(Randy Lawrence is an occasional guest on blizzardllewellins.com. He dotes on his Blizzard’s Huntmore female, The Real Deal Lucille.)
I refuse to believe it’s a crapshoot. Each time it’s my turn to choose, I have a plan. I have science. I have research. I have…well, er, uh, a really hard time sorting a gun dog puppy from a litter of dandies. That’s precisely why I no longer even try.
I recall the old timers looked for a “split nose” or a black roof to the dog’s mouth as signs of superior scenting ability. For years, people have teased pups with a bird wing on a cane pole line, hoping to see early evidence of pointing instinct. That’s a marker, certainly, but maybe not always the platinum pronouncement some would have it be. As one jaded old breeder once said to me, “Onliest thing that really proves is that you’ve got a fishing pole with feathers on one end and a fool on the other.”
Other folks throw dummies draped in feathers to check innate retrieving prowess. New-age bird doggers come armed with a clipboard full of tests, stimulus-response checks from arcane behavioral theorists.
Whether such methods are myth or madness probably depends on individual results. But after 36 years of trial and error, I avoid most trials and make the fewest errors when I do a great job picking the breeder.
Back in the day, we shopped for puppies by word of mouth or ads placed in newspapers or sporting magazines. Today most breeder queries are launched online. A deft Google searcher can check out more kennel operations in a few hours than we once could in weeks. That’s when the first hardline criteria kicks in – Does the breeder, currently or in the documented past, hunt the kind of dog I like in the way that I most like to hunt?
That’s the baseline. We want a hunting dog bred by hunters for hunters. And while we research men and women currently in the field, the last thing we want to do is overlook the “really has been there/really did do it great” person who, in quasi retirement from the brush, continues to be a discriminating, uncompromising producer of puppies for the Gun. That breeder is often even more choosey when it comes to screening potential buyers; he or she needs every single dog to go to a quality, active hunting home, a sort of “Proving By Proxy” process that is indispensable toward moving a bloodline forward.
The individual that the “proof in the pudding” imperative does neatly eliminate is the volume breeder. To vet dogs in the field takes time and commitment and passion. Even if it’s his or her full time job – breeding gun dogs – it’s virtually impossible for the breeder keeping a large kennel, even living in prime hunting territory, to give each dog in the bloodline the exposure needed to fully know what that dog is in the place it matters most: in the coverts.
I’ll stick my neck out and say no volume breeder today can possibly know enough about the field prowess of his or her bloodstock, no matter how steeped the individual is in bloodlines. Don’t send me pictures of “brood bitches” pointing cats in cages just out side the photo frame; I want to see evidence of dogs in the field, doing the deed.
In fact, for my money, to advertise puppies as solid companion gun dog prospects without both sire and dam logging serious time in the field borders on the criminal. I don’t want a breeding mapped on paper; I want dogs carefully selected from top- flight field performers under conditions similar to my own hunts. And I want proof: I want photos – wild birds in wild country. Testimonials from past puppy placements. Excerpts from journals. Stats. Data.
Harder to weed out, for lack of a better description than can be politely printed here, is “the dog jockey.” By that I mean the person who simply lies about his or her field work, who doesn’t have an established line of dogs, but rather a dog “du jour.” That’s when we have to check references. A person like that leaves tracks of discarded dogs and dissatisfied persons. There won’t be lots of photos on lots of different days in lots of different places. There won’t be contracts. Many answers to questions about performance won’t pass the sniff test, and often, in the conversation, there will be gossip about other dogs and other breeders. If the seller is more interested in running down others than he or she is offering good info on the puppies from his or her own "program," keep walking.
We must study pedigrees, and not just for ancestry. Look at birthdates. See how old the dog is relative to this litter and others he’s sired or she’s whelped. If a female has had puppies very early and very often in her life, it’s up to the prospective buyer to ask why. We also ask about the dates of those litters, not only to get more information on the frequency an animal has been used for breeding, but when a female has had puppies on the ground. If she’s nursing puppies during the grouse season, exactly how much can the owner tell us about her performance?
