Irish Red

by Jim Kjelgaard

  Joe Williams tightened the leash, bringing the puppy to his side, and walked away from the kennels. They came to a field, and the trainer knelt beside his charge. He unsnapped the leash, but held the collar for a moment. Then he released the puppy and signalled with his arm.

  “Go!” he said.

  The puppy ambled uncertainly forth, stopping here and there to snuffle. Making a little circle, he wagged back to Joe Williams and looked up into his face. The trainer fed him another treat, petting him gently while he explained.

  “Let me say again that patience and firmness are the key words. This puppy hasn’t even a faint idea of what he’s to do, but he’ll get it if he snuffles around by himself. Probably any dog is born with more understanding of hunting than any man will ever acquire. It takes a man, however, to bring out whatever the dog’s got”

  “Some times,” Ross observed, “I’ve seen the dog bring out what the man’s got, too.”

  “That’s right,” the trainer agreed. “It happens.”

  The puppy, finding himself under no restraint and without any orders, ranged farther into the field. He picked up and threw a bit of grass, pouncing on it with all four feet and snatching it up again before it struck the ground. For a few seconds he continued to play the game he had invented. Losing interest, he wandered on, stopping to snuffle wherever there was an intriguing scent. Game birds, quail and pheasants, had been in this field and the puppy found the scents they left fascinating.

  Then a rabbit burst from beneath his very nose, and the puppy forgot everything else. Eager eyes fastened on the fleeing game, yapping hysterically, he raced after it.

  “Here!” Joe Williams shouted. “Come back here!”

  The puppy, paying absolutely no attention, came to some tall grass at the end of the field and lost his quarry in it. Happily he cast around and around, trying to find the rabbit. The three men ran up, while the puppy continued his frantic quest. Panting hard, he ran to all the places where he thought it might be. Finally tiring, he wagged sheepishly to his trainer.

  Joe Williams stooped and snapped the leash back onto his collar. He stood erect, letting the leash hang slack.

  “Sit!” he commanded.

  The puppy sat, turning his head sideways and still panting happily. A breeze ruffled the grass, and at once the puppy sprang erect. He strained toward the moving grass, thinking the rabbit might be there. Then he yelled in pain as Joe Williams, doubling the leash, slashed him across the back with it. The trainer struck again and again, until the puppy cringed at his feet. The pup hitched himself along on his belly. His tail wagged appeasingly. After a moment, when the lesson had had time to penetrate, the trainer stooped to pet his charge.

  Forgiven, the pup showed his apology for wrongdoing, by leaping up and wagging his tail furiously. He reared with his fore paws on the trainer, wriggling every’ portion of his body and whining happily. Joe Williams gently pulled the puppy’s ears, then as gently pushed him to the ground.

  “You have to teach ‘em,” the trainer said, “and it’s wonderful how an occasional licking will improve any dog’s manners. I couldn’t let him get away with this. If I did, he’d think it was all right to chase rabbits. The more you let him do it, the harder he’d be to break. A field dog that will chase rabbits isn’t worth anybody’s time.”

  Ross nodded. “Had to whale my hounds from time to time, too, mostly to keep ‘em off deer.”

  “Any dog needs it,” the trainer asserted. “Now watch, and remember that this pup’s had a lot of basic training.”

  He unsnapped the leash and let the puppy go. Uncertain, casting frequent glances over his shoulder, the youngster edged forward. He turned to come back, then started out again. Intrigued by a sparrow on a fence post, the puppy stopped in his tracks, scarcely moving a muscle as he froze into rigidity. Talking soothingly to him, Joe Williams advanced to his side.

  “All right!” he said.

  The happy pup, knowing that he had something to merit praise, wagged a delighted tail and accepted another treat. He looked questioningly up, and when Joe Williams waved his hand, he raced into the field. A covey of quail, bursting like feathered bombs in front of him, shocked him into doing nothing.

  Danny watched, and analyzed. The pup was intelligent enough, but that invisible bond, the confining presence of the trainer, was already being fashioned. Joe Williams had perfect control of his dogs and there was no doubt that he was a good trainer. He had not beaten the puppy severely. Still....

