Blow-drying a Dead Duck

Sunday, I found myself sitting on the porch with a blow-dryer in one hand and a battered, decaying, wet, extremely smelly duck in the other

How, I wondered as I lifted one wing and then the other to be sure I didn’t leave any wet spots on the duck’s flanks, does a person come to this pathetic stage of holding one’s breathe to try to eek out a few more training sessions with a duck that should have been buried long ago?

I tell ya’, the desire to get those letters next to a dogs name can drive a person to some mighty bizarre activities.  Hunt tests are done with dead birds, not bumpers, ergo, one must keep a supply of dead birds on hand.  Hunt tests are often done with dead birds kept in a bucket all day and thrown repeatedly, ergo, one’s dog must understand that smelly, dead birds are for retrieving, not rolling in.  A friend of mine suggested that I persuade George he needs an extra refrigerator in the garage for beer, and to use that refrigerator for the dead birds. 

But back to the wet duck.  Saturday, I enlisted George to throw marks for Maple.  I gave him the laundry basket of bumpers, dokkens, one defrosted (dry) mallard, and one defrosted (dry) pigeon.  Somehow, both mallard and pigeon landed in the water in the ditch.  Oddly, all the bumpers and dokkens landed on dry land.  (Actually, a couple of bumpers ended up in a tree, but we were able to get them out.)  I need to trade this husband for one that has better aim at slinging dead fowl around.  Why did I not test for that trait before I committed to this marriage?

Despite my wrapping the soggy duck and pigeon overnight in newspaper, they were still wet on Sunday.  I confess, I disposed of the pigeon.  It was already missing one wing.  I couldn’t bear to part with the duck.  So, there I was, blow-drying my duck before it went back into the freezer.

Truly, it’s not the quest for titles that gives me the incentive to handle putrid waterfowl.  It’s the sheer enthusiasm Maple has for hunt training. You can talk all that building value doggie psycho-babble with tugging and toys and food and handler interaction, but you haven’t seen motivation until you’ve seen a retriever on birds. When Maple is waiting for those marks to be thrown, she couldn’t be distracted by a canon going off. When I release her for the retrieve, she rips across the field like her orange tail is on fire.   Her enthusiasm is infectious.