As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
Memories are certain things. I certainly remember some good in bad people, and certain bad in good people.
My beloved Uncle who I have spoken of, was a bit of a sage expert on all things, hunting, fishing and trapping. He might not have known all, but he certainly sought out in most cases how to be successful, and he was the best outdoorsman I ever knew.
My Grandpa was superior as a shot, but my Uncle rarely missed and worked harder at it all after woman trouble.
I had wanted a hunting dog and found one in the trades, to which a few days seemed an eternity, and I remembered running home, bursting in the door, and hopefully expecting a puppy.
Mom had a flaw I never understood in withholding things from my absolutely impoverished existence, as she thought it made something more special or something. The fact is when one has absolutely nothing, you do not withhold from them a farthing of pleasure.
So Mom did not tell me that the puppy was there, as she was under the table, and I immediately became crestfallen, as my existence was crushing and I deemed it another damned cruel reality of how satan and idiots could make things even worse.
As I pleaded with Mom to anguish what went wrong again in my life, she finally said that she thought the puppy would come out, as she was under the table.
Dixie was an Irish Setter / Golden Retriever cross, and she almost died of distemper or something, in which I nursed her to health again, after the vet said she would only be half a dog.
I invested a great deal of time in training her, to which my jealous brother who ruined her abilities, thought that Dixie was naturally hunting.
My beloved Uncle by that time had no dog, and decided to take the dog hunting, as in I got to go along. I remember it well as he had a legendary German Shorthair, which he had run over and killed, who could trail and hunt like nothing anyone had ever seen.
Dixie was though different in she marked downed game by sight, and would use the wind to locate game.
It was this that caused one of the worst memories, which when they did happen were large with my beloved Uncle.
He had downed a pheasant, and pheasants have a PHD in not being found after they are shot, in jumping about on the ground and then holing up in nothing.
Dixie was casting as she always did, and I did not know any different, as she always did that, and found what I needed. In frustration my beloved Uncle, sneered out, "That dog doesn't know what she is doing with her nose in the air and not trailing on the ground."
The damage was done, as I was bawling in short order, as I dearly loved that dog in my hopeless world and she delighted me. In barely a minute though, Dixie had found that bird where it was hid, and I still felt crushed as we climbed into the pick up.
Uncle had figured out I suppose what an ass he had been, and his way of making it up said, "That sort of makes a guy feel foolish when a dog knows more."
I had always wondered over this, and it is one of the traits of the Setters in they do cast to the wind in scenting on it, while the fine German dogs, trail on the ground.
"On an average the dog could make six points to the bitch's one, because he always hunted for the draught of air, or for the wind. The bitch on the contrary carried her head low; for three days in succession, she made four or five points to the dog's one, and beat him all to nothing.
My friend said—* Laverack, you speak very highly of the dog, but in my opinion the bitch is by far the better animal, and worth two of the dog.' I replied, 'Wait till a breeze springs up, and you will see I am right.' The fourth day a breeze did spring up, and the dog literally walked away from the bitch taking nearly all the points, and hardly giving her a chance."
Edward Laverack. The Setter
My Ruby was not much of a hunting dog, as she had other ideas what hunting was, but she was always with me on the uplands. I can still see her with a strong north wind blowing, me walking on the road for her potty break, and her doing nothing but scenting on the wind, all those wonderful scents from civilization miles away.
She would frustrate me to my still laughing at her, for after a quarter mile of me reminding her of why we were there with something like, "Ruby PROFANITY!", and away she would run happily, to only remember to potty as we were walking up the drive.
Dogs do scent differently in some cast and some trail. Casting at times does have it's better qualities, when one is in dusty conditions as that is hard on a dog, and a trailer will be snorting and sneezing all the hunt, while the casting dog will be much better off over the years.
England has wet conditions all the time, so like Germany, the trailing is not a problem. England though does have wind and open spaces, so that is how the Setter developed as a ranging dog.
Both of my Setters have horrid moments involved in them from others,