  Ever since Danny could remember, his father had had dogs and some were very good ones. But the dog that was more than good, the one able to understand what his master wished and who loved to do it, was Red. Red would not be the dog he was if he had been subjected to this sort of training. He had always been free to think for himself. Any dog that depended too much on a master riever could have run Old Majesty to earth. Ross’s hounds had failed partly because they recognized Ross as the source of all power and acted accordingly.

  The puppy, free for the moment, gave himself over to playing and romping. He tore madly about the field, stopping now and again but never for very long. Finally, after half an hour, Joe Williams called him in and again attached the leash. The panting puppy remained close beside him.

  “That’s enough for today,” the trainer said. “Given too much of any one thing except just wild running, dogs get bored and that spoils ‘em. We’ll call it quits for now.”

  “You mean,” the puzzled Ross asked, “that we’re all done?”

  The trainer laughed. “Not quite. There’s more to this than taking dogs afield. They have to be cared for in their kennels, too. I want you two to get the ‘feel’ of the whole business.”

  Inside the kennel building were large kennels; no dog ever had to be cramped for lack of room. At one end was a storeroom where food and clean cedar shavings for bedding were stored. This room was also a kitchen where special diets could be arranged. At the other end was a hospital stocked with medicine and a complete veterinarian’s library.

  All the dogs came noisily in from their runs when the men entered and reared to scrape their kennel doors with raking claws. Ross’s eyes lighted.

  He stooped over Sheilah’s kennel to scratch her ears, then unlatched the door and let her out. Sheilah stepped out, staying as near Ross as she could get and sighing her pleasure. Things had gone wrong when she was brought here from the cabin in the beech woods, but now they were right again. She was near Ross.

  The trainer frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s all right to pet dogs, and to reward them for good behavior, but coddling is apt to make them misbehave. After all, it’s working dogs we’re after.”

  With surprising meekness Ross said, “All right.” He put Sheilah back and started cleaning cedar shavings out of the kennels. Danny chauffeured a wheelbarrow with which he carried the shavings to a dump far from the kennels. When he returned, Ross was busy scrubbing the kennels and putting fresh shavings in them. The trainer had gone.

  Obviously Joe Williams did not consider it necessary for himself to get the ‘feel’ of kennel work. The only kennel he took care of was the one that housed Jack, the young setter whom Mike had fought. That was also the only kennel with a locked door, proof in itself of Jack’s value.

  At noon Danny and Ross had dinner with Curley Jordan and his wife, loafed a bit, and went back to work. No corner in any kennel was neglected, and by the time they were finished, everything was polished and shining. Joe Williams came in.

  “All set?” he asked pleasantly.

  “All set,” Danny said.

  “Good job, too. Well, see you tomorrow.”

  “We’re all done now?” Ross asked.

  “Until tomorrow, when we’ll start on one of your red dogs. Right, now I”m going to give Jack a work-out.”

  Joe Williams stood expectantly. He was obviously waiting for Ross and Danny to leave before he brought his prize out of the
kennel. The two Picketts took their leave, and Danny breathed happily when they were again in the beech woods. He was glad to get away.

  This was not the way to feel, he told himself. Anybody who intended to make dogs his career had better learn all about them, and there was no better way to learn than by working with a professional who did know. But was a professional always right? If you wanted to break a dog of a bad habit, did you have to use the curled end of a leash? To set his own doubts at rest, Danny sounded out Ross.

  “What’d you learn today, Pappy?”

  “Well,” Ross grinned, “anybody who starts to school, and don’t tell teacher he’s already had some schoolin’, is pretty likely to start in kindergarten. Wish he’d showed us some of the things he’s doin’ to that Jack dog of his.”

  Danny smiled. Ross was merely saying, in his own way, that everything he’d seen today was elementary. But if Ross thought there were better ways to do things, he was not saying so. Maybe he had no such opinions and maybe he was merely keeping his own counsel. Ross never had been one to talk for the sake of talking.

