Incompatible (A Story for Christmas)

Ben Reach was accustomed to inquiries about employment from plantation dog men in the spring. In fact the firings and quittings among them in that season was known as the Spring Shuffle. But when Red Roberts called Joanne for an appointment the week before Christmas and reported he was out of a job, Ben could hardly believe it.

First, because this was prime quail hunting season. Plantation owners had guests and family coming, and losing their dog man-hunt master now would be disastrous. From the other side, this was bonus time, and to quit before getting the Christmas bonus was unheard of. Ben did not know whether Red had been fired or had quit, but he would find out this morning. Joanne had scheduled Red to meet with Ben about his predicament at Nine.

Red’s employer was Mark Zucker, age twenty eight and founder of Algorithms Unlimited, a software company based in Silicon Valley that had grown from a garage-start up to a Unicorn (Sam had explained to Ben that a Unicorn was not a mythical animal but a private start-up company worth a billion dollars) to the darling of NASDAQ in less than two years, in the process making Mark a billionaire. Just what AU (everyone called it that now) did Ben had no idea, but Sam said it had to do with artificial intelligence, making machines think for themselves.

Mark had bought Singing Pine Plantation from the widow of one of Ben’s clients as a present to himself six month’s after AU’s initial public offering, which Sam had explained was a Liquidity Event for Mark (when the lock up on Mark’s AU stock ended, freeing him to turn some of it into cash). Red Roberts had been Head Dog Man on Singing Pine thirty years and had come as part of the deal for the Plantation.

Red had a good reputation, was sober and reliably produced a good quail crop and good pointing dogs and retrievers and was polite with shooting guests but firm on the safety rules. In short, all that could be asked of a plantation dog man. How he and Mark Zucker had gotten cross ways was a mystery Ben could not wait to hear unraveled.

“Red, tell me what has happened at Singing Pine,” Ben asked Red as soon as he was seated across from Ben in the library-conference room with a cup of coffee and a plate of Christmas cookies baked by Joanne.

Red responded with no hesitation.

“Mr. Zucker is a control freak.”

“How so?” Ben asked.

“Well, you know this new Garmin Tracker, tells a handler just where his dog is all the time? Seems that thing can tell a computer to show or print out a map of just where a dog has hunted in a workout or a hunt, stride by stride. Mr. Zucker demanded I send him over the office computer every evening a report on every workout and every hunt. Of course I don’t know how to do that, but my grandson does.

“Pretty soon Mr. Zucker is calling me on the phone every night about what the dogs has done that day. Trouble is, he don’t know what a dog’s supposed to do, and I don’t know nothing about what he’s seeing on that computer screen.”

Ben can see it now, Red with his Cracker drawl explaining on a cell phone from South Georgia how a young dog is learning to use the breeze in deciding how to approach a patch of cover, Mark Zucker looking at the two dimensional computer screen and seeing what he’s been told is a back cast.

“So, how did it end?” Ben asked.

“He fired me,” Red replied, anger not shame in his voice.

“What brought it to a head?” Ben asked.

“ I decided to teach Mr. Zucker a lesson. I put my grandson on a four-wheeler carrying that Garmin Tracking Collar. I told him just where to drive that four- wheeler down Mr. Zucker’s favorite hunting course, where to stop to show points. Then I had him send the result to Mr. Zucker showing his favorite derby with a perfect race and a ten-find hour.

“He called me that night and I let him brag a half hour. Then I told him the truth, that his derby had not been out of the cage on the shooting wagon, that it was my grandson on a four wheeler carrying the collar he had been fooled by. He fired me then and there.”

“When was that, Red?”

“Monday.”

Today was Thursday. Christmas was this coming Monday.

“When is Mr. Zucker due in here for Christmas?” Ben asked.

Red looked at his watch. “His Gulfstream should be touching down at Albany any minute. My grandson is driving the van to pick him up.”

“He didn’t get fired with you?”

“Yes, but our firings are effective at the end of quail season,” Red said.

That makes sense. Just in time for the Spring Shuffle, Ben thought.

“We’ve got a hunt this afternoon. Mr Zucker and his wife will be the guns. I’ve got to go. If you hear of any jobs opening up this spring I’ll appreciate it if you let me know, Mr. Ben.”

Ben explained Red’s predicament to Joanne after Red departed.

She smiled.

“What are you smiling about?” Ben asked in puzzlement.

She did not answer, and Ben knew it would be futile to press her.

Just as Sam Nixon arrived Friday at 4:30 for his and Ben’s week’s end conference over drams of The Macallan and Joanne was preparing to leave to get her hair and nails fixed, Red called. Mark Zucker had rescinded the firings of Red and his grandson, on orders from Mrs. Zucker.

Joanne smiled as she departed with a Christmas hug for each Curmudgeon.