THE WHISTLE
Posted 08/08/2022
While running a dog at the NBHA National Derby recently, I lost a whistle that I had used in South Dakota back in 1979. It was a special whistle to me. I clearly remember sitting crossed legged on a horse while waiting on a lost dog and looking out across those open prairies. I thought of home for just a moment, and because it was my mother's birthday, I scratched the date on the whistle's side, August 27, 1979. I should not have been using such a keepsake, but it was my favorite. Even good things come and go, I guess. Losing it, and looking for it, and remembering it, reminded me of the following; one of many memories I have of that summer. It's not meant to be a striking work of prose although it may become one sometime in the future. I'm just recounting as it comes to me. However, every word and how it transpired is true, exactly true. (I'll change the names only to save any embarrassment, though no one should be embarrassed by the truth).
In the summer of 1979, I went with Troy Allyson, Robert Ornsby, and Mr. O'Leary to South Dakota. We camped in and around Timber Lake. I had a brand-new Chevrolet step side 4-wheel drive pickup that just fit a dog box we borrowed from Cyrl Ladner, a dog trainer from Picayune Mississippi. The wooden box held eight dogs comfortably. We had nine.
Robert, a dog trainer of sorts, brought a setter named Rudy. Troy, a retired politician, carried a litter of five grown pups he had raised. No breeding of interest, although Troy thought different. I brought two bitches, one named Billie, off an Evolution dog in the community and another I had bought from Bobby Davis of Pensacola. Her name was Terrific Chick, don't remember her call name. Mr. O'Leary, in his eighties with long white flowing hair, that never touched a hat, brought an old setter with a gray muzzle named Sam.
We were traveling in two trucks. Mr. O'Leary and Robert in one and Troy and me in the other. Each truck pulled a two-horse trailer. My horse was part Arabian and part quarter horse. It would be three years before I would realize the luxury of a gaited horse.
We worked dogs all summer. My dogs ran up chickens the entire time I was up there. I don't remember ever getting one pointed. O'Leary and Sam stayed in the shade mostly. Robert, an English major, quoted Keats and for some reason he never took Rudy out of the roading harness. " bad habit learned is hard to break", he said. Rudy would just stand there panting, chest deep in a speargrass patch. Robert quit our camp in mid August to join up with Buzz Marshal to drive a truck back to Oklahoma.
Troy's dogs were named Ham, Flann, Winn, and Gator, two dogs, two bitches. He also carried Joe a littermate that he had sold as a baby pup to a wealthy neighbor, whose name I never knew. Troy hated Joe, said his tail was set too low and he had no drive. Troy fed his four favorites a special Iams feed he got from a veterinarian. Joe was fed last every time, Ol'Roy from Walmart. Roy said it might upset his stomach to switch feed. What exercise he got was when I'd feel sorry for him and take him for an afternoon trek across the prairie. You couldn't call it training. I'd just let him run. He loved those outings. His tail would pick up and pop like a buggy whip. He never got tired. Other than that, he stayed on the chain or in the box most of the time. Even when we'd see birds cross the road, Troy would work every other pup twice before he let old Joe have a sniff. I can't remember Joe ever seeing a bird fly off. Troy would check cord him to where the birds "were" and style him up and then flush and throw grass up in the air like chickens flying off, and then jam him back in the box with Sam. It wasn't a good summer for Joe, but he always seemed happy, and I really got to liking him. It didn't take much to make him happy, a scratch behind the ears, or just saying his name when you passed by seemed to perk him up. I made it a point to do this several times a day. "Hey there Joe, what you doing boy?" It didn't take much.
Anyway, I could go on and on about the particular and royal treatment Troy bestowed on the chosen ones and the neglect he heaped on Joe, but I won't. Suffice to say Joe could have been named Cinderella and the name would have fit the bill perfect. I will throw in one more thing however. At this time in Troy's life, he was consulting a seer, a person Troy would call and tell the situation to, and the Seer would tell Troy how it was going to turn out. I never met the Seer, but I did speak negatively about such a person and the trade once and was severely rebuked by Troy. He was a believer.
Well, from what I could gather when Troy got back from the phone in Timber Lake one day, it was determined by the Seer, that we were to go home via Illinois, maybe Rend Lake I don't remember. The Seer had apparently laid the plan out to Troy on the phone. I was home sick and didn't want to spend the extra days going out of our away, but the Seer wasn't to be disobeyed.
