The Entry Fees

“Why do all the old field trial guys treat you so kindly, Ben?” Sam asked during a sundown session in Ben’s library-conference room on a Friday afternoon. The curmudgeons had just poured themselves drams of The Macallan 12, and Ben had just got off the phone with a friend and some-time client inquiring if Ben knew of any quail plantation jobs needing filling (it was March and the “spring shuffle” time for such hands was in full bloom).

“Damned if I know,” Ben said.

“Yes you do know, and I want to know,” Sam said.

Ben reflected, then smiled, thinking back over all the struggles by bird dog trainer-handlers he had observed and helped with. Then he remembered an incident when he had helped out Fred Ford, the man he had just been speaking with about employment opportunities.

“You know, Sam, there is no more insecure job in the world than for-the-public pointing dog handler for field trials,” Ben said.

“Yes, I know that,” Sam said. He and Ben had discussed it countless times. “What brought that truism to your mind.”

“I was just remembering back thirty years ago when Fred Ford was trying to get established as a for-the-public handler. He had just two owners, one dog each, but he had a couple of coming derbies he was high on, was desperate to put a placement on them so he could maybe sell them to someone who would campaign them with him. He came to the drawing for the trial held then on Sweetgum Plantation, I was acting secretary that week. He entered the two derbies he had owners for. I could tell he wanted to enter the two he still owned. I could also tell he didn’t have the money for their entry fees. On a whim I said, “Fred, just give me your check for their entry fees. I’ll hold your check till after the derby stake is over. You can then cover the check with your winnings.

“Of course I knew chances were strong none of Fred’s derbies would win, there would be about thirty entries, but I wanted him to have a shot. I’ve always had a weakness for handlers trying to break in. So I took Fred’s check knowing it would likely not be good, and that I would have to cover it personally. And that’s how it turned out. But one of those derbies Fred owned showed a spark of genius, and was bought by a solid patron who saw the performance and campaigned it with Fred eight years, it won four all-age championships and the Purina Top Bird Dog Award and made Fred’s reputation.”

“Did Fred ever cover his check?” Sam asked.

“Oh, yeah. When the derby he sold that day won its first championship about eighteen months later he came to me with the amount of the entry fees in $20 bills, plus interest at 18% (what Fred was paying on the loan for his truck and trailer). I turned down the interest and got Fred a cheaper loan on the truck and trailer.”

“Ben, you are a fair lawyer by reputation but a damn poor businessman,” Sam said.

“Yep, and I am proud of both,” Ben said, and poured Sam and himself a dividend.

“Why was Fred Ford inquiring about plantation jobs — he gotten himself fired?” Sam asked.

“Oh, no.” Ben said. “ He’s managing Smoking Stump Plantation for the fella who bought the derby that turned out a four-time champion. He was inquiring for his son who just got laid off by a restaurant guy lost his business because of the COVID and his quail plantation too.”

“Always something,” Sam said.

“Yes, but Fred’s son will be all right. He’s got his dad’s touch with a dog and a horse and a good work ethic.”