The Elusive Last Leg

162 – July, 2010

by Chris Robinson

What is it about that last qualifying score or those last few points that makes them so difficult to acquire? During the years I judged hunt tests, time after time I saw dogs going for their final qualifying score manage to turn the go into a situation that folks in the U.S. military describe as FUBAR. (Since this is a family publication, if you don’t know for what that acronym stands, you’ll have to look it up on a military slang website.)

An uncountable number of times, dogs going for that elusive last leg somehow managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Friends of mine who judge field trials, obedience and agility trials, and herding trials say they have observed the very same phenomenon. A friend, whose dog ultimately earned his OTCH, endured a dozen straight non-qualifying attempts to get the dog’s last leg in utility and each time he messed up a different exercise. Another friend, who has four herding dogs that are dual champions, said it took six months of trials with one of her DCs to finally garner the last few points the dog needed for his herding championship.

Flat-Coats have a well-deserved reputation for being comedians.

The sporting group is replete with these tales of woe. Let me cite just a few examples that I witnessed on the days I was the one holding the score sheet. A German Shorthaired Pointer that had breezed through junior, senior and four qualifying scores in master without a single hitch came to the test where he could earn his final master ribbon. Clearly one more qualifying score was a snap for this really fine dog and he had two opportunities to do it before the hunt test season ended in my area of the country. Not so fast, Elmore. On the first day, his owner picked him up 15 minutes into the brace running time and she probably waited too long at that. He had three possible bird contacts. Twice he stole point, once scooping the bird right out from under his bracemate’s nose. The other time, he charged in, bumped the bird from in front of his bracemate and then chased it all the way off the course. The next day, despite some intense and serious discussion the previous night about his crimes and misdemeanors, he turned in a performance that was, if possible, even more dreadful than the previous day’s effort. This time, he was picked up shortly after the breakaway. As his owner collared him, his body language alone communicated a particularly offensive two-word phrase toward his owner, the judges, the gunners, and everything about the hunt test program in general.

Another GSP, going for his final qualifying score in master, had only to demonstrate that he would back the point of his bracemate to complete his title. He had completed all the other requirements for the test. As luck would have it, his bracemate went on point in some slightly taller grass than was present on most of the rest of the course. However, the grass was not so tall that the dog could not have seen his bracemate on point. Instead, he bounded through the grass like a demented gazelle right up to her, and I mean right up to her. When he finally did stop, his nose was exactly under her tail. Surprisingly, his bracemate didn’t move which must have required considerable control on her part. Then, as if his sin had not been egregious enough, he put both front paws on her rear end and pushed down, forcing her head up and her tail down. Having effectively moved her off the bird, he poked his nose in front to steal the point. The judges nearly fell off their horses laughing. His owner failed to see any humor at all in the situation.

You must never make a Brittany mad, particularly not a Brittany female, and if that sounds like the voice of experience, it’s because it is!

I judged a Brittany that chose that day to deliver one of the finest displays of total canine contempt that I ever had the privilege to witness. Scheduled to run in one of the first braces of the day, she had the misfortune to have her bracemate be a “no-show” which bumped her to the last brace. This was the first mistake of the day. You must never make a Brittany bitch mad and if that sounds like the voice of experience, it’s because it is. Then, her owner chose to run her kennel mate in the brace right before hers which further annoyed her. Finally, because he was suffering from shin splints, after he had handled her kennelmate to a qualifying score, he was simply too sore, he thought, to walk another brace so he engaged a substitute handler. This was the second mistake. Already sulking because she had to wait all day, this sent her into a royal snit.

Cast off by her substitute handler, she went about 20 yards, spotted her owner sitting on the hill nursing his sore shins, and immediately left the course to discuss this breach of etiquette with him in firm tones. Properly chastened, he limped down the hill, determined to suck it up and ignore the pain in his aching shins, and prepared to walk the course with her. But she was not through punishing him for his misbehavior. You just don’t snub her imperial majesty and get away with it. She ran another 50 yards or so, just enough to lull her owner into a false sense of security that all was forgiven, then departed the course for good. Everyone knew it was her final decision because she returned to the breakaway, hopped up in her owner’s vehicle, and bedded down with her back to the door. In the finest tradition of royals everywhere, as plainly as she could, she told everyone “We are not amused.”

Another Brittany bitch going for her last qualifying score in master was the fastest “pick-up” I saw in fifteen years of judging. Released to hunt, she promptly took a 90 degree turn to the left, ran through a treeline and into a neighboring cornfield. Displaying lightning-like speed, she raced up and down the corn rows with her bell clanging at such a furious pace as to create concern that the clapper would fuse to the bell. It was clear to everyone, especially her owner, that she was chasing pheasants and she meant to catch at least one of them. Somewhere between three and five minutes into the brace running time, she broke out of the cornfield and headed, at breakneck speed, toward a patch of woods on the edge of a pond. She knew there were always pheasants in that woods! Sure enough, her analysis was correct. For the second she cut into the woods, what should appear in front of her but a large taunting rooster yelling whatever is pheasantese for “your mother wears Army boots.” The Brit hesitated only long enough to shriek something at the rooster—most likely “Die, sucker!” or words to that effect—before launching her attack going airborne in an effort to haul down her tormentor. Her owner kept hitting the Brit with blasts on the whistle but, in truth, she could have hit the Brit with a two by four and it would not have had any effect on her determination to catch her cackling adversary. The upshot was that within five minutes of leaving the breakaway, the Brit was on leash headed back to her crate.