Like I said, I think it was Rend Lake. They were holding a club trial in mid-September and the Seer told Troy we'd have great "fabulous success" there. I thought, well, maybe I'd get to see one of my dogs point a bird after all. We sat out getting our dogs ready for the trial. I ran my pups in that heat and tall grass till their chests were like leather and they could seemingly go all day. What I wasn't paying attention to was my horse, she was going the wrong way bad.
Troy benched his every morning, stoking them and saying "whoa, whoa, whoa" until he could walk a hundred yards off and they'd stay posed. They looked good. Then he'd road them for two hours at a time, twice a day. Even the females were bulging now with muscles.
Joe took it all in from his chain. For the last few weeks, he lay with his head between his paws in the cool grass, shaded by low hanging cottonwoods. For the first few days of those last weeks, he jumped and strained on his chain when Troy began to load dogs each morning, but after a few days I guess he realized that he hadn't made the final cut. He seemed resigned to simply watch the comings and goings of the A-Team and passed time pawing at butterflies as they floated by. Sometimes he'd stand and point one lit on one of shimmering silver leaves nearby.
Mr. O'Leary and Sam were content to fish at the pond behind our camp for the last few weeks. They chose not to accept the challenge and vision the Seer had bestowed on our little camp. Mr. O'Leary said it was like, " voodoo queen tossing chicken bones out of a cup and across the floor of a jungle hut somewhere". In early September Mr. O'Leary and Sam left for Louisiana. I'd never see either of them again, but I can truthfully say they enjoyed that summer. Neither would see another.
We entered our dogs. I didn't have much money or horse left so I opted for the open derby only. Both my dogs ran off and it didn't take long. I didn't have horse enough to do anything about it. Nuff said there, about my dogs and the Seer. Apparently, the Seer was more in tune with Troy's future than mine. Troy, on the other hand, entered his dogs in just about every available stake. Open and amateur, derby, and puppy. Four stakes for each dog. I thought we were both about broke with just enough money for gas to get home, but I guess Troy and the Seer had something stashed I didn't know about. Troy did tell me the Seer told him to call Joe's owner about entering him in the trial. Looking back, I'm sure it was on account of Ol'Joe that Troy got enough money to run all those pups. I'll never know.
Well anyway, without belaboring the story, when the smoke cleared and all accounts were settled, and in a true testament to the Seer and to the justice of the universe, Troy did have "fabulous success". Yep, first place in every stake he entered. But you'd never guess what dog won......I still roll with laughter when I close my eyes and see that club official announce the winner.....Ol' Joe. I can't remember Joe's registered name. He may not have even been registered, but he won first place in every category. Yes, first place, it may be a record. I'd like to check on that someday. (The American Field would have a record of this trial if someone was energetic enough to look it up). One of Troy's other dogs placed somewhere in the group, but none held a candle to Joe that day.
I don't know if it was all the rest he had, or if it was that he knew he may never get another chance in his lifetime to show what he could do. When I turned him loose for Troy, his tail went to popping like that whip and he sailed around the course like an oiled bearing, smooth and silent, gliding, coasting with little effort, leaving every watching in awe. After the winners were announced, Troy wouldn't take a picture with him, but I did. Four times I scratched his ears and whispered his name so he could hear, and I posed him up just like the king of the world, and that day he was.
It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen at a field trial, and the funniest. I laughed all the way home, 10 hours. Troy was beside himself, bad mouthing the judges, and the club, and said he was quitting the Seer for not being more specific. It's all as clear as if it happened yesterday.
On a side note, Mr O'Leary passed away that year on Christmas day. Robert later became a Methodist minister, went to China, and married a Chinese lady. He and his wife are currently living and doing God's work near Amite, Louisiana. Troy has since passed away. He loved his dogs. I was 25 at the time and I married two years later. My wife and I raised two children, put them both through college and both have made us very proud. I left dogs and trialing to raise my family, but recently I've been able to return to the sport I never stopped loving. Sure wish I hadn't lost that whistle.
