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As a hunter and lover of wildlife I’ve never been wildly passionate about gun rights as an important component to protecting my pursuits. I know to many that may be considered blasphemy, but at the end of the day for me it has never been about the gun. Certainly the gun is a vital part of what I enjoy, but in the end I don’t think the loss of my gun rights will be the limiting factor in my continuing to be able to enjoy my outdoor pursuits.
In my mind our focus has to be on conservation, plain and simple. We lose an alarming amount of wildlife habitat in the name of economic growth and modern farming. Some of the statistics are mind-boggling really. My home state of Iowa has lost 98% of its prairie potholes. What would the Iowa landscape and quality of life be like if just a fraction of those acres were returned? That is just one state; what if we returned, just small amounts, of lost habitat in every state?
I’ll often hear the argument that hunters are conservationists simply to raise more birds to shoot, or in the case of wetlands, ducks. Anyone who has spent time in the marsh knows the matter is not that simple. Wetlands are the lifeblood of the environment. In addition to many recreational opportunities they help to control flooding and erosion, serve as a reservoir for water, and most important play a vital role in cleansing the water. While performing all of those tasks, they also provide habitat for literally thousands of species of plants, fish and animals.
In veterinary practice we see a lot of sick patients. Many of these patients, as part of the disease process, are dehydrated. A hallmark of medical care for nearly all illness is fluid therapy. Sometimes we never accurately diagnose the cause of an illness but simply by placing an IV catheter and administering fluids the patient will get better. To put it simply, and somewhat esoteric, by restoring the water balance we correct the problem. Throughout man’s history water has served as arguably one of the most important literary and religious symbols we have. Why is that? Because without it we cease to exist.
My intention is not to start a discussion about Global Warming, Climate Change or Religious Symbology. That being said I think we would all agree that our planet is not as healthy as it should be. We certainly do not have the wild places we once had, nor the crucial habitats that serve to balance our planet’s health. Unfortunately our patient’s condition continues to worsen and these changes are being accelerated by dramatic changes to the Farm Bill and Clean Water Act.
Enter the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership’s petition drive “We Are Wetlands.” The group initiated the petition drive in April of last year with the goal of 80,000 names (one for each acre of natural wetlands that our country loses each year). The group has collected over 50,000 signatures, which is impressive, but still short of the goal. Please visit their site and add your name to the growing list and send a message to Congress about the importance of our wild places. Our patient needs fluid therapy and that has to start with the preservation and restoration of our wetlands.
It will come as no surprise that fall is my favorite time of year. Much of what I enjoy occurs during the fall, and I spend the rest of the year longing for, planning for and training for the next fall to come around. That being said, spring places a close second in my rankings of the seasons. As I get older I certainly have started to dread winter more and more, but no matter how rough the winter is, I don’t think I could live in a part of the country that doesn’t experience it. Without winter’s extreme temperatures, and the frozen, snow-covered environment it creates, spring would not seem so glorious. This last weekend the wind chills once again were below zero, yet today’s forecast high is 52. These first sunny, almost warm, days of spring are nearly magical with their effect on the people and animals in this part of the country. Of course we will be slammed back into reality on Thursday when the wind switches back to the north, the temperatures plummet and snow returns to the forecast…but it will be days like today that give us hope that better times are indeed just around the corner.
There truly is something eternally rejuvenating as winter eases its grip on the earth and spring slowly inches closer and closer. One of the spectacles that I greatly enjoy during this transition are the magnificent sites of migrating waterfowl. This year I hope to once again be in the field capturing images as the birds head north to their breeding grounds. In anticipation of this event, I’ve uploaded a gallery of images from previous years’ waterfowl migration:
CLICK HERE to view.
This morning at a little after 5 a.m., when I sat down at the computer with my first cup of coffee the temperature here was -25 with a wind chill of -42. As I type this at 10 am, it has warmed to a balmy -23 degrees. The cold alone would be bad enough, but my morning blog posting has been curtailed over the last week or two because it seems like every morning finds me out shoveling either new snow or windblown drifts–Old Man Winter’s one-two punch. Currently, living in town with a standard-sized driveway, I have refused to invest in a snow blower, which I guess is my own fault. The sides of my driveway are getting so snow piled that I may not have a choice in the matter before long. I’ve never understood those that head south in the winter…until this year. I thought I’d offer these bits of information as a backdrop to the heart of the post below.
