[Pointers X's 5]

Hey guys,

Sorry I have not been around much. We are crazy here at work, and I just have not had time to get on and post, I have however been reading just to keep up. Ok point of this post. Mr freind who is also my trainer lost his dog a couple weeks ago. She was only 18 months old but her impact on his life was tremendous in such a short amount of time. To me it seemed I am sorry was not enough so I put this together for him as my tribute to her. I hope you enjoy it.
MAIN CREEK'S RAMBLIN GAUGE
RAMSEY

Ramsey was born on a hot July day in Southern, Wisconsin. Little did this liver roan, patched, & ticked pup know but she would be destined for greatness. Her two owners resided some 500 miles apart, so her true master, trainer, and playmate would be John Koening. "Doodle" as John called her was treated like one of the family from the start.

Spoiled? You bet she was. She wanted for nothing. But in return, she always gave it her all. Whether it was pointing birds just outside the bird pens or it was at a major bird dog championship, Doodle gave it everything she had all the time. John and Doodle spent countless of hours together. On really bad weather days, Doodle could often be found on John's lap. If she wasn't there, she was stretched out on the couch in the K&L Kennel Club house just a few feet away from her master.

Doodle was a natural. She took to pointing birds, like fish take to water. She was a tenacious small framed girl that would rather hunt than eat. When she was young she pointed birds on three legs. Nothing unique about that you say? It is if the front leg she would hold up was not curled up in a tuck position. But rather her front left paw was literally extending forward as if she was pointing at the bird with her fore finger and telling John, "Hey the birds right there."

Some great dogs are made and some are just natural bird finding machines. Doodle was such a natural it was remarkable. She ran like no other. Effortless in motion, but covering ground like a startled whitetail. Leaping about, often jumping over tall cover with the grace of a carefree butterfly.

Speaking of whitetails... one time during a BDC/UFTA event on her home farm, Doodle went on point just as the judge said, "Look at the deer." The three deer nearly ran Doodle over, with the last deer pausing just feet away from a now howling German short hair. Ramsey was howling at the deer as if to say, "can't you see I'm in the middle of winning another event, now get out of my field. Go play on the farm next door." The deer ran off and she was back pointing her bird as if this near run-in was only a dream.

Ramsey was a dream. A dream come true for a man that has owned and trained hundreds before her. She was the best darn short hair you ever saw. She was as honest of a pointer that ever walked this earth. She had the nose and the instincts of a whitetail and the personality of a spoiled cat.

She will always be remembered for not just being a great bird dog. Not for just being spoiled. For she was much, much more than that. Yes, Main Creek's Ramblin Gauge was not just a dog John took for long walks on the back 100 acres. No, Doodle brought out that little boy in big man named John. A boy and his dog. A boy and is best friend that will live on in all our hearts forever. As John always said, "She's a good girl". Indeed.

Take care and I hope you are all doing well.

Mike

[birdman]

GREAT JOB POINTER!!!! You're a true class act. Your tribute is fantastic. By the end of the article, I could picture this dog and almost felt connected as if I were hunting over her. It's amazing how our hunting companions have such an impact on our lives. And this is why they're "Man's best Friend".

I think you should frame this with a picture of Doodle and give it to John..

Cheers Buddy,
Todd

[Pointers X's 5]

BM,

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and for the thoughts. That is a wonderful idea you have. I will look tonight and see if I have any pictures of her, and do just what you recomended.

Mike

[oucorry]

Excellent story Pointer. It really hit home and helped me remember some of the good times I've had with some of my bird dogs.

[shortbus]

Very nice man.

Glad to see you back around!

[oucorry]

By Hal McKnight
Special Correspondent
Zuni swept across the rolling prairie like a bolt of lightning.
The female English Setter jumped over a yucca cactus, scented a covey of bobwhite quail, and landed like a statue in a perfect point.


As the birds flushed, I harvested a double. I gave my dog a big pat on the head as she completed her retrieve. That wonderful memory occurred 13 years ago.

Early this fall, I took Zuni on a quail hunt in Wheeler County, Texas. We began in a field of love grass with high hopes, as the wet year had created a tangle of very thick vegetation.

Zuni showed great heart as she tried to run through the maze, but unfortunately, her old motor was no match against the dense cover. Her brown eyes conveyed disappointment in her inability to cover any ground.

Wisdom instructs every hunter that a fateful day will come when their canine companion can no longer perform to past standards.

Regardless of this harsh reality, I still held hope that Zuni would make a few points on quail this day. It was simply not to be. The drive back home seemed especially long since Zuni and I were both heavy of heart.

Zuni is a once-in-a-lifetime hunting dog and best friend. She comes from a long lineage of Michigan grouse dogs. Although quail hunting was always her first love, her repertoire also includes dove, pheasant, duck and goose.

It is rare for an upland pointing dog to care a nickel about waterfowl, but here is how it started. Zuni was 2 years old when I left her in my truck while hunting ducks in a peanut field.

She watched and learned as my black lab, Hawk, and I hid under strips of burlap in the middle of our decoys and dropped several ducks.

When I came back to the truck for a warmer coat, my precocious pet bolted and raced to the spread. She crawled under a piece of burlap next to my bewildered Labrador.

Soon, a single drake mallard started circling from high altitude. The greenhead cupped its wings and dropped into our field decoys.

The bird was dispatched but fell 70 yards away due to the strong wind. Both dogs shook with eager anticipation. Without knowing what might happen, I shouted, "Zuni, back!”

She ran like an impala to the duck, never breaking stride, and made a stylish retrieve with her head held high. From that point on, Zuni and my black lab alternated retrieves — and I do believe they both can count.

When it came to cold-water retrieving, Zuni developed her own unique style. She runs to the edge of the water and skids to a stop.

Then the 45-pound Setter will slowly tiptoe out to swimming depth with her back arched like a Halloween cat. The addition of a neoprene vest helped her dog-paddling technique as well as added warmth.

It has been a challenge to shake off the disappointment I have been carrying around since that bummer of a quail hunt last fall. I presumed that was the final quail chapter for Zuni.

Then, out of the blue, an old friend asked me to join him in Vega, Texas, for the last weekend of quail season.

I wondered if this would be another exercise in futility for my aging Setter. Then I remembered the old adage that any day spent outdoors is a good day.

The terrain west of Amarillo was very open with a mix of cactus and mesquite trees. I noticed Zuni had a special glimmer in her eyes as we started our hunt.

The wide open topography worked to the Setter's benefit as she began to cover ground at a steady lope.

As we worked along dry arroyo, Zuni suddenly went into a low crouch, nose close to ground, and started trailing a covey of quail.

Obviously, the birds were running in this sparse cover, and I desperately hoped they would not flush wild.

Zuni showed great confidence and trailed the quail for more than a quarter-mile. Finally, she locked up adjacent to a large sand plum thicket.

Twenty bobwhites took flight. Zuni looked like she was walking on air as she retrieved a couple of quail.

There was something majestically special about this moment of glory that I wish I could put into words, but you just had to be there.

I bent down on one knee and gave Zuni a big bear hug. As she moved away, Zuni threw a glance in my direction as if to say, "Try to keep up — we've got a new chapter to write.”


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