"The Point Is"

The point is, English Pointer hunting dogs have been an intregal part of my life for 30 years. It all started when my husband John showed up at the door with a pointer named Tex. Old Tex had been hunting for alot of years, but had picked up a bad habit. He had a problem when his owner tried to hunt with him. Tex would not stay out in front of the hunting truck and hunt. As soon as they turned on the engine and started to move he found his way behind it. He would only follow the truck. He was getting old and figured they might forget him and leave him in some strange, remote spot from which he couldn't find his way back. The owner was looking for hunting home for him and offered him to John. If you have hunted much or even if you haven't, you might figure the dog needs to be in front of the truck to point birds for you. John knew that being a hunting dog, Tex lived to hunt. He would have a home and a hunting place with us. We did not hunt with a truck. We hunted on foot, so we would not have this problem with Tex. I told John this was the ugliest dog I had ever seen. Tex was our first hunting dog. He had an igloo dog house on the back covered patio of our San Antonio home. The kids decorated his igloo at Christmas time. On occasion, cold nights for example, he found the sofa in the family room. Tex was sent to us for a reason. Little did we know how much a part of our lives he would become and how much he would give to us. He was one of the best hunting dogs we ever had.
He taught my husband and I how to hunt after we leased our first hunting area in South Texas. At first, we thought we had a dog that was just too old and slow to do the job. As time passed, we realized he was the one who knew what he was doing, not us. We followed him as he slowly walk across the fields in front of us sniffing and searching for birds. His tail was up waging like crazy. He was having fun. The sun was shining, the breeze and temperature were just right as he carefully walked through the 3ft high grass looking and listening. When he picked up bird scent his head would be low to the ground or up sniffing the incoming breeze. He was trying not to get too close and scare the birds. He wanted to get just close enough to point and hold them. When he accomplished this he waited for us to come and walk through his point. What a teacher. All we had to do is watch him as we followed him. Like a statue he stood with his right front foot just off the ground, his tail straight up in the air and his nose just a few feet behind the birds. He waited for us to get to him no matter how long it took. We quietly approached him from behind. As we walked past Tex, the birds flushed. John and I had to be quick to shoot. The birds were fast. If we downed a bird or two Tex would go and get them and bring them to hand. This means he actually retrieved the downed bird and put them in our hand. They don't all do that, but that's another story. We just waited for him to do this as we smiled and watched a hunting dog doing what he loves best. If we missed all the birds, we got a rather scathing look from Tex out of the corner of his eye. Do you want me to shoot them too? He taught us to follow him wherever he went. Trust me, I know where the birds are. He taught us to be quiet out of respect for his efforts and the birds. He taught us to walk softly and slowly and to be patient and have fun. He taught us to watch him closely as he might point out the danger of a nearby snake. He was snake trained. This is when trainers put live rattlesnakes on the ground and when the dog gets too close they tap him with a shock collar. The dog thinks the snake did it and stays away next time. He taught us to thank him for a job well done and to honor the birds. Around noon, we would take a break, have lunch and nap for an hour or two. About three o'clock we would start hunting again. At the end of a hunting day Tex was plum tuckered out. John would pick him up, put him around the back of his neck like a scarf, grab his paws and carry him back to camp. His nose sniffed the air all the way back to the moterhome from his perch on John's shoulders. We would then clean the birds, start cooking a few for dinner and take care of the dog. I always picked all the ticks and thorns off the dog after a day of hunting and gave him a good rubdown. He earned it. We learned alot from Tex. He said even if the hunting wasn't good, on a beautiful day it was enough just to be out in the scenic South Texas country. Most of all he taught us hunting was supposed to be fun for the dogs and the hunters. He taught us not to worry, that every so often dogs and hunters have bad days when no birds are pointed. We just smiled as he laid on the sofa in the motorhome, his nose sniffing the aroma of quail cooking on the stove. As his eyes closed, sleep took him back over the points and retrieves of the day. He was seeing the perfect day in the life of an English Pointer. Not something they have learned, but something they were born knowing how to do. Jim, a friend, who hunted with us often said that when he died he wanted to come back as one of our hunting dogs. Not a bad idea.