A Georgia-based Gordon Setter had traveled all the way from the southern border of the U.S. to the northern border in an effort to corral the elusive last leg on his master title. On the first day of the test, the Gordon and his owner managed to get to the bird field without mishap. But, then disaster struck. As the dog swung around on a cast, a quail, noting the proximity of the cavalry, decided there was no disgrace in a strategic withdrawal. Unfortunately, just as it launched, the dog spotted his enemy in retreat and it was immediately apparent, that despite his owner’s membership in the Georgia Volunteer Regiment, “Stonewall” was not part of the dog’s name. While his owner issued frantic orders to “halt,” the dog lit out after the quail and Atlanta was in flames once again. The next day it was a repeat performance as the dog was “gone with the wind” after a wild flush, determined once and for all to pursue his foe to the ground. Instead of achieving his desired final victory, the Gordon landed himself and his owner at Appomattox.

Retrievers are as skilled at blowing their owners’ entry fees as the pointing breeds. Flat-Coats are known for their willingness to entertain and one particular dog had some of every great comedian who ever lived somewhere in his makeup. He had run a near-perfect test and needed only to complete the honor to earn his final qualifying score in master. He politely sat through the test for the running dog until the flyer was on the ground. However, when it appeared to him that the running dog was taking way too much time to leave the line and pick up the birds, he decided it was his duty to help. After all, it is really bad manners to leave dead birds lying around in the field. So, he raced out and picked up the flyer. Then to demonstrate that he knew the proper protocol, he returned to perfect heel position with the handler of the running dog, not his own handler, and presented her with the bird. But, before she could take it from him, he suddenly remembered there were two other birds littering the field. Well, that would never do!

He took off to try and clean up the mess. But, when he arrived at one of the birds, it dawned on him that he had a problem. He still had the first bird in his mouth. What to do? Hooked on the horns of a dilemma. After several tries to get both in his mouth at the same time, he finally had to give up although it may be that the loud threats coming from his owner finally got his attention. In any case, he had to return in defeat with only one bird. However, in the opinion of the judges, if his owner had not had quick hands and an even quicker leash, he would have been able to complete his mission.

Upholding the breed’s reputation as comedians, another Flat-Coat that was going for his final qualifying score in master broke on the honor at the national specialty hunt test. Adding ignominious insult to the injury to his owner’s pride and bank balance, he allowed the running dog, who was ten years old, to beat him to the bird after he broke. Not content with only one violation, he systematically went about adding to the indictment. He stole birds that the bird throwers had not yet placed in bags and then ran around the field carrying the birds with that special kind of joie de vivra only exhibited by misbehaving dogs in front of an audience. Egged on by the laughter from the gallery, he displayed escape and evasion tactics worthy of inclusion in the curriculum at West Point. Whenever any of his pursuers would get too close, he’d drop the bird he was carrying (a diversion?) and snatch another. This went on for what seemed like three days before he was finally surrounded and captured by the entire hunt test staff—gunners, bird boys, judges, marshals—a half dozen members of the gallery and his embarrassed owner. Led from the field exhibiting absolutely no remorse for his misconduct, he pranced and danced around his owner like a thoroughbred that knew he had just won the Kentucky Derby.

Labradors, despite their dominance in retriever trials and tests, are not immune to the "elusive last leg syndrome."

Labradors, despite their dominance in retriever trials and tests, are not immune to the “elusive last leg syndrome.” One Lab I judged had done a beautiful job in the test earning nothing less than 10’s across the score sheets of both judges. He had been steady as a rock; he buttoned every one of his marks and his blind retrieves had been a thing of beauty. All that remained for his final qualifying score to earn his master title was a fairly simple honor. Making things even easier, both judges had told the handlers prior to the test that if they had to say something to their dogs to stop them from breaking, they should do so. It just shouldn’t be so loud that the judges heard it and both judges did mention they suffered from some hearing loss due to all those years of shooting skeet without ear protection. But, as it turned out, the Lab’s owner could have used a bullhorn and it would not have mattered one whit. The second the flyer was released, he was gone. Despite his owner’s A. commands, B. screams, C. threats, D. all of these actions, the dog never broke stride until he reached the bird and snatched it up. The $50 entry fee and the dog’s master title, at least until the following spring, were effectively dumped down the outhouse.

Then there was the Lab that became obsessed with one of the bird boys while trying for her final qualifying score in master. She simply could not take her eyes off of him even though he was a complete stranger to her. Despite strenuous efforts on the part of her owner to get her to look out at the test area and equally strenuous efforts by the gunners and bird throwers to attract her attention with shouts, duck calls, and shots fired including about five at the flyer, she had eyes only for the bird boy stationed about 20 yards to her left on the line. Her focus on him never wavered. Finally, when all three of the birds in the test were down, her owner glanced at me and shrugged. My comment was “Well, let’s hope she takes a good line.” It was a faint hope. While her owner eventually managed to get the dog lined up on the first bird, when cast off, she went about five yards, spun into a 90 degree turn, raced over to the bird boy and sat down in front of him gazing adoringly up at him. When led away in disgrace, she kept looking back at the bird boy and pulling hard at the leash in an attempt to return to his side.

So, what do all these examples of defeat mean? Very simply don’t ever give up. Even the best dogs have days when nothing goes according to plan. Perseverance counts both for the dogs and for their owners in field work. Some of these owners rated a perfect 10 in that category. For the dogs, the failure to capture that elusive last leg on the day I was judging was merely a temporary setback as all eventually went on to complete their master titles. The fact that along the way they managed to provide a lot of laughs was just an added bonus for the judges, the marshals and the gallery if not for the folks paying the dogs’ entry fees.

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