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German Shepard was no Bird Dog
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ยป Find it online at Topix.net. German shepherd was no bird dog
Late friend's pet was too mean to obey any human being, let alone help hunt
By Tony Dean
For the Argus Leader
Published: July 11, 2007
I've known a lot of dogs in my days afield, but Ralph was truly the worst. Of course, you could hardly expect a mean German shepherd to make 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 in the 1970s when Dick and I ran into each other in a Pierre drug store. It had been almost 20 years since we'd laid eyes on each other.
Though we barely knew each other as neighborhood kids in Mandan, our 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 we'd meet at my house and take his truck - a Chevy Blazer back in the days when that truck was a full-size SUV.
When he pulled into my driveway, I saw Ralph, his German shepard, in the passenger seat. I already knew about Ralph. He had a well-earned reputation as a surly mutt that loved to fight. In fact, he'd whipped every dog in east Pierre by that time.
"What's Ralph doing here?" I said.
Dick, the epitome of a doctor who knows everything, said: "Ralph is going to be a hunting dog, and I intend to teach him manners and obedience. Once we do that, the hunting instincts will come out. After all, dogs evolved from wolves, you know."
The obedience training started that moment.
"Ralph, get in back," Dick ordered.
The dog reluctantly crawled in back and Dick secured him by tying his leash to the spare tire inside the truck cab. 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. He walked toward me, growling and snarling, until Dick got his attention with a stout stick.
We walked about a hundred yards when Ralph jumped a jackrabbit. Everyone knows a dog can't outrun a jack. But Ralph thought he could, and he tailed that rabbit in a zigzag pattern across the pasture, flushing grouse as he inevitably fell behind the rabbit. It was apparent this wasn't to be a typical 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 said.
"I really think we'd do a lot better on these grouse if we put Ralph back in the truck and hunted without him."
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 - because several months remained in the season. I also noted that if he continued to insist on bringing Ralph on hunts, his hunting partners would beg off on joining him.
So we returned to the truck. Dick locked Ralph inside, leaving enough window open for 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 to call it a day. 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 that Dick 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 a mile south of town, Dick broke the silence.
"I think I know the problem," he said.
"Oh, what problem?" I said, trying hard not to laugh.
"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 said.
"I think it's safe to say that Ralph has ... a mineral deficiency."
Last I heard, Dick moved to Mobridge to accept a job. He received so many complaints on Ralph that he gave him to a rancher. On the first day, Ralph killed some chickens and a yearling steer.
Two years later, Dick drowned in Lake Oahe. He was a dear friend and I miss him greatly.
But I do not miss Ralph.
German Shepard was no Bird Dog