  Red, who had occupied the cabin all day, and grown lonesome doing it, trotted down the path to meet them. Danny watched him come, and his eyes lightened. There was certainly a difference between Red and the big English setters. Red had never known a whip, and not too many harsh words, but he had been told to watch the cabin and he had done just that all day. Would any of John Price’s dogs, no matter how rigorously they were trained, do the same thing?

  Danny doubted it.

  5. Budgegummon

  Coming awake in the half dawn of early morning, Danny folded his hands behind his head and stared at the slowly lightening windows. It was too early to get up, and the day to come had little appeal. All he and his father did now was go down to the big house and flunkey for Joe Williams.

  They’d been doing it every day for two weeks, and so far they had learned almost nothing which Ross hadn’t known when Joe Williams was in three-cornered pants. Trailing hounds or bird dogs, there were certain basic rules that applied to both of them. But some of those rules did not apply to Irish setters. Danny worried.

  Mike, considered too useless to bother with, had been left alone in his kennel. But one by one the other four puppies had been brought out for basic training, and so far Joe Williams had been unable to teach them anything at all.

  Where the English setters took their training more or less gracefully, Sheilah’s children responded not at all. Danny thought he knew why. They had been born to work with a man, not for him, and they wouldn’t do that until they were ready and until the man had earned their respect.

  Joe Williams and John Price disputed that. Slow, they called the red puppies; they said that Irish setters were notoriously slow to learn. Given time, and hard training, all four would be reasonably good bird dogs, they thought, and that’s all Mr. Haggin had asked. There was, they said, no possibility of a field champion among the four, though all of them would doubtless win honors on the bench. They had, according to the men at the big house, been born for dog shows anyhow.

  Were they right? That question plagued Danny and had for two weeks. Sheilah was a better than average hunter. Red had out-hunted field champions, and the blood of both flowed in the puppies. This did not necessarily mean that they would equal their parents, but certainly at least one of the four should prove better than ordinary.

  Danny fell into troubled sleep, and when he awakened again the windows were bright with morning sun. Danny rose, quietly so as not to awaken Ross, and padded across the floor on his bare feet. He opened the door to let Red out, stuffed kindling into the stove, sprinkled kerosene-soaked sawdust over it, and lighted a fire. Danny kneaded sausage-now that both Picketts were working and had little time to prowl the woods they relied more and more on store-bought food--and laid it in a skillet. He filled the big coffee pot with fresh water and put that over to boil. Mixing a batch of biscuits, he slid them into the oven. Then he pushed the skillet over a hot lid and went in to call Ross.

  “Mornin’ already?” Ross said drowsily.

  “Come on! You’re a working man now!”

  “Sure, sure,” Ross grumped. “I’m an expert at shovellin’ cedar shavin’s. Never thought I’d find myself playin’ nurse to a mess of pampered mutts!”

  “Hustle up!” Danny laughed. “Don’t want to keep Joe waiting, do you?”

  “Wonder what he’s goin’ to show us today.” Ross was surly. “He forgot to tell me about a dog waggin’ its tail when it feels good.”

  They ate, and Danny started to gather up the dishes. Ross wandered to the window and looked out, and when he spoke he again sounded like the cheerful parent Danny knew.

  “Hey, boy. Come here.”

  Danny edged in beside him, and looked down to see Red lying on the porch. Then he followed Ross’s gaze.

  With a cluster of fluffy yellow chicks about her, wary as any partridge, the yellow game hen stole out of a cluster of brush near the feeding yard. She looked all around, then led her babies to where she had always found something to eat. Danny glanced at Red, who was intently studying the hen and her brood. If they were going to get her, it must be now. Danny spoke softly through the screened window.

  “Fetch her, Red.”

  Red sprang from the porch and landed running. He raced straight to the hen which, true to game blood, made ready to die for her chicks. She flew in Red’s face, beating him With her wings, but mother love was of no avail against the big dog. He closed his jaws about her, holding her tightly without injuring her, and started back to Danny.

  “Mike! Mike! You, Mike!” Ross suddenly yelled.

