Kingcreek
Member
It was to be Red Ryder’s big day. The 16-week-old yellow lab puppy has been growing, playing, and learning lots of new lessons. He is strong on come and sit, getting better on stay and heel, recognizing the whistle commands mostly sometimes. His shortcomings are my fault. I have tried to make time for him but my schedule has been insane and I am feeling guilty. I feel like I’m trailing his learning curve by 2 or 3 weeks. Ryder’s momma is the black “Maggie”, a part of the family for 6 years and the best all-around bird dog I’ve ever owned. Her lineage is loaded with champions, and highly productive field retrievers. His daddy is a beautiful yellow lab with an HRCH title and a regal heritage of his own.
In other words, Ryder is here by design. Many hours and dollars have been invested so that I would have the pick of this litter for our next generation of retriever. The many years of ancestral breeding put potential in his veins. It’s my job, my obligation, to bring those qualities to the surface and not screw up in the process.
He had made many retrieves with dummies and some frozen pigeons. The lesson today is his introduction to the sound of the gun. Maybe I am overly concerned, but I always approach this step with much caution. I asked my wife for her assistance and got her little 20-gauge over/under from the safe. I handed her a pocketful of old paper shell reloads that were too light to cycle an auto and too old to remember the load recipe.
I put a mesh bag with the live pigeons in my game bag and let Ryder out of the kennel. As we went up into the old pasture, my wife Pam watched from some distance as the pup and I worked our way out into the knee-high orchard grass. I looked to Pam as I took the first bird from my pouch and held it up. She nodded back and acknowledged her part in today’s lesson. With a feeling mixed with sadness and necessicity, I wrung the neck of the bird and tossed him, still flapping, high in the air as my wife pointed her shotgun away from us and pulled the trigger. Ryder was totally focused on the falling, flapping bird and hesitated only briefly at the sound of the shot before fetching the bird and delivering to my hand. We repeated the retrieves with the same bird as we moved closer to my wife’s position. Once, it occurred to him to keep the bird and head back to the kennel with his prize. I ran him down, scolded him and took the bird. It didn’t happen again.
I slipped the first bird into my pouch and pulled out the second bird. Ryder was energized now and I whistled him to a sit/stay while I clipped the wingtips. Again, Pam shot as the bird flew low and away and Ryder caught up and retrieved to my hand. We were now within 10 yards of the gun and Ryder showed no shyness or hesitation. I took a fresh bird and tucked his head into his wing and spun him, like a windmill with my arm fully extended. I told Pam to get ready. Instead of just shooting away, she was to shoot at this one.
I pitched the now dizzy bird into some tall cover like a quarterback in a short rollout. Pam said “but what if I miss?” Shoot again. “But I have only have one shot left!” That’s all you need. “But I only have one shot!” That’s OK, you won’t miss. Shoot the bird when he gets some altitude. “But what if I miss?”
Ryder was circling downwind and closing in. I could see the bird clawing and flapping his way up from the dense grass. Just as the pup was on it, the bird cleared the cover and took to the air with a high arc. From my right, the little 20 gauge popped and some distance out in front of us, the bird folded. Ryder met him on the ground and brought him to my hand. It was like the lights suddenly came on in his head. Scent, bird, shot, retrieve. The formula is now complete and the sound of the shot is an essential part of the game in Ryder’s head.
As the three of us walked back to the kennel, Ryder ran and played and acted as goofy as any 16 week old lab puppy. But as I put him in his kennel, I think he turned and looked at me with a new understanding. The pieces are starting to fit together. Red Ryder the yellow lab puppy is starting to act less like Gomer Pyle, and a little more like Rambo. As his master, it’s my job to bring him to his potential and prove his heritage. There may be hope for us yet.
In other words, Ryder is here by design. Many hours and dollars have been invested so that I would have the pick of this litter for our next generation of retriever. The many years of ancestral breeding put potential in his veins. It’s my job, my obligation, to bring those qualities to the surface and not screw up in the process.
He had made many retrieves with dummies and some frozen pigeons. The lesson today is his introduction to the sound of the gun. Maybe I am overly concerned, but I always approach this step with much caution. I asked my wife for her assistance and got her little 20-gauge over/under from the safe. I handed her a pocketful of old paper shell reloads that were too light to cycle an auto and too old to remember the load recipe.
I put a mesh bag with the live pigeons in my game bag and let Ryder out of the kennel. As we went up into the old pasture, my wife Pam watched from some distance as the pup and I worked our way out into the knee-high orchard grass. I looked to Pam as I took the first bird from my pouch and held it up. She nodded back and acknowledged her part in today’s lesson. With a feeling mixed with sadness and necessicity, I wrung the neck of the bird and tossed him, still flapping, high in the air as my wife pointed her shotgun away from us and pulled the trigger. Ryder was totally focused on the falling, flapping bird and hesitated only briefly at the sound of the shot before fetching the bird and delivering to my hand. We repeated the retrieves with the same bird as we moved closer to my wife’s position. Once, it occurred to him to keep the bird and head back to the kennel with his prize. I ran him down, scolded him and took the bird. It didn’t happen again.
I slipped the first bird into my pouch and pulled out the second bird. Ryder was energized now and I whistled him to a sit/stay while I clipped the wingtips. Again, Pam shot as the bird flew low and away and Ryder caught up and retrieved to my hand. We were now within 10 yards of the gun and Ryder showed no shyness or hesitation. I took a fresh bird and tucked his head into his wing and spun him, like a windmill with my arm fully extended. I told Pam to get ready. Instead of just shooting away, she was to shoot at this one.
I pitched the now dizzy bird into some tall cover like a quarterback in a short rollout. Pam said “but what if I miss?” Shoot again. “But I have only have one shot left!” That’s all you need. “But I only have one shot!” That’s OK, you won’t miss. Shoot the bird when he gets some altitude. “But what if I miss?”
Ryder was circling downwind and closing in. I could see the bird clawing and flapping his way up from the dense grass. Just as the pup was on it, the bird cleared the cover and took to the air with a high arc. From my right, the little 20 gauge popped and some distance out in front of us, the bird folded. Ryder met him on the ground and brought him to my hand. It was like the lights suddenly came on in his head. Scent, bird, shot, retrieve. The formula is now complete and the sound of the shot is an essential part of the game in Ryder’s head.
As the three of us walked back to the kennel, Ryder ran and played and acted as goofy as any 16 week old lab puppy. But as I put him in his kennel, I think he turned and looked at me with a new understanding. The pieces are starting to fit together. Red Ryder the yellow lab puppy is starting to act less like Gomer Pyle, and a little more like Rambo. As his master, it’s my job to bring him to his potential and prove his heritage. There may be hope for us yet.
