It was a cool October
morning about 38 years ago. We decided to hunt ducks at the Beach City Dam
Wildlife Area. It was still dark as we unloaded my station wagon. I
grabbed my shotgun and a bag of decoys. Next I made sure I had a box of #4 12
gauge loads, lunch, and a bag of freshly baked biscuits that my wife made that
morning! What a great gesture on her part. Larry and I ate a few on the way to
the hunt, but I planned on using a few to entice my dog to obedient behavior.
Finally, out came "Champ".
Champ was a beautiful 90 pound golden retriever, and what a handful! He became a member of the family when he was a day and a half old. He was the runt of 14 puppies. Rejected by the mother, I was asked to take her place. I had to feed him every two hours with a tiny baby bottle for 3 weeks. I also wiped him with wet cotton balls which simulates the mother licking her new born pup. He grew to be the biggest dog of the litter, and probably the most stubborn! I read a book called "Water Dog" by Richard Wolters. Armed with enough information to be dangerous, I set out to train my first duck dog. I think Champ read a book called, "How to resist training"!
As I let Champ out of the car, I kept him on the leash so he wouldn't do something crazy. He wouldn't run away, but he would chase critters. As we headed toward the marsh area along the river, I could smell the familiar odor of the black swamp water. I knew we were close. Suddenly, a small flock of ducks erupted from a pot hole. It was all I could do to hold on to that dog. "Heel!", I said. Eventually, he settled down and the trek continued. We made our way to our spot. Larry threw out the plastic fakes while I used available vegetation to put together a make-shift blind. It was still 15 minutes until shooting time, so we waited. Champ wanted to go exploring. I kept him busy by tearing off a piece of a biscuit and feeding him every few minutes.
We didn’t have to wait
long for the ducks to return. I could hear the whistling of wings from behind
us. We were craning our necks in every way possible trying to spot the
feathered “fighter planes”. Seemingly out of nowhere the birds appeared over
the spread. Our shotguns erupted and each smooth bore found its mark. Two teal lay
belly up surrounded by dekes. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to have the dog’s leash attached to my waist.
Before I could release him and give him the fetch command, he bolted! I left me
feet and that dog dragged me 50 feet through the mud before I could regain my
footing and stop the run-away furry freight train!
After a firm scolding, I
released him to do what he loved. Fetch the ducks. He was proud as a peacock as
he brought each prize position to his master. He was reluctant to give up the
second bird, but he traded it for one of my wife’s biscuits! We returned to our
blind and searched the sky for more ducks as we admired our success. After
about twenty minutes of storytelling and no ducks. Larry asked me where my dog
was. I turned around to see the golden burglar with his nose buried deep into
the biscuit bag! It was too late. He had the last one in his mouth!
Duck hunting is a great
time to share stories, and “Champ and the Biscuit Bag”, is one that I have heard
over and over again! Every time I hear that story, I can smell the black mud
all over my coat, and see the wagging tail of the dog with the last biscuit in
his mouth. As frustrating as it may have been, I have fond memories of that
ornery golden. He will always be missed.