  The red puppy, again a fugitive from his kennel, was racing full speed up the trail. He stopped so suddenly that his chin almost plowed into the grass when he saw the chicks. Leaping ridiculously high, he bounced at them and snatched one up. Danny opened the door and bounded from the porch.

  Mike waited, tail wagging, eyes beaming. Danny knelt beside the puppy. If he hadn’t swallowed the chick whole, Danny had to get it. If a dog acquired a taste for killing chickens, he was very hard to cure.

  Danny pried on Mike’s jaws. Mike opened them of his own free will and dropped the chick into Danny’s hand. Danny stared incredulously at it. The chick was unhurt, scarcely ruffled. Holding the squawking yellow hen under his arm, Ross ran up.

  “Did you get it away, Danny?”

  “Look.” Danny opened his cupped fingers.

  “Goshamighty!”

  “I can’t believe it!” Danny said. “Let’s try him again!” .

  Freed, Mike pounced upon and snatched up another chick. He delivered it willingly, and unhurt, to Danny. One by one Mike caught the rest of the yellow hen’s nine children, injuring none and surrendering all. Danny and Ross stared in amazement.

  Not one dog in ten thousand is.born with a tender mouth, the ability to retrieve game without mangling it. Obviously Mike was one of the select few. Danny glanced down at the puppy, who was anxiously snuffling about for more chicks.

  “Holy double gee! If he could only hunt like he can fetch, he’d beat the works!”

  “How do you know he won’t?”

  Danny shook his head. “He just hasn’t got what it takes.”

  “You seem almighty sure. Well, might as well go down and get those shovels hot, huh?”

  “I reckon so.”

  Danny put the yellow hen in a slatted coop from which she could not escape and gave her chicks back to her. He fed and watered them. Then, ordering Red to watch the cabin, he snapped a leash on Mike’s collar and they started down the Smokey Creek trail.

  Nearing the kennels, Mike sat down in the trail and rolled his eyes. Danny twitched his fingers. The red puppy turned and, straining against the leash, tried to go back up the trail. Stooping, Danny cradled Mike in his arms and carried him. The puppy immediately started licking his face. Ross grinned. .

  “Maybe he thinks you didn’t wash clean enough this mornin’, D
anny.”

  “Open his kennel!” Danny sputtered. “Let me get rid of him!”

  Ross opened the door and Danny pushed Mike into his kennel. The red puppy retreated to a far corner, looked appealingly around, then lay down with his muzzle on his front paws. He rolled his eyes, obviously unhappy about the whole affair.

  “Did he get away again?”

  They turned to face Joe Williams, who had come silently upon them. Danny nodded.

  “Yeah, He was at the cabin this morning.”

  “I’ll have to do something about him,” the trainer said. “Think I’ll tie him.”

  He entered the kennel, careful to block the door with his own body so that Mike could not slip past him, and put a long chain on the red puppy’s collar. He slipped the other end over a hook screwed into the wall. Highly disdainful of the entire process, Mike did not even get up. The trainer closed the kennel door and faced Danny and Ross.

  “That’ll hold him. Well, how about working another of your red wonders this morning?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wait for me outside, will you? I want to bring her myself.”

  Danny and Ross went out. A few minutes later Joe Williams appeared with Eileen on a leash. Ob­viously he had been sweet-talking her, and when he stopped Eileen leaned confidently against him. The trainer stooped to tickle her ears and Eileen beamed gratefully. Danny approved. Nobody had to tell him that Joe Williams knew how to win a dog’s confidence. Eileen walked to the end of her leash, but did not pull hard enough to tighten the collar around her neck. The trainer looked doubtfully at her.

  “Sometimes these dogs show signs of intelligence,” he admitted. “Come on. We’ll get her away from the rest where she won’t be distracted and see if we can teach her a thing or two.”

  They went to a quiet place behind the barns, and Joe Williams fed Eileen a treat. The puppy gobbled it, and thanked the trainer by kissing his hand. Holding her front quarters up, Joe Williams pressed her rear firmly to the ground. At the same time, he commanded, “Sit!”