Novice by Jeff Patrick Jeff Patrick's Non-Slip Retrieving My first trial! What on earth is going on? Am I going to make a complete ass of myself? I was resplendent in my new cream moleskin trousers. My akubra shielded me from the bright sunlight, but I was already starting to wish I had left the oilskin coat back at the car; the long walk had warmed me considerably. Still, I was an immaculate figure of a bushman. That was not what was worrying me. I had never done this before. I was anxious - bewildered. "Peg your dog out behind that bush." Desperately I struggled out of my mental funk to see Brian disappearing into a thicket with his dogs. Was I supposed to follow him? Others were busily staking out their dogs, chatting casually and laughing at the occasional wisecrack. Which bush? Raider made a sudden eager lunge at the end of his lead, causing another dog to snap. Embarrassed, I hastily moved a short distance away. Would this do? "There will be O.K.," Faith said, kindly. "You’d better hurry, though." Flustered, I took out the peg, chain and collar, struggling to maintain control of my excited pooch at the same time. "Sit!" I cried, and was pleased to see him obey - momentarily. I gave a quick jerk on his slip-collar, stood on his lead with one foot, and proceeded to hammer in the peg. "All handlers, please!" Alarmed I looked up to see the other competitors moving off. "Oh, cripes! What’s going on?" I wondered. Furiously I gave a final whack with the hammer, fumbled to do up his collar, realised I had not removed his lead and choker, but with the last competitor disappearing out of sight, decided it did not matter. I started to run, but which way? "Over here, Jeff!" Thank goodness Faith was still looking out for me. The judge was being introduced. Jimmy was a familiar figure as he more than anyone had given up many a morning to help me with Raider’s training - my training actually, I ruefully reminded myself. But there was no friendly greeting now as Jimmy settled down to business. "Take the gun from the starting pegs, and move this way." I looked around and saw an iron rod about a metre long stuck in the ground next to a rubbish bin. Meanwhile the others had moved forwards. Bemused, I joined them. "The bird will come up from behind the lignum, and be cast from left to right. Watch carefully, now." "That was low!" cried somebody at the front. "I didn’t see it" I wailed, horrified. The others laughed, the joker chortled. Crimson, I stared fixedly ahead. Twang! The bird sailed in a graceful arc to land in a sea of saltbush some seventy metres away. That looked pretty easy, I thought, and some faint feeling of confidence surfaced for the first time. "Jimmy’s up to his tricks again," muttered Brian on my left. "What do you mean?" I enquired, my alarm rising quickly again. "Dogs find it difficult to mark in open situations - there’s nothing for them to fix upon. If your dog’s not familiar with saltbush he can easily be put off-line, not being sure whether to jump over it or to weave in and out. Also the wind is going away from you - your dog will not scent the bird going out." Oh-oh, not so easy. "And be careful where you sit your dog at the pegs." "What pegs?" I exclaimed. "Wait for the others to move away, and I’ll explain what I mean." As the competitors straggled off, I saw we were standing between two poles about a metre and a half apart. "This is the firing point. See that clump of tall grass in front? If the dog has that in front of him he may not see the bird properly. Get down to his level and see." From my crouched position everything looked different. That innocent clump of grass was now a visual hazard. "O.K., now where should you stand?" I moved out to the right so the ground was clear in front of me. "But where does that place the dog!" Hurriedly I moved back to the left so that I was behind the clump. "Remember, get the dog as far left as possible. He is the one who has to see the bird, not you!" "Dog number one, please!" Brian muttered a curse and rushed off to get his Chesapeake bitch. Alone with my doubts and insecurities again, I glanced about and noticed the other competitors in a group to one side. Tentatively, I walked over to stand near them. "The gallery is the other side of the red chair," Jimmy called out not unkindly, but my anxiety made it an admonishment. Self-consciously, I edged behind the group, most of whom were now seated on collapsible chairs; a sensible accessory I suddenly realised when the competition was likely to last for most of the day. "Dog loose!" "Whose black Lab is that?" I glanced about and saw an eager but somewhat guilty-looking young dog dragging a chain behind him. He also had a lead dangling in front of him and chose that moment to trip over it. The spectators laughed. "Raider!" I cried, mortified. More laughter followed as I rushed over to him. I bent down to pick up the chain and lead, but Raider jumped up to lick my face, our two heads meeting in a painful blow to my somewhat prominent nose. Still more laughter. We were obviously going to supply the comic relief for the day. Clutching his collar I partially managed to avoid the questing tongue as I gathered up the attachments. Flustered and embarrassed, I dragged an excited, leaping bundle of eagerness back to the hide, passing Brian on his way out. No peg. I cursed myself for not getting a proper stake before. I had had