering dogs you've had in the past. As I find myself dealing with my Setter, Austin, being in his twilight, I find my thoughts are more and more filled with memories created because of my relationship with these incredible animals. But I must confess; I feel an enormous guilt when I think of the events from the fantastic years Austin and I been a team, while he's still here. Even as I write this he's curled up, sleeping next to my chair in the living room. And as long as he's unaware that the sun is setting on the awesome time we've shared together I can't bring myself to think of him in the past tense. 

                                                                      
    
     I took my first step into the dog world 18 years ago with a pup named Paulo. I rescued Paulo from a shelter, being convinced by the staff that he was a Wirehaired Pointer. As Paulo grew, or in this case, got older, it became apparent that something else had gotten over the kennel fence. Paulo was no pointer, but he was a loving dog, with a nose for woodcock, a soft retrieve, and a gift for making people love him.

     A year after Paulo came Maggie. Maggie was an English Springer Spaniel of questionable pedigree. She loved to eat, pushed the other dogs around in camp, had a stubborn streak, and loved to hunt. Though the early years with Maggie were trying at times, I progressed in my dog training skills and soon convinced her that what I wanted her to do was enjoyable. She became a pretty incredible little bird dog.
     As I'm not letting myself reflect upon my time with Austin, I am constantly redirecting my thought to the many great day afield I'd had with Maggie. One of my fondest memories is of a day I brought a good friend, Bobby, to observe a day of grouse hunting. Bobby had spent a lot of time around the dogs, both in the house, and at training sessions but had never seen the whole thing put together. So off we went to trudge through some of my most productive Western Mass coverts.
     Early in the day we'd moved and shot some Woodcock, but being new to the sport Bobby was missing the action. Sure, he'd seen Maggie working the cover, heard the report of the gun, and seen the results of the shot, but he hadn't seen a bird in the air. As grouse hunters, we've trained ourselves, and can easily spot a woodcock flush even on a foggy day, but for the uninitiated, it ain't easy.
     As the day progressed, time running out, I took Bobby to my most productive covert. I ran Maggie along our usual route along the stone wall that edged the field and the cover, down the edge that bordered the farm pond, and then back into the thicker and wetter area below. As we pushed through towards the beaver pond at the far end of the covert Maggie flushed yet again another Woodcock. This time everything came together perfectly. The bird flew through an open, clearly in Bobby's line of sight, trying to make for the other side of the beaver pond. I swung the Gamba 28 gauge smoothly, and the little bird dropped with a small splash into the pond. Maggie, upon seeing the splash broke at full bore to the waters edge where she stopped for but a second to get a visual on the bird before plunging in, and returning to me with our prize. While I'd shot and had many birds retrieved by Maggie before this, the speed, and efficiency she displayed on this bird would have made me happy on any day, but for her to do it with a friend in tow made it all the more better. After a day in the woods, Bobby had finally gotten to see what it was all about, from start to finish.

     Maggie could be forgiving too. On another occasion Steve, a Pennsylvanian friend, and I hunted one of my most challenging coverts. Maggie flushed a Woodcock which got up to tree top height and began flying in circles. Steve and I both sent lots of lead at the little bird to no effect, reloaded, and tried again with the same result. When the smoke cleared, we looked at each other speechless for a second before realizing that Maggie was still hupped (sitting, for those who don't speak spaniel) in the place she flushed the bird from, looking at the two of us with a clear look of disdain. I don't know if we laughed because of our shooting, or because of the dogs obvious disappointment, but boy did we laugh. And every year at camp we tell the story again, and laugh some more.

      I could go on and on about Maggie, and share stories involving all my hunting buddies, and I'm sure I will one day. For today I'll stop here, because I know in the next few weeks, as Austin grows sicker I'll need these Maggie stories to remind me of happier times, and to remind me that one day I'll get the same enjoyment out of Austin stories. I'm amazed when I think about the fact that I've been keeping bird dogs for 18 years. I've made mistakes, but also continued learning, and I've still got a passion for bird dogs. And with this passion these stories, and their inevitable heartbreaks will continue. It's just the way it is.