The styles of a hunting dog are a beautiful sight to see. The dog that points his chest high, tail immobile; the dog that bends over itself, pretzel-like as it catches scent behind itself in mid-stride; the dog that looks like a perfect right angle, with head lowered, caught at the bottom of its stride, frozen in place by the scent of its prey.
One of the seminar students was waiting for him, so George politely excused him- self. That’s when someone I knew, particu- larly by his reputation, stepped up and asked me a question. “Hey, Lonnie, you want that piece of
crap?” George’s observation about broken
Lonnie Spell, shown with Limited Edition Super Joe, hails from Lafayette, Louisiana. He has been training dogs for almost 30 years. His grand- father was a dog trainer, so he has been around bird dogs as long as he can remember: Pointers, Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, Water Spaniels and a partic- ular Llewellin Setter, one of the greatest dogs he said he has ever had. Although he has done some breeding, his focus is on training the big running horseback-handled field dog, a gun dog that is handled by someone riding a horse rather than someone walking on foot. “Big running” describes
the distance that the dog maintains from the handler while seeking game. Generally speaking, a big running dog runs (and hunts) farther out from the horse- back handler than a dog being handled by someone on foot.
Photography, courtesy of Lonnie Spell: Previous page - Petie with Grace, both Pointers. Opposite page - Petie in tall grass.
32 THE NEW BARKER
dogs might have been what tipped this other man’s hand. He had more than a few dogs he was cutting from his string. They hadn’t gotten with his program so they had to go. And there was that one dog in par- ticular. I had to say yes. It would have been
easier to say no, but sometimes the easy thing is not always the right thing. And ‘no’ would mean that pup was destined to be dumped in an after-hours outdoor run at a kill shelter with all the other dogs. It was- n’t my job to make his dump at the shelter easier, but taking that dog would be the right thing. It would save a life. And I knew that dog. That ‘piece of crap’ was once my girl
Belle’s puppy. I knew the field blood run- ning through his veins. That’s why I bred that litter. By a twist of fate, Belle’s pup ended up with this man, who was now ready to throw him away. He deserved bet- ter than the dump. They all did. They always do. I had to work on Monday, so I made
arrangements for my friend, Bobby, to go and fetch him up. The next day I went over to Bobby’s. He warned me, “It’s been about a year since you’ve seen this pup. A lot can happen in a year.” As we walked out back, I saw him. He
stood there in the middle of the kennel run, scared and confused. Everything about his body language shouted fear. His tail was tucked tight between his legs and his ears were tense and set back, as if he was wait- ing for the next bomb to explode. I stood there, staring in disbelief at the dog before
me. This was not Belle’s bold pup. This dog was terrified; snakebit by life and barely holding on. Belle and I had him for only eight weeks. After that, he had been living what I would not want to imagine during so many important stages in his young life. He had been named Justin. I never
wanted him to hear that name again. On the ride back to my place, I
remembered why I bred this litter and the hopes I had for the pups. This dog was born with the gift of extraordinary genet- ics, going back to a top field Pointer named Honky Tonk Attitude. One year later, I wondered how and if I could find, under all that fear, that confident, happy puppy. Would we, he and I, be able to find his Attitude? I left him alone and kept interaction to
a minimum for the first week. He needed to settle in to a new place. I needed to give him time to feel safe and secure. His run was cleaned. He got fresh water and good food. No explosions here, buddy. You can relax. Relax. Easier said than done. My other
dogs would see a squirrel running to the tree line and start barking. He would run and hide. Before, barking meant trouble. Trouble meant punishment. Punishment. Just for being a dog. His fear grew out of knowing punishment. Overcoming fear meant overcoming the hardship of bad experiences. Punishment is different from correc-
tion. Punishment springs from a well of anger. Correction is not from that well of anger. Correction is right for the situation and right for what the dog knows. You cannot correct a dog for something you have not trained. In training, a dog will learn what to do,
and what not to do. Just like in life, mis- takes are good. Only by making mistakes do you have the opportunity to learn and truly grow.
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