Last night after work I received an email from a good friend entitled, “Driven crazy by 30 below windchill or Cabin Fever in the Extreme.” My friend is a fellow dog addict with her breed of choice being Bearded Collies and her game of choice agility. The email went on to detail her “remodeling” project, after the extreme temperatures caused her to crack. She converted her living room into a weave pole station:
Waiting to go:
The email went on to lament about no longer being eligible for a Better Homes & Gardens spread, but that the dogs were in agility heaven. In addition her boys can practice further obedience in the newly converted space:
She ended the email with “Of course, I’m sure the weave pole in the living room situation will only last …..for about 4 more months. Who needs to have guests over???” Unfortunately with the weather pattern of late I fear her four month prediction is not hyperbole.
For those of you unfamiliar with agility, here is what the finished product of weave pole training looks like. Follow the link for a short video clip of Logan:
Link to Logan Video on Youtube
Now, I’d like to report this is one isolated case of a dog owner gone mad…unfortunately it is not. The irony of the situation is that just prior to checking my email I, too, was undertaking a remodeling project in our living room. I had cleared out the furniture, and instead of weave poles, laid out a GHG ultra-low dog blind and field mat to introduce Lily to field work:
Once she got the hang of kenneling we even had room to throw some marks:
Of course the retrieving field currently goes through the area I planned to set up my carving bench (another winter project), which happens to be the same area that I set up my indoor bike trainer. The only silver lining in all of this is that we should have plenty of sheet water in the spring for the snow geese and the snow up north should help produce a bumper crop of little ducks.
The dogs, on the other hand, have not shared my optimism at what the future holds as they dwell in their boredom with the present. Lily, always the resourceful one, did discover a little nook that happens to contain a heating vent. As I type this she is fast a sleep with a steady stream of warm air comforting her to sleep:
I’m sure some day it will warm up again…some day.
I ended the day yesterday with an odd case and thought I’d share a couple of thoughts that this dog triggered.
Please keep an eye on your dog’s daily routines and habits. I am continually amazed at how many owners do not know if their dog has been eating, drinking, urinating or defecating. These four items, their quantities and frequencies, are so vitally important to our diagnostic process, and too often that information is missing. Many, many dogs are presented to us with the only symptom being “he ain’t doin’ right.” This is often the only information, other than the sick dog, we are provided. Unfortunately without the other information just about every malady known to man is a potential solution to the problem and it will take some diagnostic work and educated guessing to try to put the puzzle together. If we know the symptoms and the duration it will greatly impact how the case is handled.
Now, I’m not expecting that every time your pup steps outside to do its business that you be there holding its paw to ensure everything goes well; however, you could be standing at the door or window at least once a day to evaluate the process…and outcome. In every article on dog health and weight management it will be recommended to use a measured feeding program. In my opinion, just as important as controlling weight, a measured feeding program gives you everyday feedback (sometimes twice daily) on your dog’s appetite and changes in eating habits. Hand-in-hand with this is water consumption. If you are actively feeding the dog and monitoring the food consumption you should be frequently offering fresh water, which will allow you to be aware of any changes on the drinking front. Finally because of natural occurring reflexes shortly after the eating and drinking your dog will want to relieve itself which will allow you to monitor that as well.
I’m hoping that most read this post and said, “well duh,” and that it is such an normal part of your day that you wouldn’t think to do otherwise. For those of you who free-choice feed and allow your dog free range to do its business, ask yourself when was the last time you saw your dog eat, drink or go to the bathroom and just how long would it take you before you realized your dog was sick when one of these changed?