In the summer of 1979, I went with Troy Allyson, Robert Ornsby, and Mr. O'Leary to South Dakota. We camped in and around Timber Lake. I had a brand-new Chevrolet step side 4-wheel drive pickup that just fit a dog box we borrowed from Cyrl Ladner, a dog trainer from Picayune Mississippi. The wooden box held eight dogs comfortably. We had nine.
Robert, a dog trainer of sorts, brought a setter named Rudy. Troy, a retired politician, carried a litter of five grown pups he had raised. No breeding of interest, although Troy thought different. I brought two bitches, one named Billie, off an Evolution dog in the community and another I had bought from Bobby Davis of Pensacola. Her name was Terrific Chick, don't remember her call name. Mr. O'Leary, in his eighties with long white flowing hair, that never touched a hat, brought an old setter with a gray muzzle named Sam.
We were traveling in two trucks. Mr. O'Leary and Robert in one and Troy and me in the other. Each truck pulled a two-horse trailer. My horse was part Arabian and part quarter horse. It would be three years before I would realize the luxury of a gaited horse.
We worked dogs all summer. My dogs ran up chickens the entire time I was up there. I don't remember ever getting one pointed. O'Leary and Sam stayed in the shade mostly. Robert, an English major, quoted Keats and for some reason he never took Rudy out of the roading harness. " bad habit learned is hard to break", he said. Rudy would just stand there panting, chest deep in a speargrass patch. Robert quit our camp in mid August to join up with Buzz Marshal to drive a truck back to Oklahoma.
Troy's dogs were named Ham, Flann, Winn, and Gator, two dogs, two bitches. He also carried Joe a littermate that he had sold as a baby pup to a wealthy neighbor, whose name I never knew. Troy hated Joe, said his tail was set too low and he had no drive. Troy fed his four favorites a special Iams feed he got from a veterinarian. Joe was fed last every time, Ol'Roy from Walmart. Roy said it might upset his stomach to switch feed. What exercise he got was when I'd feel sorry for him and take him for an afternoon trek across the prairie. You couldn't call it training. I'd just let him run. He loved those outings. His tail would pick up and pop like a buggy whip. He never got tired. Other than that, he stayed on the chain or in the box most of the time. Even when we'd see birds cross the road, Troy would work every other pup twice before he let old Joe have a sniff. I can't remember Joe ever seeing a bird fly off. Troy would check cord him to where the birds "were" and style him up and then flush and throw grass up in the air like chickens flying off, and then jam him back in the box with Sam. It wasn't a good summer for Joe, but he always seemed happy, and I really got to liking him. It didn't take much to make him happy, a scratch behind the ears, or just saying his name when you passed by seemed to perk him up. I made it a point to do this several times a day. "Hey there Joe, what you doing boy?" It didn't take much.
Anyway, I could go on and on about the particular and royal treatment Troy bestowed on the chosen ones and the neglect he heaped on Joe, but I won't. Suffice to say Joe could have been named Cinderella and the name would have fit the bill perfect. I will throw in one more thing however. At this time in Troy's life, he was consulting a seer, a person Troy would call and tell the situation to, and the Seer would tell Troy how it was going to turn out. I never met the Seer, but I did speak negatively about such a person and the trade once and was severely rebuked by Troy. He was a believer.
Well, from what I could gather when Troy got back from the phone in Timber Lake one day, it was determined by the Seer, that we were to go home via Illinois, maybe Rend Lake I don't remember. The Seer had apparently laid the plan out to Troy on the phone. I was home sick and didn't want to spend the extra days going out of our away, but the Seer wasn't to be disobeyed.
Like I said, I think it was Rend Lake. They were holding a club trial in mid-September and the Seer told Troy we'd have great "fabulous success" there. I thought, well, maybe I'd get to see one of my dogs point a bird after all. We sat out getting our dogs ready for the trial. I ran my pups in that heat and tall grass till their chests were like leather and they could seemingly go all day. What I wasn't paying attention to was my horse, she was going the wrong way bad.
Troy benched his every morning, stoking them and saying "whoa, whoa, whoa" until he could walk a hundred yards off and they'd stay posed. They looked good. Then he'd road them for two hours at a time, twice a day. Even the females were bulging now with muscles.
