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The Worst Day of Hunting, Ever
The worst day of hunting ever
By Tony Dean, The Forum
Published Sunday, July 22, 2007
I’ve known a lot of dogs in my days afield, but Ralph was truly the worst. In fairness, you could hardly expect a mean German shepherd to be a good bird dog.
Ralph belonged to my late friend, Dr. Dick Steidler, who grew up in the same neighborhood as I did in Mandan, N.D. Fate must have been at play on that day back in the 1970s when we both recognized each other in a Pierre, S.D., drug store. It had been nearly 20 years since we’d seen each other, plus Dick was one of the boys in a family of gorgeous sisters.
Though we barely knew each other as kids, our mutual love of fishing and hunting drew us together as adults. Dick had become a doctor and worked for a local clinic.
On a September afternoon, I called him at his office and invited him to join me on a grouse hunt the following day. He agreed and said he’d meet me at my house at 1 p.m. and we’d take his truck.
When he pulled into my drive, I saw Ralph, his German shepherd, in the passenger seat. I knew about Ralph. He had a well-earned reputation as a surly mutt who loved to fight. In fact, he’d whipped every dog in east Pierre by that time and had become quite known.
“What’s Ralph doing here?” I asked.
My friend Dick, the epitome of a doctor who knew everything, merely said, “Ralph is going to be a hunting dog. I intend to teach him manners and obedience and once we have that taken care of, the hunting instincts will come out. After all, dogs evolved from wolves, you know.”
The obedience and manner training started that moment.
“Ralph, get in back,” Dick ordered.
Ralph reluctantly crawled in back and Dick secured him there by tying his leash to the spare tire which was mounted inside the truck cab. And with that, we headed south of Fort Pierre on Highway 83 to the Fort Pierre National Grasslands.
We parked along a road, got out, and held each other’s guns as we crawled over the barbed wire fence. Ralph was already running far ahead, flushing a covey of birds a good 200 yards out. Then Ralph spotted some cattle and proceeded to chase them over the hill. He finally came back, flushing several grouse on the way. Ralph walked toward me growling and snarling when Dick got his attention with a stout stick.
We walked about 100 yards when Ralph jumped a jackrabbit. Everyone knows a dog can’t outrun a jack. But Ralph thought he could, and he tailed the jackrabbit in a zigzag pattern across the pasture, flushing grouse as he inevitably fell behind the rabbit. It was apparent this wasn’t to be an easy grouse hunt. Fortunately, while Ralph was at least a mile away and still in pursuit of that rabbit, a covey of grouse flushed, and we each killed a bird.
“Dick,” I said. “I think we’re close enough friends for me to say something without you getting upset, aren’t we?”
“Of course we are,” he offered.
“I really think we’d do a lot better on these grouse if we put Ralph back in the truck and hunted without him,” I said.
Dick agreed, but added that he’d really like to have Ralph experience a grouse hunt. I suggested he could do that on his own, anytime, for more than a couple months remained in the season. I also noted that if he continued to insist on bringing Ralph on hunts, his hunting partners would stop joining him.
So, we returned to the truck. Dick locked Ralph inside, leaving enough window open to assure adequate air flow. In response, Ralph just snarled. Dick put the two birds under the back seat.
An hour later, minus Ralph, we flushed a covey of prairie chickens, Dick scored a neat double and I killed another bird. We decided we had enough. On the way back to the truck, we flushed another pair of birds, and each of us bagged one. That, counting the birds we left in the truck, gave us a limit.
When we arrived at the truck, Ralph was visibly upset, but no more so than Dick after he opened the door. There were feathers everywhere, and it was obvious that Ralph had eaten both grouse Dick had placed under the seat. Worse, he had eaten the seat to get to them, and that included the upholstery…and metal springs.
Dick gave Ralph a sharp whack across his nose, and Ralph snarled in response.
We got in the truck and began a slow, quiet drive back to Pierre.
About one mile south of town, Dick broke the silence.
“I think I know the problem,” he said.
“Oh, what problem,” I answered, trying hard to stop laughing.
“Any dog would eat that grouse given a chance, but the fact Ralph ate part of the seat and the springs, well, it’s apparent to me that he was seeking something.”
“But what,” I asked?
“I think it’s safe to say that Ralph has … a mineral deficiency.”
Last I heard, Dick moved to Mobridge to accept a job with a clinic there, and he received so many complaints on Ralph that he gave him to a rancher.
Two years later, Dick drowned in Lake Oahe.
He was a dear friend and I miss him greatly.
But I do not miss Ralph.
Tony Dean is the host and executive producer of “Tony Dean Outdoors,” a television series that airs across the Upper Midwest. His daily radio show, “Dakota Backroads,” airs 42 times daily on 39 North Dakota and South Dakota radio stations, plus two in Minnesota.
He can be reached at tonydeanoutdoors@pie.midco.net
Tony
I caught your article about Ralph and my dad in the Fargo Forum on Sunday. That brought a huge smile to my face and I had a good laugh. The memories of that dog and how ornery he was, he was notorious wasn’t he. I thought you captured his spirit to a T. My dad I am sure would have had a great chuckle at your expense if he was still around. I just wanted to drop you a quick line and say thank you for the good laugh. Its nice to know after over 30yrs that he left us I can still catch an article like that.
Rich Steidler
The Worst Day of Hunting, Ever