It seems like just yesterday that Chrissy and I visited those little bundles of setters with their eyes barely opened. I know that everyone says its stupid to pick a dog based purely on color, but as the only tri-colored female in the litter, I knew that day that she’d be hunting in South Dakota some day. Today the apple of my eye celebrated her third birthday:
We’re a couple of those crazy dog owners who dress their dogs up for Christmas pictures and also celebrate their birthdays. I am neurotic about dog nutrition, and for a couple of years it occupied most of my professional life. At the end of the day, though, who doesn’t like birthday cake:
After this picture the birthday toys were promptly destroyed, and Lily returned to her regularly scheduled mischief. We are currently having our hundredth blizzard of the winter and so it’s too cold, windy and miserable out to run off the pent up energy outside…I can’t wait for the spring to get here.
For those of you who have followed the site since the beginning, you know that my first outdoor love has always been waterfowling. In fact I moved to this great state for that very reason. Recent visitors to the site may be shocked to hear that, considering most of my time over the last three years has been spent behind the setters chasing prairie birds. That, and I’ve added a nearly pure white cocker to the dog team.
Looking back in my hunting journal, my last real waterfowling entry was September 1, 2006. I realize last year that I chased the spring snows and took Emma out on a couple of pass shooting attempts, but I’m talking true-blue migrating-fall waterfowling. I vividly remember that last day, because we were dodging thunderstorms in an attempt to score on some honkers. It was my first hunt without Emma, and while I thoroughly enjoyed seeing my buddy’s dog Storm shoulder the load, it really took the wind out of my sails not having my hunting partner along. With Emma sidelined, I put my waterfowling love on the shelf. It still stung, but I could leave her at home while I chased prairie birds with the setters…I just don’t think I could have done the same had I left the house with my waterfowling gear.
Over the last two to three years I’ve spent my falls chasing the prairie birds and getting my waterfowling fix in the spring with my camera. I love the prairie birds, and while they may have displaced the ducks at the top of my list of fowling pursuits, I would still feel a longing every time I’d see a circling group of mallards or a string of Canadas on the horizon. Some passions just can’t stay buried forever.
This weekend I’m hoping will mark my return to the ranks of waterfowling. I had alluded to this in the last post about decoy carving, and have been thinking about it endlessly since I’ve made the plans for this weekend. Sleep has been hard to come by the last week, and I’ve been on the edge of my seat watching the weather radar with yet another winter storm in the area. If all goes as planned I should have a pretty exciting blog post for the end of the weekend.
Well the upland hunting season ended with a whimper at the Gundogdoc house. We managed one more hunt after the New Year’s Day adventure, though no birds were harmed in the making of the memories. The weather had continued to go from bad to worse and the deep snow was coated with a layer of ice rain. On our last hunt Belle shined with some stunning points on hens. I had been frustrated with her most of the season, partly due to uncooperative birds, and it was nice to end the year on a positive note. Although we didn’t bag a bird I was just about as happy as I could be for how the last day went. Her last point was on a beautifully colored rooster that I had much too much time to think about prior to the flush and promptly emptied the gun at the departing bird…appropriate for how my season went.
I’m trying to put together at least one Missouri River goose hunt to end the fall season, but that too is proving to be a bit more difficult than I would have thought. That leaves a couple of cold, empty months before the snow geese start their journey back north. As I am oft to do it got me thinking about new “stuff” to occupy my time. One hobby that I’ve collected various pieces to, but never fully taken the plunge into, has been decoy carving. Well, I think this winter is going to be the year that I make that leap.
Last night I dug a couple of Rubbermaid containers out from storage and went through the various projects in various states of completion. There are some burlap-over-foam canvasbacks that have moved with us every move starting back to vet school. Ironically the little white devil is behind the motivation to tackle this new project. My first duck hunt with Emma was out of a boat I built, and we managed a limit of Canadas and a couple of ducks. That boat has made the same number of moves as the decoys, but now sits incapacitated under our deck suffering the ravages of wood rot.
My goal this fall is that on Lily’s first duck hunt we’ll be hunting over at least one original decoy. Ideally it would be a small spread of home-carved birds, but that may be a little too ambitious. So, why you might ask am I posting this? Well, as motivation, I’m hoping by making this public declaration I’ll hold myself to seeing the project through. If any of the site visitors are carvers and would like to offer any tips, tricks or suggestions, please drop me an email. Otherwise we’ll have to wait and see if this little plan comes to fruition in the fall.
Hi, my name’s Joe and I’m a dogaholic.