plenty of opportunity, but somehow a tent peg had always sufficed - and now it was lost. Desperately I searched about and finally spied it near a yellow bitch. "Figures! Raider, stay!" I moved to pick it up. The sound of a shotgun echoed. Raider’s ears pricked up. "No!" I hissed despairingly, but too late. Guns meant excitement - his business! After all, he was a gundog. Desperately I dived headlong just managing to grab the last of the disappearing chain. Grimly I hung on, halting his headlong rush, but being dragged a short distance through the only stretch of mud around. Struggling to my feet I looked down. I was no longer resplendent. Raider did not take kindly to being dragged back to his position. There was the attractive yellow bitch to sniff, other dogs excitedly whimpering at the ends of their chains, and more importantly he knew Something was happening out there! Nevertheless I finally managed it. As I was giving the peg a final vicious and unnecessary blow with the hammer, Brian reappeared. "How’d it go?" I enquired, feeling guilty at not witnessing the run. "Quite well," replied Brian, somewhat smugly. "She didn’t pinpoint the fall, but worked the area well and found it quickly enough." Another shotgun blast signalled the second competitor was running. I gave Raider a reassuring pat, and then moved back out to the gallery. A yellow Lab was working, but was obviously hunting too far to the right. "Left!" ordered the handler. The dog took no notice. "You mongrel!" The Lab gave an inquiring look over his shoulder and slowed momentarily. "Left!" screamed the handler once more, gesturing madly with a windmill fling of his arm. The dog changed direction, but now started to work too close in. "Forward! Forward!" The dog slowed, his tail drooped. "Forward!" The dog slunk back to the right to where he had been working before. "I’ll give it to you!" "Jimmy won’t put up with much more of this," murmured Brian, who had reappeared at my elbow. "The dog is taking no notice of old Blatherskite and never does. If he must give commands he should at least get the dog to stop before he gives a direction." The judge moved closer to Blatherskite and spoke to him. The yelling became even more strident and frantic. The dog became noticeably less interested in hunting. "Call your dog in." Jimmy said clearly. "This your first time?" The question was obviously rhetorical as Brian pressed on. "Whatever you do, don’t open your mouth. Your dog will be wound up like a two-bob watch, and probably won’t listen." Brian noticed my superior air. "I know you think you have good control over him, but he is just a pup and will be as excited as hell. If he doesn’t listen this first time - and he won’t with the blanks going off and all these strange things happening around him - he will learn to ignore you." Blatherskite was still yelling at his dog to come in. Brian had a point. Still, Blatherskite was obviously an experienced trialler, and yet his dog had not found the bird. So Brian was right when he said it was a difficult retrieve. It would soon be my turn - my stomach churned at the thought. Watching the next two dogs added to my disquiet, but for different reasons. The first was a young black Lab similar to Raider. He was very excited and out of control as he bounded to the firing point well in advance of his flustered owner - and to his side, behind him, and back out in front again, leaping high in the air in his enthusiasm. When the Terror was finally settled the bird was released, and he was off even as the handler fired. All caution gone in his eagerness, the Terror tripped at the first saltbush and so did not see the final stages of the fall. Undeterred, he blundered on, but it soon was apparent he had no idea where the bird was as he ranged far and near. Aha! Rabbit! The Terror tracked the delicious scent, and disappeared behind some lignum on the left. "Call your dog in," said Jimmy. What if Raider ran amok like that? The next was the yellow bitch Raider had left his peg by. She was obviously an experienced trialler, trotting comfortably by her handler’s side and handling the situation with aplomb. She was rock steady when the bird went up, waited quietly until given the order to fetch, and moved sedately to where the bird lay. So simple. How could Raider compete with that I thought as I wiped my sweaty palms on my coat. "Better get ready, Jeff," said Brian. "There’s only one more to go before you." I hurried back to the hide and suffered a momentary qualm when Raider was not there! "Oh, Jeff!" Faith called from across the clearing. "Raider pulled his peg out again so I have chained him to this bush. You will have to get a better stake." Abashed, I thanked her and turned my attention to Raider who was jumping at the end of his lead in excitement. Somehow I managed to get him to sit still long enough to put his slip collar on and remove his leather collar and chain. We moved a short distance away from the other dogs, and he soon became interested in sniffing the bushes. When he cocked his leg though to cover the scent of another dog, I felt at once the urgent need to have a nervous twinkle, no easy task with an inquisitive dog on the end of a lead. Luckily a shotgun blast rang out heralding the next competitor was running, and Raider swung his head around, nose questing the air and body rigid, giving me a chance to relieve the pressure. Feeling