Charlie Eanes had a weakness. He was obsessed with owning a National Championship winner. He had for thirty years campaigned all-age dogs with Fred Barnes who had come close to delivering a National Champ for Charlie, but never quite. He and his scout Booty Blevins worked hard each season to get Charlie’s all-age contenders qualified (on average Charlie sent monthly checks for three all-age and one or two derbies). Currently they had all three of Charlie’s all-ages half qualified, and they had high hopes of putting another first on two of them. This year’s derby also seemed promising, though like most derbies, inconsistent.
Then Charlie called with startling news. He had bought Superduper, the National Champion three years before at age three. At age six Super was still in his prime, Charlie said. Fred did not disagree on the call, he knew from experience not to dispute his best customer’s opinions, though he often disagreed with Charlie. In this case he disagreed strongly, but he held his tongue. When he told Booty the wise old scout said, “Oh my, Mr. Fred, we’s got our work cut out for us.”
Super had not placed in a trial since his National win. So to make him eligible to run at Grand Junction in February, four months ahead, he would have to earn a placement, first, second or third, in a qualifying trial.
Rumor was on the circuit that Super had become a bolter. Fred suspected this was true. Their challenge would be to figure out why and cure the fault. It was a tall order. Once a dog decided he wanted to get away from his handler in competition it was well nigh impossible to break the habit.
Super’s handler was an old friend of Fred’s. He called him at once, expecting him to be sore about the loss from his string. But the opposite proved true.
“I’m so glad to be free of that self hunting, run-off son-of-a bitch,” the handler said.
Fred, relieved the handler was not resentful, decided to cross examine. The answers confirmed his suspicions.
“He never runs off in a workout, just in competition,” was the essential clue to Super’s run-off habit.
In workouts, Super would always be wearing an electric training collar, so he knew that if he left he would be shocked, and he hated that. But in competition he could tell from the weight on his neck that the cause of the shock was absent, so he could get away from that “Yelling son-of-a bitch,” as Super had come to regard his handler.
Fred discussed his suspicions with Booty. “Uh Huh,” Booty said. Then the partners worked out a plan. It would be heavily dependent on Booty’s skills as a tracker and his marvelous vision, undimmed despite his more than five decades of a physically demanding life’s work. He would also have the help of a Garmin gps collar.
Their plan was this. They would work Super without an E collar. And without singing or calling by Fred. Booty would try to stay in close enough touch with Super to determine if he was hunting for birds or just running to get away, but without Super knowing. What Booty discovered was that Super went to hunting as soon as he felt comfortable he was safely away from his handler, usually found birds and then played with them, putting them up a couple of times before moving on to find another covey.
Fred armed Booty with live shells instead of blanks after explaining Super’s problem to the landlord of his training lease in Southwest Georgia and asking permission to shoot a few birds. Permission was granted on condition he brought the shot birds, “picked and cleaned, not skinned and not chewed.”
Booty managed to get to Super before he ran up a covey and quietly whoaed him. Surprised, Super held, and Booty killed a bird for him and let him retrieve. A start on Super’s reformation perhaps. But when Super delivered the bird to Booty, it was mangled. Along with his other faults, Super had a hard mouth. Booty knew how to fix that, but it would take time. He’d have to force break Super. Meanwhile, Fred and Booty used another dog in their string, the derby they had for Charlie, to harvest a couple birds daily for the landlord’s larder —the derby had a soft mouth. Booty continued to shoot a couple per workout for Super and at night worked with him on the force breaking routine.
Booty had also taken Super into his cottage as a house dog. Booty’s wife Matty was a super cook and before long Super was hooked on her cornbread, covered with whatever gravy she had fixed for that day, or bacon grease. Fred could see a positive change in Super’s attitude, at least toward Booty.
Still Fred was having difficulty getting Super to orient himself to the front. Instead of turning forward when Fred squalled, the dog went lateral, sometimes left, sometimes right.
“Mr. Fred, ‘stead of squallin’ when you want him to turn, try a little toot on yo whistle and then point yo hoss the way you wants him to go,” Booty said. It worked.
Still, after being down a half hour, Super would veer off to self hunt, and Booty would have to ride after him. Fortunately, Booty had a strong horse and a world of patience.
One day Fred had to leave at lunch for a doctor’s appointment. Booty decided to take Super out alone. Super handled as he had when he won the National and found three coveys with perfect manners. Booty shot a bird from each which Super retrieved with a soft mouth. The force breaking had given Super a soft mouth, as Booty had known it would.
Next day Booty summonsed his courage and said, “Mr. Fred, how bout lettin’ me run Super today?”
Fred said sure. He was disgusted with the dog . Super handled, to Fred’s amazement.
A qualifying trial was set to run that weekend just across the Chattahoochee in Alabama. Fred had to be in Atlanta for a grandchild’s wedding. He told Booty to take Super and run him. Booty took Matty to Scout. Super placed second, re-qualifying him for the National.
Now the pressure was on. Charlie was calling twice a day for reports on Super. Whenever Fred handled, Super ran off. If Booty handled, Super did super.
And so it was. When February rolled around, Fred Barnes did not go to Grand Junction. He sent Booty and Matty in his place, telling Charlie Eanes he had back trouble and could not ride.
Superduper drew the last brace. By then the judges were carrying for Champion a pointer named Sweet Alice with a dozen finds and a good race overall and what most thought was an adequate finish though not a blazing one.
Super’s brace mate in the final heat was last year’s National Champion, handled by the same man who had handled Super in his winning performance. From the opening moments, Booty knew he was in trouble. When Super heard his old handler’s first squall at the bracemate, Booty saw a change in Super’s attitude, and not a good one. Super was trying to get away. He called Matty to him, and whispered, “He’s trying to get away. Go catch him and sweet talk him. Give him a treat.”
Matty did as instructed. She had in her saddle bag a plastic bag filled with her corn pones, flavored with bacon grease. While she was giving one to Super, she heard a rider approaching. She looked up to see to her shock Fred Barnes.
“Something came to me in a dream, that’s why I’m here. Nobody else knows I’m here, and you and I are going to keep it that way. I’m going to Shanghai the bracemate so Super will have a fair chance. You just don’t lose him until I can silence the bracemate’s handler.”
On the front steps of the Ames Manor House the Secretary thanked sponsors, judges, marshals, barn staff, house staff , dog owners and handlers, and named Superduper National Champion for the second time. He had scored fifteen finds and finished like a rocket.
After she and Booty and Charlie Eanes accepted congratulations, Matty slipped away to get Superduper for the pictures. On the walk she called Fred Barnes on his cell phone to give him the news. He was driving home to Georgia, his horse in a two-horse bumper-pull trailer behind him.
“Thank you Matty. Whatever you do, keep our secret. If Booty knows he will want to give the trophies back.”