It seems like in today’s world no one wants to be a generalist, we have a need to pigeon-hole everything in our lives. Carrying a banner truly is the American way. We apparently have this in-born need to be labeled, or categorized. We do it in every aspect of our lives, from our political party affiliation to the need to give our race, religion, age and creed on a warranty return form. So, where am I going with this?
I had always felt the need to label my dog ownership, when Emma first came into our lives I was a Chessie Guy. Then Maggie and Belle entered the scene and I thought, I’m a Setter Guy who will always have a retriever. Now there’s a little white devil of a cocker sitting next to me as I type, and it’s made me come to the conclusion that I’m none of the above. I’m just a dirty, muddy-pawed, hair on the clothes Dog Guy. I like ‘em all, and not just the hunting breeds. I like the mutts of suspect origin to the overly bred show dogs…I’m a dog addict. Thankfully my wife is able to keep some semblance of rationality in the house, because if it were up to me we’d be overrun with dogs. I just love dogs.
She doesn’t know it yet but we’re working on adding a Chesapeake back to the house…in a couple of years. If it were solely up to me we’d have a brown dog tomorrow, but I’ve carefully calculated the amount of time needed to slowly wear her defenses down and avoid a divorce in the process. I have it figured to be in the 24-28 month ballpark. The poor girl just doesn’t stand a chance…addicts have a way of getting their fix and we’ll pull out all the stops (or in this case Coach, Kate Spade, Prada, Manolo) that it takes to get what we want.
It feels good to get this off my chest and out in the open for discussion. No more surfing the ‘net looking at puppy breeders’ websites in the wee hours of the morning while Chrissy’s still in bed, or sneaking an extra scratch behind the ear of that dog in the hospital waiting for surgery, or the secret longing to take that little field-bred springer in the boarding kennel home at night to romp with the rest of the crew. I’ve finally come clean and plan to embrace my doggie addiction head on. No more suffering in silence, I’m a dogaholic and proud of it!
Addendum: Does anyone have a home for a homeless veterinarian with two setters, a cocker and a Chessie on the way? When Chrissy read the Chessie bit she mentioned something about “it’s me or the dogs.”…and, well, we all know which option the addict will choose.
We have one week left of the upland season here in South Dakota, and as is the case every year I can’t believe it’s gone. I’ll get out a few more times before it’s over, but it will be more an exercise of getting out than honest-to-goodness hunting. This year will go down as my worst season on many fronts, at least in recent memory, yet I’m still sad to see it go.
In an effort to salvage the year I had planned to head to Texas in February, with a dog trainer friend, but as that trip gets closer it very likely isn’t going to happen. Then, with Maggie’s injury, I thought maybe a quick trip to Kansas in January to make up for lost time; however, that too likely will go by the wayside as she still hobbles on the injured leg from time-to-time and just isn’t ready for a return to the field. Very likely I’ll end up going on a couple of Canada goose hunts along the Missouri River sans my dogs. It is something I’ve wanted to do since moving out here and I’m thinking this year just might be the year. After a two-year hiatus from waterfowling, mainly due to Emma’s condition and passing, the itch is starting to return. It began to surface last spring during the snow goose season and has been building this fall. I’m looking forward to training this psychotic little white dog with the hopes of a return to waterfowling full-force next fall.
The 2008 hunting season will be one remembered for what could have been. We saw some of the best habitat conditions and bird numbers in a generation, but Mother Nature intervened with a wicked sense of irony. The crops were left in the fields much later than normal; heck we saw one farmer combining a field in the frozen snow just this weekend. The fall started with a lot of rain, which was followed much too early by snow, wind and cold weather. We were forced to watch as the birds grouped up much too early and played catch me if you can, reeking havoc on these poor pointing dogs.
We had some good times, the dogs got out and Lily has been started down the path of a hunting dog, but in the end this season won’t be one for the ages.
