I feel this pain. And truth be told, a dog or two of mine have caused this pain to others. (See beaver-poop-infused face licks, below.) But if you’ve gotten to the point of asking this question, then it’s clear you’re not the sort to simply accept the erosion of experience caused by a duck dog that’s not quite ready for prime time. You get up at the crack of dawn, spend good money, and slog to the blind. Who can blame you if a pal’s half-Tigger blowing your chances at a duck burns your beans?
But take a hard look ahead, pardner. The passage you consider is dark and treacherous and winds through the fetid Swamp of Good Intentions, where lie the bones of so many good hunters who came before. Talking smack about your bud’s pooch—even lovingly, even gently—is as fraught as a tightwire act in a hurricane. You’ll probably take a fall.
Yet here you are. Ogling the abyss.
I know, I know. The whining. The barking. The running around and tearing half the blind down, the breaking when the shots go off, the ducks flaring, the opportunities wasted, the get-that-dog-outta-my-face-she-just-ate-five-freakin’-pounds-of-beaver-poo. And let’s not talk about the whistle. For the love of Nash Buckingham, let’s not start with that incessant whistle. Does that dog even know what it means? Looks good on YouTube, though.
The way I see it, there are four choices for moving forward. The first is to have a candid conversation with your hunting companion:
Hey man, you know I love your pup. But I’m wondering if she might be costing us a few birds. Possible to tighten the sails a bit, hone the edge, shut that blabber-hound up every time the mallards set their wings?
Oh, did I say that out loud? Heh-heh. Heh.
If you’re too chicken for the can-we-talk-about-this approach, the next option is passive-aggression. Start by putting some distance between you and your pal in the field: Hey, I’m gonna hunt by that tree over there, give us a better chance. The next hunt, maybe your “better chance” awaits on the far side of the creek. Your friend should get the drift. You might also drop a copy of the latest Cesar Millan book in your buddy’s blind bag. But you better have another hunting pal or two on deck.
Then there’s a middle ground, a route that sweetens, with the syrup of your own unselfishness, the sour taste your buddy will have after hearing that his dog sucks: Actually offer to help. Tell him you wouldn’t mind chipping in on some retriever training for dear Bonkers. Could help y’all find a few more downed birds in the thick stuff. Or offer to spend a few mornings working together to tune the pup up. It’s a lot more effective, and a lot more fun, for two people to train a dog with bumpers than for it to fall on one.
If none of that works, it’s burn-the-bridge time. Bring along a live emotional support rooster on your next hunt. Or that emu you’re “pet-sitting for a cousin.” A dose of your friend’s own medicine just might open his eyes.
Have a conundrum of your own? Email editorial@gardenandgun.com