Survey Facebook with caution. It’s like everything else online, only more so – keep a grain of salt handy at all times. In the small worlds of Llewellin and Ryman setters, folks figure out pretty quickly who’s done the homework, who’s word can be trusted, who trains and hunts his or her own dogs, who’s breeding to make a buck, who puts the health, comfort, longevity, integrity of his or her dogs above all else. It’s up to the buyer to do due diligence.
Back to this whole stats and data thing for a moment. The breeders I’ve admired most keep clear-eyed records of their dogs’ performance in the field. Besides a journal being interesting to sift through years later, it is a here and now record of when each dog had its day, how, how often, and under what conditions that dog performed. Within reason, they make that information available to puppy customers who care to read that stuff.
Al Gore had yet to invent the internet when I first became acquainted with Eric Jacobs. We exchanged letters, mostly; Eric was a prolific correspondent and neither of us enjoyed phone conversation. How I wish I had saved all of those letters, painstakingly composed on yellow legal pad; the few letters that survive, I cherish. From the beginning, this opinionated, painfully honest, nearly-every-day-in-season grouse hunter, kept flush-point-shot-retrieve data that allowed him to talk about his dog’s work with real authority.
Eric could walk, Eric could shoot, and his dogs knew their business, so there were bag numbers in there, too. But “whack ‘em and stack ‘em” never was the focus of his recounting a day afield. It was weather conditions. Bird numbers and bird behavior. Cover type. Flushes. Points, backs, and retrieves. Of special interest was how the dogs worked grouse that ran away from points, how the dogs learned over the course of a season, over multiple seasons, just how hard to push a bird until it finally believed discretion was the better part of valor and froze under a hard stop…one of the defining differences between dogs that hunt grouse and Grouse Dogs.
Through years of postbox back and forth, I learned about Eric’s obsessive devotion to Appalachian grouse hunting, his staunch opinions on pointing dog performance, his almost “Rainman” recall of pedigrees, the relationships he’d forged with other pointing dog breeders and hunters across the United States and even overseas, his intense study of the Grouse ‘n’ Gun Dog Gospels: Strickland, Foster, Spiller, Woolner, Wehle. Eric’s love of our sport’s history and the Llewellin setter’s place in that history is a passion that has only grown as the years have passed.
I suppose I was sold on Eric Jacobs as a breeder of fine Llewellin setters long before I enjoyed the privilege of hunting with him and his dogs both in Kentucky and on a trip to the Lake States. Afterward, the stark truth was clear: once again, I had met my better in pointing dog training and grouse hunting skill, in supporting a dog’s field performance, and…well…in the sheer ability to put one foot after the other, hour after hour, in tough terrain…in other words, exactly the guy I want producing a few puppies a year for my friends and me.
In the thirty years since, our friendship has had its ups and down, maybe to be expected from two intensely opinionated, stubborn, invested men who love many of the same things – a gorgeous setter, a fine gaited horse, a shotgun with some tradition that shoots where we look.
But two things that could never be questioned about my friend from Pippa Passes, now London, Kentucky: when it came to hunting mountain grouse with a pointing dog, I’d yet to meet his equal. When it came to integrity, the man’s word is his bond. That’s the lens through which I’ve learned to view his breeding program.
Everything about the above, maybe even in some ways the integrity piece, was shaped by Awbonnie’s Bull. I did not hunt with Bull until the shank end of that truly great dog’s career, but as I’ve written elsewhere, even in his dotage, Bull was one of the three or four most savvy grouse dogs I’ve ever seen. But his was a hard-bitten genius, one that Eric had molded into an indefatigably keen likeness of …Eric Jacobs. In the mountain grouse coverts, that meant no quarter asked. None given. When Bull hit his majority, his deal with Eric had become this: if you and your shotgun can keep up, I will show you birds in times and places the other dogs can’t find them.
Eric kept his end of the bargain throughout Bull’s stellar career. There wasn’t much “handling” that dog; Eric launched Bull into cover and the two of them had almost a sixth sense that kept them hanging together by the most exquisite thread of intuition, woods craft that bordered on witchcraft. And when Bull’s beeper toned “point,” Eric had the legs and wind and the guts to scramble to him and the grouse he inevitably had pinned, whether it was in this hollow or over the next ridge.
