It Was One Of Those Days…

BY CHRIS ROBINSON

Sporting dogs are an odd lot. Other than the Lagotto Romagnolo, they all hunt birds but there the similarities pretty much end. The variety of physical appearances presented by the breeds is truly astonishing for dogs that all do roughly the same work. They range all the way from the leggy beauty and graceful movement of the Irish Setter to the stubby-legged, almost Basset-like appearance of the Sussex Spaniel which my late friend and long-time AKC conformation judge Betty Sandberg said always looked to her like a dog that had been put together by a committee.

Their temperaments and attitudes are also as varied as their appearance. Some turn inside out at the mere sight of you followed by a “what great things are you going to ask me to do so I can please you” while others will give you a baleful stare after each command you utter that says, “Yeah, you and who else are going to make me do that.” And, then there was Mike, who, if he wasn’t one of a kind, was certainly unique. If he acknowledged the existence of a command at all he did it in the spirit that you couldn’t possibly have meant for him to “heel” when there was a butterfly to chase.

We called Mike “The Bonehead” because he always seemed to operate on a program devised by recidivist felons. To him, people were curious critters, amusing but nothing to get goofy about. I yelled, bellowed, screamed and punctuated those yells, bellows and screams with a smack or two upside the head on numerous occasions trying to get through to Mike that what he was doing was unacceptable but like the meaning of life to Shakespeare’s dour Dane, it was all sound and fury signifying nothing to the dog. I’m not a permissive parent with regard to my dogs and unlike some of our politicians, I’ve been known to resort to some significant pun- ishment when they cross certain red lines in the sand that both the dogs and I know. But raising hell with Mike had no more effect on his misbe- havior than had I saved my energy and instead resorted to singing hymns and the laying on of hands. Well, I did do some laying on of hands but not to confer a spiritual blessing.

When he was in trouble, he would get a contrite look about him, like a convict appearing before the parole board, but it never lasted and frankly, it lacked sincerity. For five minutes after he had been braced against the bulkhead, he would almost invariably go back and repeat the offense. Early in his puppyhood, Mike decided that the fun of any dog sin was worth whatever punishment it brought. I don’t think he deliberately disobeyed. He was just locked in on his own particular muses with the sort of single-mindedness that produces great art, glorious music and literary classics as well as tyrants and dictators.

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Posted by Alex on Jun 19 2018. Filed under Current Articles, Featured. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.