Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 7, 1995 TAG: 9505080021
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: STEVE KARK
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
They're her passion. She'll chase them from sunup to sundown if someone's willing to throw for her. They're her chief obsession, her sole means of expression.
A short time back I took her down to Walker Creek so she could fetch her ball and swim at the same time. Next to chasing balls, she likes swimming best. Like all Labrador retrievers, she has webbed feet and takes to water as naturally as a fat old bullfrog.
Anyway, after a while this old timer shows up in a rattly, old pickup truck. He pulls over, stops, lights his pipe and sits inside the truck watching us. I throw the ball farther each time.
Koko dives into the creek and huffs back to shore a half dozen times, tennis ball held high. She knows she's on stage, and I couldn't be prouder. Truth be known, we're both showing off.
"That's a fine dog you got there," says the old guy, drawing on his pipe. "Good blood. Take 'er hunting, do you?"
"I don't hunt," I tell him. "Never picked it up. I'm a city boy, born and raised." (Where I grew up the only wild animals were squirrels and pigeons.) "No, she just chases balls."
He's friendly enough, but I can tell the ol' guy's giving me the once over.
"Too bad," he says. "That's a damn shame."
For a second or two I wonder whether he's referring to my lineage or my dog's. He clears this up soon enough, though.
"Waste of a good dog," he says and drives off.
Waste? Well, I never. I suppose there are those who'd say we've ruined her. After all, she comes from good breeding stock and has the papers to prove it. They'd say she should be out retrieving game birds somewhere, not running hell bent for leather chasing tennis balls.
The old guy got me thinking. Maybe there's something to what he says. She does have excellent form. You've seen dogs like her if you've ever paged through any of those sportsman magazines. She looks just like those dogs in the pictures, except they've a duck or a quail clamped between their jaws, not a tennis ball.
Yep, she's descended from a proud line of hunting dogs and here we've got her chasing balls, playing with squeak toys and eating spaghetti leftovers. And, if that weren't enough, lately she's taken to grooming the cats. They'll sprawl out and let her lick them while they lie there all contented and slobbery. That's gotta do something to screw up all those carefully nurtured hunting genes.
I can't help but feel a stab of guilt as I sit here typing these words. She sits there next to me with her tennis ball in her mouth, panting with anticipation. If that's not the face of a full-blown neurosis sitting there before me, I don't know what is. I should've seen it coming when she ate our furniture after we first brought her home. Or when she came home beaming with pride after rolling in fresh manure.
I'll tell you what: There'd be no sneaking up on game when she smells like that anyway. She's "game" enough herself.
Oh, what the heck! They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. That may be true. On the other hand, I never had much luck with young dogs either. Still, I figure if I can learn to chop wood and bank a fire, then this hunting dog can fetch tennis balls and mother our cats.
Besides, the way I see it we may not have us the best hunting dog in Rye Hollow, but we surely have the best retriever - as long as you're not particular about what she retrieves.
And, we also have the cleanest cats. That ought to count for something.
Steve Kark is an instructor at Virginia Tech and a correspondent for the Roanoke Times & World-News' New River Valley bureau. He writes from his home in scenic Rye Hollow, in a remote part of Giles County south of Pearisburg.|
by CNB