NO COUNTRY FOR OLD DOGS
End of the line for aging hunting dog? Not so fast!

Comments 0

By Hal McKnight

Published: March 23, 2008

Zuni swept across the rolling prairie like a bolt of lightning.

The female English Setter jumped over a yucca cactus, scented a covey of bobwhite quail, and landed like a statue in a perfect point.

As the birds flushed, I harvested a double. I gave my dog a big pat on the head as she completed her retrieve. That wonderful memory occurred 13 years ago.

Early this fall, I took Zuni on a quail hunt in Wheeler County, Texas. We began in a field of love grass with high hopes, as the wet year had created a tangle of very thick vegetation.

Zuni showed great heart as she tried to run through the maze, but unfortunately, her old motor was no match against the dense cover. Her brown eyes conveyed disappointment in her inability to cover any ground.

Wisdom instructs every hunter that a fateful day will come when their canine companion can no longer perform to past standards.

Regardless of this harsh reality, I still held hope that Zuni would make a few points on quail this day. It was simply not to be. The drive back home seemed especially long since Zuni and I were both heavy of heart.

Zuni is a once-in-a-lifetime hunting dog and best friend. She comes from a long lineage of Michigan grouse dogs. Although quail hunting was always her first love, her repertoire also includes dove, pheasant, duck and goose.

It is rare for an upland pointing dog to care a nickel about waterfowl, but here is how it started. Zuni was 2 years old when I left her in my truck while hunting ducks in a peanut field.

She watched and learned as my black lab, Hawk, and I hid under strips of burlap in the middle of our decoys and dropped several ducks.

When I came back to the truck for a warmer coat, my precocious pet bolted and raced to the spread. She crawled under a piece of burlap next to my bewildered Labrador.

Soon, a single drake mallard started circling from high altitude. The greenhead cupped its wings and dropped into our field decoys.

The bird was dispatched but fell 70 yards away due to the strong wind. Both dogs shook with eager anticipation. Without knowing what might happen, I shouted, "Zuni, back!”

She ran like an impala to the duck, never breaking stride, and made a stylish retrieve with her head held high. From that point on, Zuni and my black lab alternated retrieves — and I do believe they both can count.

When it came to cold-water retrieving, Zuni developed her own unique style. She runs to the edge of the water and skids to a stop.

Then the 45-pound Setter will slowly tiptoe out to swimming depth with her back arched like a Halloween cat. The addition of a neoprene vest helped her dog-paddling technique as well as added warmth.

It has been a challenge to shake off the disappointment I have been carrying around since that bummer of a quail hunt last fall. I presumed that was the final quail chapter for Zuni.

Then, out of the blue, an old friend asked me to join him in Vega, Texas, for the last weekend of quail season.

I wondered if this would be another exercise in futility for my aging Setter. Then I remembered the old adage that any day spent outdoors is a good day.

The terrain west of Amarillo was very open with a mix of cactus and mesquite trees. I noticed Zuni had a special glimmer in her eyes as we started our hunt.

The wide open topography worked to the Setter's benefit as she began to cover ground at a steady lope.

As we worked along dry arroyo, Zuni suddenly went into a low crouch, nose close to ground, and started trailing a covey of quail.

Obviously, the birds were running in this sparse cover, and I desperately hoped they would not flush wild.

Zuni showed great confidence and trailed the quail for more than a quarter-mile. Finally, she locked up adjacent to a large sand plum thicket.

Twenty bobwhites took flight. Zuni looked like she was walking on air as she retrieved a couple of quail.

There was something majestically special about this moment of glory that I wish I could put into words, but you just had to be there.

I bent down on one knee and gave Zuni a big bear hug. As she moved away, Zuni threw a glance in my direction as if to say, "Try to keep up — we've got a new chapter to write.”