College is Pointless, and My Dog is Wagging Proof
by Ian Burrow
An ad in the paper caught my eye: “Black lab puppies, need them gone.” The timing felt right and the price (a whopping $45) was within my budget. A mechanic shop answered the dial. “Oh yeah, that’s me. I’ve got a box full of ‘em. We’re open until 5:00pm.” With the address in hand, I drove across town to the small garage to investigate the contents of a vibrating cardboard box. I picked the first one that wagged its way to my extended palm. I named her, “Harper.”
Harper was homeschooled. We covered the basics (don’t shit in the house, don’t do drugs, do unto others as you wish to be done to yourself, etc.), but her academics never covered anything that a seasoned bird or waterfowl hunter might include in the curriculum. This was still a few years before I began hunting so it seemed acceptable to skip over the hunting chapters in her textbooks. It was years later, well into her doggy adulthood, that I discovered my passion for hunting. That newfound passion led me to believe Harper should return to school and pursue her higher education in becoming a waterfowl retrieving dog.
After her graduation from THE Ian Burrow Duck Hunting Dog University, I shot a bufflehead duck with her by my side. I then discovered once that duck’s limp figure fell next to a stick on a patch of ice, that there’s some truth behind, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” Harper charged forward and, like an old Saturday morning cartoon, her legs locked up to a skidding halt. She had reached a decision point: duck, or stick. She chose the stick.
I tried, both in training sessions and afield, to convince her to become a “duck dog,” but she just never quite caught on. I eventually grew out of my disappointment and learned to accept the truth. She’s not the hunting dog in the outdoor magazines and videos, but she’s my shotgun rider and a damn good one at that. She sticks her tongue in the wind while I drive, trots beside me when I’m scouting, and she keeps me company in the duck blind. I happily take her with me every chance I get, even though her university degree will never amount to anything (sound familiar, millennials?).
This morning, Harper and I scooted out of the house for a short adventure before anyone else could stop us. I had a quality tip-off on where to find some quail and I knew Harper was itching to get away from the ‘burbs. I had never quail hunted alone before, so this was going to be uncharted territory for me. It would be for Harper too. She had always been left at home, out of concern that she’d distract other hunters’ dogs, when I upland hunted in the past. But this was a solo hunt, so I took Harper off the bench and put her in as a starter.
We smashed through thickets and high stepped through native grasses. The fact that I was hunting solo and hunting with a dog that can’t even apply her waterfowl degree to the marsh gave me low expectations of needing to shoulder my gun this morning. And then it happened. She pointed. Her stiff figure tore me away from my contemplation of whether or not quail even existed in Kansas. Where the hell did you learn how to do that? I couldn’t believe my eyes. And then a bobwhite quail burst out right in front of her.
I wasn’t prepared for that. My hips were cocked, my arms were dangling, and my shotgun was resting on my thighs. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Hell, my jaw was probably hanging wide open. This dog, the same dog I tried to train to retrieve a mallard, this same dog that had never gone quail hunting before, had just found a quail for me. And then the covey erupted. I snapped out of my daze, shouldered my Benelli, and chose my target.
We drove home in silence. Harper treated herself to a well-deserved nap and I spent the miles replaying the morning’s events in my head. I had spent so much time and effort trying to make this dog retrieve ducks. I watched dog training videos and read books written by esteemed trainers. I bought bumpers and duck scents. I built a training platform from scrap wood. I even splurged for a name-brand electronic collar. We trained in the house, in the yard, and in the marsh. And yet, it never once occurred to me that Harper could be an upland bird dog. After all, she’s a Labrador retriever. Labs are duck dogs, right?
Something I’ve really grown to appreciate about hunting is how I always learn something each time I step afield. From animal behavior to characteristics of the landscape, to hunting methods and personal introspections, a day hunting is a day spent learning. Today’s lesson was twofold. The first, a discovery, was that Harper can point quail. The second, an affirmation, was that a particular education doesn’t necessarily correlate to one’s talents.
What I’m getting at is … be like Harper. Don’t let the expectations of others define you just because of your education (or lack thereof). Don’t let your background dictate your path. Stop worrying about everyone else and just enjoy life. You just might be surprised by what you’re capable of.
