Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/433799
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 2 0 knowing I'll come this way no more. Already, the two little puppies we brought home are grown and gone—terribly too soon—and are now well into adolescence, so that the puppy breath and chubby little back-up-and-spin toys so adored we can never have back again. I've had them on the "whoa- and-styling" bench and barrel since they were eight weeks old, and they're standing pretty tall and proud now, less birds. Which we've done separately, about two times a week without a miss. I've kept the two regimens apart, haven't pasted them together, haven't used the whoa word yet around birds. Nor put a hand or check cord on them. Though it's wonderfully amazing how naturally they've put things together on their own. They're reasonably staunch now, pointing and backing each other reliably—like, bang!—and their poise and confidence around birds is becoming more breathtaking with every stand. God, do I love to see young dogs rising to their own. They're full of honest hunt, beginning to stretch, hitting a high, merry lick a-goin'. Hang on Horace. "Here us goes ag'in. Heigh-ho!" They haven't told me yet how we'll go, horseback or shank's mare, but I'm listenin' and we'll see how it runs. I can still fork a horse tolerably—and Lord knows, there was a time. But really, I'm trying to persuade them—at least most days—gently toward the class gun dog profession. It may not be full of glamour and glory, but it's the oldest and proudest one in the registry. A s you may gather I've done things a little differently this time, and I've learned things from these pups I hadn't in my previous 60 years with pointing dogs. I don't know what that says, other than I was slow.