Joe took it all in from his chain. For the last few weeks, he lay with his head between his paws in the cool grass, shaded by low hanging cottonwoods. For the first few days of those last weeks, he jumped and strained on his chain when Troy began to load dogs each morning, but after a few days I guess he realized that he hadn't made the final cut. He seemed resigned to simply watch the comings and goings of the A-Team and passed time pawing at butterflies as they floated by. Sometimes he'd stand and point one lit on one of shimmering silver leaves nearby.
Mr. O'Leary and Sam were content to fish at the pond behind our camp for the last few weeks. They chose not to accept the challenge and vision the Seer had bestowed on our little camp. Mr. O'Leary said it was like, " voodoo queen tossing chicken bones out of a cup and across the floor of a jungle hut somewhere". In early September Mr. O'Leary and Sam left for Louisiana. I'd never see either of them again, but I can truthfully say they enjoyed that summer. Neither would see another.
We entered our dogs. I didn't have much money or horse left so I opted for the open derby only. Both my dogs ran off and it didn't take long. I didn't have horse enough to do anything about it. Nuff said there, about my dogs and the Seer. Apparently, the Seer was more in tune with Troy's future than mine. Troy, on the other hand, entered his dogs in just about every available stake. Open and amateur, derby, and puppy. Four stakes for each dog. I thought we were both about broke with just enough money for gas to get home, but I guess Troy and the Seer had something stashed I didn't know about. Troy did tell me the Seer told him to call Joe's owner about entering him in the trial. Looking back, I'm sure it was on account of Ol'Joe that Troy got enough money to run all those pups. I'll never know.
Well anyway, without belaboring the story, when the smoke cleared and all accounts were settled, and in a true testament to the Seer and to the justice of the universe, Troy did have "fabulous success". Yep, first place in every stake he entered. But you'd never guess what dog won......I still roll with laughter when I close my eyes and see that club official announce the winner.....Ol' Joe. I can't remember Joe's registered name. He may not have even been registered, but he won first place in every category. Yes, first place, it may be a record. I'd like to check on that someday. (The American Field would have a record of this trial if someone was energetic enough to look it up). One of Troy's other dogs placed somewhere in the group, but none held a candle to Joe that day.
I don't know if it was all the rest he had, or if it was that he knew he may never get another chance in his lifetime to show what he could do. When I turned him loose for Troy, his tail went to popping like that whip and he sailed around the course like an oiled bearing, smooth and silent, gliding, coasting with little effort, leaving every watching in awe. After the winners were announced, Troy wouldn't take a picture with him, but I did. Four times I scratched his ears and whispered his name so he could hear, and I posed him up just like the king of the world, and that day he was.
It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen at a field trial, and the funniest. I laughed all the way home, 10 hours. Troy was beside himself, bad mouthing the judges, and the club, and said he was quitting the Seer for not being more specific. It's all as clear as if it happened yesterday.
On a side note, Mr O'Leary passed away that year on Christmas day. Robert later became a Methodist minister, went to China, and married a Chinese lady. He and his wife are currently living and doing God's work near Amite, Louisiana. Troy has since passed away. He loved his dogs. I was 25 at the time and I married two years later. My wife and I raised two children, put them both through college and both have made us very proud. I left dogs and trialing to raise my family, but recently I've been able to return to the sport I never stopped loving. Sure wish I hadn't lost that whistle.
About the Author : Danny Bardwell
Visit authors website | View more articlesDanny Bardwell is a construction superintendent who builds large commercial buildings in the Baton Rouge / New Orleans area. For peace of mind and escape from the stress of building, Danny raises and trains pointers with his thirteen year old grandson, Lane.
Danny is a story teller at heart, and often when relaxing he is inspired by some little event or phrase. Lane appears in most of Danny's stories. His stories have appeared in local publication as well as national circulations such as Sporting Classics Magazine.
About the Artist : Kate Hall
Visit artist websiteKate Hall is an outdoor artist who resides on an Angus cattle farm in Tennessee, where she began hunting at an early age. During her 13 years as a flight attendant, Kate visited 27 countries and all 50 states. She now spends her time traveling across the country in search of rising trout and upland birds with her husband and their English Setter. In his first two seasons they hunted on public lands in MT, KS, SC, AL, NC, KY and TN for quail, ruffed grouse, sharptail grouse, woodcock, pheasant, prairie chickens, and hungarian partridge. Upland hunting has enriched Kate's life and influences much of her colored pencil work.