This is always an odd time of year in the veterinary profession. A surprising number of people choose the holidays as the time to say good-bye to their pets. I think, in this part of the country, it is a three-fold issue: often times families are together and those who want a chance for one last good-bye have returned home, another factor is our weather and the fact that the first real cold/snow snap usually results in some folks putting to sleep older dogs that just can’t handle the conditions. The last phenomenon is one I personally don’t understand, and those are the people that use the holidays as a buffer to the family. I know of more than one veterinarian called out on “emergency” on Christmas Eve to put a pet to sleep while the rest of the family was at Christmas Eve service. The hope being, I presume, that everyone will forget about Fluffy while opening the bounty under the tree. Whatever the reasons the number of euthanasias we perform at this time of year got me thinking about the following piece I actually started in the fall and just hadn’t posted:
By my nature I’m a pessimist and “worst-case-scenario” individual. When I was very young my grandma gave me a stuffed animal called a worry bird, which I was supposed to rub so it could take my worries away, because in her words “I was too young to worry that much.” So take this post with a grain of salt as the gray cloud of my thoughts may somewhat color this discussion.
Earlier this year I saw a family that had three pets under six months of age, two pups and a kitten. All were cute, affectionate and all got along as buddies. It’s a scenario we see quite often, a family gets a young puppy and falls in love, rationalizes if one is great, then two will be infinitely better. Or, the first pup is a devil child and they get pup number two to serve as a distraction and playmate to the first. In many of these cases the dogs do in fact get along well and lead happy normal lives. The tragic part, to me, comes when its time to say goodbye.
Too many times we’ll have clients lose all of their pets in a very short time period. The trauma of the event is so great that many elect never to have their hearts broken again. Earlier this summer I put to sleep a 16-year old Chihuahua who was the fourth in a group of Chihuahuas this owner had, all having to be put down in a very narrow window of time. As dedicated and devoted as she was to these little dogs, at the clinic we thought it would be a matter of days, or at the most weeks, before she brought a new little bundle in for its first visit. Months have passed, and while we see her quite regularly on other business, she insists she has no intentions of getting another pup, too much of her was buried with each of those little dogs, so much heartache in such a short time span. It’s unfortunately a scenario we see repeated with a fair amount of regularity in practice.
So the crux of this post: step back from the emotions of puppy hood and contemplate your multi-dog households. I think with many of these owners, had they had another dog at home to help soften the blow they would have continued their love affair with these wonderful canine creations. As it was they just couldn’t bear the grief. Now, I realize that it is foolish to believe we can plan out life and death events. I just had a close friend lose a three-year old drahthaar to a sudden and fatal illness. The 12-year old matriarch GSP of the house is still holding down the couch in the basement. Had nature followed its normal course the young dog would have had years and years of success in the field, but as it was Mother Nature had other plans.
From a hunting prospective we will occasionally see clients with multiple aging dogs and none in their prime to shoulder the load. Again a product of the thought that one is good, more will be better. In some of these cases, when the dogs are gone, not only are these people unwilling to have their hearts broken by a new canine companion, but often they walk away from the past time they so dearly loved and devoted so much of their life to. And while time may “heal all wounds,” I certainly think the scars of this loss run deep. Having a younger dog at home is not a guarantee that these wounds will heel faster, but I do know they help.
The loss of Emma hit me harder than anything I have experienced in my life. I suppose I should consider myself fortunate, because the people closest to me are all still alive and healthy. That being said had I not had the two setters at home I don’t know that I could have gone down the dog ownership path again, at least not in the foreseeable future. As it was, though, we got back up in the proverbial saddle with the addition of Lily. It may sound incredibly morbid but I certainly had the internal dialogue prior to making the commitment, that if life travels its normal course some day this little white devil will also cause me great hurt and loss. I don’t dwell on it, but I think it is a reality we have to consider when we bring these little pups into our lives. Timing should also be a factor into the decision, and hindsight being what it is, I probably should have waited until Belle was a little older to add another dog to the crew…but you’ve seen pictures… how could I have said no to Lily.
If you’ve made it this far you’re probably thinking I’m crazy to put this much thought into this morbid subject, or if you’ve made it his far you’ve maybe had these thoughts yourself. I certainly don’t have the answer, nor a way to prevent this hurt from happening. In the end, I don’t even think having contemplated it in the beginning softens the blow. What I do know is that I have experienced, on multiple occasions, the devastation people go through because they didn’t have this discussion, with themselves or their family.