Tag: Small Munsterlander

It’s not every day, or every year, not even every decade that you look at adding a pup to the family. Our last two new recruits were not hunting dogs, but rescues, so there was no litter to pick from. My first two hunting dogs were obtained through “this is your pup, take it or leave it” situations, and Aika, our last working dog, sort of picked me. So I was a little taken aback when Tanner and Toby informed me how the selection process was going to work: “Pick your top three, and we’ll match future owners with what we feel is the best pup for them”.

Ehm, what?

I suppose if you are a laid-back, take-it-as-it-comes kind of person, this wouldn’t phase you, but if you are a control-freak in rehab, this just won’t do. Even though I was educated as a scientist, learned how to deal with uncertainties and ambivalence in data, and even worked on Multi-Criteria Decision Analysis for a while, I’ve been tainted by the company of engineers and project managers for most of my working life. I need to be in control. So… what do you mean “pick three”? What if I only like two? What criteria are you going to apply to see which pup matches my personality and experience? What if I only like one? Who’s gonna get their number-one choice and who will not, and why? The “pick-three” approach caused a lot of heartburn.

Inferno

The first visit with the littler was a blur. “Everybody likes the roan-coloured ones”, Toby said. So did I. I focused on two which colour I liked, ignored the two with a lot of white, and came home with strong preferences, and a realization that I failed to give the rest of the mob a fair chance. My second time with the pups, I came prepared with an unbiased mind, handled each pup, but wasn’t much closer to picking three.

We discussed in more detail about how I like to hunt and what I do with the dog that isn’t hunting. Ivan with his size and dark colour could be prone to overheat sooner on long mountain runs. Reluctantly he was taken off the list. I’m Bullet Proof was the number one pick of my friend Peter by a big margin over the others. I decided to take him off my list as well. I would not be able to face him, if Bullet Proof were given to me. However that left only two roans to choose from, and I would have to add one of the brown/whites. Tanner and Toby indicated that Indy was a favourite: bold but not overly independent. Good traits for a hunting dog, who cannot be clinging to your heels, but who you also do not want to range far and wide without consideration for the guy with the gun.  With some trepidation I added Indy, the darker of the two brown/whites, but also slightly smaller. My number one was Inferno.

I didn’t get him. I was given Indy.

(to be continued)

Indiana Jones (Indy)

Indy enjoying his first snow

Eleven years. That’s a long time to be without a hunting dog. Eleven years is also how long Teeko, a husky-look-alike mixed breed from uncertain progeny, has been with us. He was the perfect hiking and backpacking companion, never straying too far, friendly towards people and other dogs, and, a very commendable trait, alert during long, dark nights. His low growl when some, mostly unsuspecting animal approached camp would raise me from the dead, and there is a story about a night spent in prime grizzly country, a 3AM growl and a porcupine that I have to tell one day.

But he is not a hunting dog. He stumbles across the odd covey of huns, and I have seen him walk into the wind to flush them, but generally he is more interested in sundry other sights and sounds and smells. In his younger years he also refused to swim, which is inconvenient when hunting waterfowl, and despite trying, I could never interest him in retrieving anything, not even a stick.

These days, a knee problem has him hobbling behind me on ever shortening walks. Hopefully medication and a knee brace will keep him mobile for a bit longer.

Through some unforeseen circumstances, we ended up adopting another mixed breed dog. Hailing from a village some 250 miles North of Yellowknife, the first two years of his life will remain a mystery. We melted when we saw him. If ever there was a dog in need of a home, he was it. He has also flushed some birds, but like Teeko he does not seem particularly fond of water. He’ll run with me all day, and curl up beside me all evening, but a hunting dog he is not.

Eleven years is a long time to be without a hunting dog indeed; but I won’t be much longer. It’s just not the same, upland hunting or waterfowling, without a dog. You can find a bird, but you’ll walk past a whole many more. And even with a canoe or boat, and judiciously picking your shots, ducks will end up where they can’t be retrieved without swimming (which I have done), or they will fall where finding them is neigh impossible. The urge became too strong to ignore, and after a partridge, at my shot, fell into deep snow, and the dog on duty proved gun shy and refused further cooperation, it was clear that it was time. It was only a matter of selecting a breed, and finding a breeder.

Part II – “Decisions, decisions”