Getting to the Point
Posted 09/21/2025
My journey with pointers began like many of my adventures—with curiosity, a measure of daring, and a willingness to chase an idea as far as it would take me. If it was an Icarus sort of thing, I can’t say I regret flying too close to the sun. The height—the thrill—was worth it. Pointers are a lot like that. They can lift you up, make you feel unstoppable, and occasionally scorch your wings if you’re not paying attention.
I came to pointers from the world of cooperative, versatile breeds—dogs bred to orbit close, checking in often, partnership written into their bones. Moving into pointers, especially those bred to devour country, demanded a shift in perspective. It wasn’t about keeping them tethered to me, physically or mentally—it was about learning to let them breathe, to watch them hunt the horizon without losing the invisible thread between us.
Pointers carry a reputation for being run-offs. And yes, some can be. But the good ones—truly good ones—aren’t looking to leave you. Working them is like shaping wind through tall grass—there’s direction, but it’s alive, shifting, and full of feel. The best moments are when you and the dog move across the country with near-telepathic timing, turning and flowing together as if the land itself were guiding you both.
That’s the hard part for many. With versatile breeds, I could train in neat, linear steps—Step 1, Step 2, Step 3—like following a recipe. Pointers aren’t like that. They’re not “cram through the cram hole” dogs. Their education is more like painting or sculpture—layering, revisiting, blending—and too much control too soon smothers the artistry before it has a chance to emerge.
The goal isn’t just obedience. It’s bold, independent hunting—a dog that carries himself through the country with joy, yet still turns his head to say, I’m here, let’s share this.
It’s a balancing act—facilitator more than trainer, curator more than craftsman. My job is to work with the dog in front of me, to draw out the best of what’s already there, without sanding off the edges that make him unique.
Pointers are striking on the landscape—muscle and purpose in motion, light on their feet yet relentless in drive. Their minds grow still in the presence of game, all that restless energy refined into a sculpture of focus. My first pointer was a timid, reserved pup around people, but loosed in bird country, he transformed—confident, emboldened, alive. That dog opened doors to new friendships, to the world of field trialing, and to the joy of working off a horse. All because I was chasing one damned fine wild bird.
It wasn’t always easy. Some of the trainers and mentors I met spoke in what felt like riddles—abstract, almost philosophical musings on working dogs. At first, it was confusing. Over time, I realized it was simply a different language. Less about rigid steps and checklists, more about rhythm, timing, and trust. The more I leaned into it, the more I saw its truth.
Now there’s a new pointer pup in the mix—one with a sharp wit and a bit of a switchblade sense of humor (that story’s for another time). I used to think I wanted the perfectly obedient “robot” dog. But the more I chased that, the more I saw the spark—the individuality—leave them. I’ve learned I like the dogs who are assaulters at heart—kick-your-door-down, take-the-hill types—high-drive hunters with the grit to problem-solve on their own. Give them the puzzle, the desired outcome, and watch how they choose to solve it. That’s where the real magic is.
Somewhere along the way, I made a promise to the dogs: I’d keep it fun, I’d let them be themselves, and I’d shape that individuality into something we could both be proud of.
I think, as handlers, we’re often in a rush—pushing dogs onto our schedule, measuring them against someone else’s progress. But with these pointers, I’ve slowed down. They’re my art brushes, and I want the painting to be worth looking at in the end. Not better than other dogs, just a different medium on a different canvas.
In fact, they’ve changed more than just how I work with them. Pointers have made me step back and rethink my relationship with my versatile breeds as well—reminding me to preserve their individuality, to give them room to breathe, and to let the hunt shape them as much as I do. The lessons these hard-driving, horizon-chasing dogs have taught me spill over into every dog I handle now.
And that’s the point.
I came to pointers from the world of cooperative, versatile breeds—dogs bred to orbit close, checking in often, partnership written into their bones. Moving into pointers, especially those bred to devour country, demanded a shift in perspective. It wasn’t about keeping them tethered to me, physically or mentally—it was about learning to let them breathe, to watch them hunt the horizon without losing the invisible thread between us.
Pointers carry a reputation for being run-offs. And yes, some can be. But the good ones—truly good ones—aren’t looking to leave you. Working them is like shaping wind through tall grass—there’s direction, but it’s alive, shifting, and full of feel. The best moments are when you and the dog move across the country with near-telepathic timing, turning and flowing together as if the land itself were guiding you both.
That’s the hard part for many. With versatile breeds, I could train in neat, linear steps—Step 1, Step 2, Step 3—like following a recipe. Pointers aren’t like that. They’re not “cram through the cram hole” dogs. Their education is more like painting or sculpture—layering, revisiting, blending—and too much control too soon smothers the artistry before it has a chance to emerge.
The goal isn’t just obedience. It’s bold, independent hunting—a dog that carries himself through the country with joy, yet still turns his head to say, I’m here, let’s share this.
It’s a balancing act—facilitator more than trainer, curator more than craftsman. My job is to work with the dog in front of me, to draw out the best of what’s already there, without sanding off the edges that make him unique.
Pointers are striking on the landscape—muscle and purpose in motion, light on their feet yet relentless in drive. Their minds grow still in the presence of game, all that restless energy refined into a sculpture of focus. My first pointer was a timid, reserved pup around people, but loosed in bird country, he transformed—confident, emboldened, alive. That dog opened doors to new friendships, to the world of field trialing, and to the joy of working off a horse. All because I was chasing one damned fine wild bird.
It wasn’t always easy. Some of the trainers and mentors I met spoke in what felt like riddles—abstract, almost philosophical musings on working dogs. At first, it was confusing. Over time, I realized it was simply a different language. Less about rigid steps and checklists, more about rhythm, timing, and trust. The more I leaned into it, the more I saw its truth.
Now there’s a new pointer pup in the mix—one with a sharp wit and a bit of a switchblade sense of humor (that story’s for another time). I used to think I wanted the perfectly obedient “robot” dog. But the more I chased that, the more I saw the spark—the individuality—leave them. I’ve learned I like the dogs who are assaulters at heart—kick-your-door-down, take-the-hill types—high-drive hunters with the grit to problem-solve on their own. Give them the puzzle, the desired outcome, and watch how they choose to solve it. That’s where the real magic is.
Somewhere along the way, I made a promise to the dogs: I’d keep it fun, I’d let them be themselves, and I’d shape that individuality into something we could both be proud of.
I think, as handlers, we’re often in a rush—pushing dogs onto our schedule, measuring them against someone else’s progress. But with these pointers, I’ve slowed down. They’re my art brushes, and I want the painting to be worth looking at in the end. Not better than other dogs, just a different medium on a different canvas.
In fact, they’ve changed more than just how I work with them. Pointers have made me step back and rethink my relationship with my versatile breeds as well—reminding me to preserve their individuality, to give them room to breathe, and to let the hunt shape them as much as I do. The lessons these hard-driving, horizon-chasing dogs have taught me spill over into every dog I handle now.
And that’s the point.
About the Author : Andrew Baisley
Visit authors website | View more articlesPassionate about the untamed beauty of the Western wilderness, Andrew Baisley is a dedicated wild bird hunter and enthusiast of exceptional wild bird dogs. With a heart for adventure and a flair for training, Andrew shares captivating tales of the hunt and the bond between hunter and canine companion. Follow their outdoor journey on Instagram @birds_n_beards for a glimpse into the rugged charm of the wild and the thrill of the chase.
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