only slightly less uncomfortable as my anxiety was mounting moment by moment, I heeled Raider to the edge of the hide where Faith was peering over the bush watching the run. The dog was on its way back with the bird, but as it neared its handler it veered away and started to circle her. "Here, Puggsy, come, that’s a good boy!" Puggsy was not a good boy as he dropped the bird and crouched over it, tail wagging furiously. "Puggsy, pick it up, that’s a good boy. Come on, pick it up, Puggsy." Puggsy eventually did pick it up, but proved he was definitely not a good boy by bounding away, and circling once more. Obviously the handler had seen this before, and became a little smarter by backing away from the pegs. Disappointed at his owner’s failure to join in the game, Puggsy bounded forward, but slowed as he came up to her suddenly realising he had been tricked. The handler made a quick grab for the bird, and a brief tug-o’-war ensued before the handler held it triumphantly aloft, Puggsy making some despairing leaps to reclaim it. "Down, Puggsy, that’s a good boy." "Five points gone for dropping the bird," lamented Faith, "and more gone for the poor delivery. A good run ruined because her dog thinks he is doing it for himself and not for her. I’ve told her before she has to be firmer with Puggsy and have more control. I hope your deliveries are spot on, Jeff, because it’s a common way of throwing away easy points." "He’s been pretty good at practice," I said, but guiltily remembered I had not shown Raider a pigeon until the day before. He had seemed a little unsure about the strange object in his mouth and had allowed it to drop out the first time and had rolled it about on the ground. After that he had been okay while still seeming uncertain. "Wait here until the judge is ready," Faith said. "I’ll watch from the gallery. Good luck!" Jimmy was standing by the gun steward furiously writing. After a while he looked up and saw me. "Number?" "Er - six!" Tentatively, I moved up to where Jack, the gun steward, stood. A number of calls of "Good luck!" came from the gallery, obviously trying to make this nervous nellie feel better. It embarrassed me, but at the same time I was thankful for the unexpected expressions of camaraderie. "Remove your lead." I lifted Raider’s slip-collar over his head and handed it and the lead to Jack. Judging had now commenced, I thought. Anxiously I watched Raider but was relieved to see him sitting in an alert Something-is-Up posture. Jack handed me the shotgun with the blanks already loaded. "It has an automatic safety," he murmured. "Push it forward after you close the gun." Awkwardly I tucked it broken under my arm. What now? Jimmy gave a brief nod and I took a deep breath. "Heel!" Eagerly Raider surged forward. I slapped my side to bring him closer under control and walked as if in a dream to the firing point. "Sit!" But Raider sat in front of the pegs. Hastily I heeled him round to sit nicely by my side - behind the clump of grass. Flustered, I heeled him round again, realising I was increasing his hyperactiveness. Bumbling I closed the gun. "Watch!" An eternity went by. Suddenly a bird was in the air. I jerked the gun up and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Puzzled, I pulled harder - still nothing! "The safety catch!" hissed Jimmy. Oh, no! Desperately I fumbled it forward and fired just as the bird hit the ground. I broke the gun and guiltily looked down. Miraculously, Raider had remained sitting throughout the fiasco, quivering with excitement and head staring out towards the fall. "Fetch!" Raider catapulted forward. Mud flew back at me as paws scrabbled frantically at the ground in a flurry of effort to reach instantaneous top speed. No saltbush could possibly impede his headlong rush. My hopes soared. Like an arrow he flew straight to the area of fall. And through it. And past it. Hastily I grabbed for my whistle. Brian’s image screamed a warning in my head, "Keep your mouth shut! Remember Blatherskite!" Undecided I held the whistle frozen halfway to my lips. Appalled I watched Raider bound further away. And still further. With an inward despairing groan I let the whistle drop. It was over. Jimmy would soon utter those fateful words, "Call your dog in." Ignominy! However, Raider’s initial mad exuberant impetus suddenly faltered. He hesitated, swung around and cantered back towards me. I hardly dared to hope, but my excitement mounted as he began to quarter the ground in earnest - still too far out but working his way in closer. With feelings akin to awe I watched the instincts of many generations of breeding take effect. He was covering a large amount of ground, but systematically searching in a manner I had thought not possible. What a joy to watch. Suddenly he broke stride, his head came round, nose lifted. Emotion rose in my chest. He swung in a swerving run towards the fall, nose questing. Hope filled me. His head snapped forward as his senses changed from smell to sight. He pounced briefly, and then bounded toward me carrying the bird. Elation. Proudly he bore the precious object as he swiftly came towards me. Somehow I choked out through my welling emotion, "Good boy!" Raider rushed up to sit before me. His head came up and his joyous eyes met mine as he offered me the bird. Nothing has felt that good before or since. 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