So often, it begins with the hunter who wants a little help and suspicions that maybe a gun dog will put more birds in his or her game bag.  So he or she buys a puppy, works through some slap dash form of training, then eagerly takes to the field, generally with indifferent results.

Some men and women never get beyond that stage, where the dog is a tool, no different than a pair of quality boots or a gun that shoots where they look every time it's lifted to the face.

Others come to truly relish the dynamic of hunting with a dog.  After a time, they cannot imagine going afield without that companionship, that aspect of performance, that intriguing, exhilarating, often times challenging component of collaborating with a gun dog to bring a wild bird to hand.

At the next level are the lucky few for whom the introduction of a bird dog to the hunt is life-changing.  They are captivated with training, conditioning, the year-'round companionship, care and feeding.  Blessed are those who develop a clear idea of exactly what they want out of their time afield (and at home) with their gun dog and are willing to put in the time and thought and energy to get with that animal in common purpose and fun in problem-solving.

A lifetime ago, a Hall of Fame high school coach once asked his bright-eyed, gung-ho, fresh-from-university assistant which he liked better:  games or practice.  The brash young man laughed.  What an absurd question!  Why, the games, of course.  The chance to compete, the chance to lead, make adjustments, chalk up the glory of a great win.  The game's The Thing!

The older coach smiled and said, "If you stick with this, I'm going to ask you again in a couple of years.  Because if you're still at this several years from now, I'm betting your answer will change."

He was right, of course, just as he was about most things related to learning.  As time went on, the young coach began to value more and more the chance to teach.  To spend time with young people.  To see improvement not only in basketball skills, but in character, too.  In approach.  In team building.  In maturation.  In little victories that, in the moment, had nothing, and yet everything, to do with the scoreboard.  In the pay-off of drills and conditioning and making mistakes that translated to better game performance.  If we did what we needed to do in practicing, in learning and teaching and understanding, the game night victories took care of themselves.  Long after he'd left the coaching profession, the no-longer-young coach surely remembered the games...but it was the practices that he keenly missed.

Years later, another mentor, this one a bird dog guru, asked basically the same question.  "What do you like better," he asked.  "Hunting or training?"  Again, it seemed like a silly question but for a different reason.  The answer was, of course, "I like it all the best."

Training was an excuse to spend purpose-built time with a dog that was a pleasure to be around, one that arrested the eye, that couldn't be near without getting a quick pet.  Training was building-block teaching, in marking incremental improvements, in over-exposing the dog to a task that was beyond its learning and knowing when and how to go back and build again.  I suppose the character building is generally more pronounced in people who want to be worthy of that good dog, but the character of a useful companion gun dog develops, too - the acceptance of leadership, the ability to focus, the melding of instinct and maturity to performance as part of a team, both with the handler as well as other dogs in the field.

One of the best parts of being friends with Eric Jacobs is the post mortem text messaging after a training session...which dog made progress, which ones were languishing at a plateau, which ones earned a special mention.  Last week, it was the Blizzard Laurel (Shoeleather Rudy x Shoeleather Sioux).  "Laurel is a natural retriever...Tickled me her bringing the bird right to me with a wing over her one eye.  Laurel was a classy as Mia (today), maybe.  Very rewarding."

Eric has been at this a very long time at a very high level.  He has a clear idea of how he wants to hunt with a pointing dog and a proven method for shaping a dog into a top-notch performer on the ruffed grouse scattered across his mountain coverts.  Over the years, he has bred Llewellin Setters to a type that suits his standards, his own temperament, his own aesthetic sense of how a dog should look, work, and behave around the home and kennel.

From our conversations, it's clear that he loves the challenge of training in the same way he loves the challenge of grouse hunting - every outing is a test of insight, of flexibility, of resourcefulness, tenacity, grit and - and this is important - generosity.

In training, hunting, and living with six generations of Llewellin setters, it's Eric's generosity that sets him apart.  He's clear-eyed in his appraisal of a dog's progress and performance, but at the same time, any fault he finds is with himself.  His approach.  His decisions.  His inability to not only help the dog understand what he wants, but, more importantly, to understand the dog on the dog's terms and understanding what the dog wants and needs as well.

He's generous with the hunt, too.  He understands too well the vagaries of terrain, weather, and the utter wildness of a bird that only stays alive by desperately using every instinctual trick to foil a host of predators bent on making him into a meal.  Sometimes the best dog backed by the best breeding and training and conditioning and a better-than-good gunner who knows his business...gets bested by the bird.

I can see Eric's shoulders slump.  I can see him gather the dog and thoughtfully, carefully, set things right.  I can hear him laugh, shake his head, pick up his empty shells and say, "Geee-o.  What that dog needs is a better (owner or trainer or shooter)," all the while making mental notes about what he and that good Llewellin setter can do better back home when they again have the privilege of training time together.