Bull lived for two things: Eric Jacobs and hunting grouse. I deeply respected that great dog, but he wasn’t what I was seeking. Toby and Bleu, heirs to Bull, were. Eric might be the first to admit that neither dog got its due as long as Bull was alive. That’s the kind of shadow the Old Man threw.
From my perspective, Toby and Bleu ranged more in partnership with the Gun. I suppose they were more personable, companionable dogs, so similar in temperament to the Blizzard-strain Llewellins that are Eric’s focus these days. What Bleu and Toby shared with Bull, and with the best of the Huntmore bloodstock today, was drive. Tenacity. Bottom. Intensity on point.
All three were very good on birds legging away from dog and gun. My sense was that Bleu was more like her double-grandsire, almost punishing grouse that dared run out on her, bullying them, daring them into finally setting into a querencia – a thick patch of hazel, a lopped tree top, in desperation, running out of cover, simply freezing on the open woods floor, trusting feather camo to save the day. Toby had maybe a bit more finesse about him, but as his confidence grew, so did his aggression. All three were little short of brilliant in handling game.
They had what this current generation of Blizzards promises to have: the will to hit cover, to push a mountainside or grapevine tangle or thick stand of popple or laurel; the grit and intelligence to stay with scent; the athleticism and flowing gait to manage terrain with endurance, adaptability, and longevity.
Surely a great natural retriever is a joy and a boon companion; Eric’s dogs have historically been spectacular retrievers. I am not all hung up on retrieving, especially that first season when the big thing we’re trying to accomplish is a staunch, intense point. Having said that, I surely don’t mind it when a breeder notes, as Eric did with last year’s Parker X Dixie litter, “They are packin’ things around all the time.”
But finally, there is the capstone to performance: that white-hot glow on point, high style forged from a skidding, molten stop…all in a square muzzled, saber-tailed, field-feathered package of all that’s beautiful in the heritage strains of setter, Llewellin, Gordon, or Ryman. That’s the dog I was after then, the dog I covet all these years later, the traits great breeders select for with every litter.
That’s why the happiest would-be gun dog owners don’t choose a puppy; they choose the breeder. They find one they can admire and learn from, one whose standards are more exacting than their own, one who takes enormous pride and meticulous care in the healthy, upbeat puppies he or she produces, puppies firmly tied to reputation, integrity, legacy. I have been fortunate to have known three in my life – Gary and Nancy Johnson from Minnesota, Eric, and now my friend Lynn Dee Galey out in Kansas. There are, of course, others…but such people are not common.
That makes it more important than ever for prospective owners to be detailed and honest about their own hunting, living situation, level of experience and expertise in developing a pointing dog. Smart buyers read carefully the puppy contract and ask questions about guarantees, veterinary care, shots, worming schedules for the dam and the litter. They may also ask after pertinent certification of bloodstock regarding hips, elbows, eyes, etc.
The bottom line is this: A gun dog puppy is a selection we have to live and hunt with (hopefully) for a decade or more. We must have an ideal in mind, then try to match it with the breeder and the breeder’s current stock, just as I did in Eric Jacobs' Toby and Bleu, with the Johnsons and their great Briar dog, with Lynn Dee Galey and her hard-hunting Firelight Rymans…and then we step back.
Yes. Step back. When it’s time for their pick, the most successful puppy prospectors let the breeder choose the puppy for them. Breeders like Eric and his family practically live in that whelping box (and since Our Ideal Breeder is a niche, rather than volume, operator, there are not very many whelping boxes to attend each year). They know more from weeks of puppy study, on top of years living closely with the sire and dam, than the buyer can possibly glean from a couple of hours of observation. Searchers who’ve come this far in faith and trust in the breeder let that person enact his or her true calling: matching the right puppy with just the right person.
It’s not a crapshoot when we load the dice by betting the breeder. It’s a natural, “7-come-11” roll that makes a puppy and its new partner winners for life.