Ben and Sam were alone in Ben’s library-conference room on a cold and cloudy year-end Friday afternoon. The week had been brutal for both curmudgeons. Sam had had to tell a favorite patient her cancer had returned. Ben had had to tell a grandfather his favorite grandson had flunked out of prep school.
Ben got their insulated plastic short glasses embossed with logos of Alma Maters from the drawer and Sam poured a dram of the joint-Christmas-gift Macallan 16 into each. They knew one of them needed to recall and share a funny memory to break their gloom. It was Ben who came up with it.
“You remember Fred Crouch?”
“Remember him? How could one forget such a selfish, narcissistic bastard as Fred!”
“That is true. But do you know that nature once proved a godsend to two bird dog men of natures opposite Fred’s?”
“How so?” Sam asked.
“It happened like this. Ollie Eanes—you remember Ollie, he was a hard-luck-for-the-public shooting dog trainer-handler based near Union Springs, best known for third place dogs—had come up with what he thought was going to be his break-through derby, named Mike. He’d had it since a pup and his last week at his North Dakota summer training grounds it had finished itself. He judged it the miracle dog, one without a fault, and maybe it was, but Ollie was not. On his way home to Union Springs, Ollie decided to stop off in Kansas and work a week with a fellow handler there who had ideal grounds for patterning a dog.
“Things went fine until the last day when for a final brace Ollie put Mike down with his host’s best dog, a several-times shooting dog champion. On the breakaway, the champion enticed Mike into a foot race (or vice-versa), then bumped Mike at the end of their shared first cast. Before the handlers could reach them they were locked in a serious fight. Finally separated, Ollie’s visit to Kansas ended on a sour note. More sour, Ollie found when he got home that Mike wanted to attack every dog or bitch he was put down with. From a dog with no faults Mike had gone to a worthless dog in one workout.
“Ollie wanted to blame it on his former friend’s multiple champion, but when he reflected he realized that was not likely so, for the champion was still winning, not fighting with other dogs he was braced with.
“In hopes of getting Mike’s mind off fighting, Ollie started taking him to a commercial shooting preserve where Ollie would foot hunt him alone for a customer of the preserve. Before long Mike was a master of that game and not only stylish and steady to shot but a tender-mouthed retriever. But shooting preserves did not want fighting dogs around and soon Ollie and Mike were banned.
“Ollie was set to marshal at the National Amateur Free-For-All Championship when he struck up a conversation at the party where the Calcutta Auction is held with Fred Crouch’s plantation manager and dog man, Jess Eanes. Fred Crouch had an entry in the trial and Jess was along to drive the dually and haul the horses and Fred’s entry in the Free-For-All so Fred could bring his girlfriend in his BMW.
“Ollie asked Jess about his work with Fred Crouch, and got an earful. As you and I know Fred was tough on his help and Jess was not immune. He finished his lament with a soliloquy something like this: ‘Mr. Crouch uses his plantation to entertain customers, not friends. And he really doesn’t much like hunting with them. What he really likes—about all he likes—is to hunt alone with one good bird finder down, me handling, no scout (Garmin’s the scout). Shoots every rise alone, only happy with doubles, if he misses he cusses, blames me or the dog. When he has a customer hunting party he sends them and the hunt wagon in before the last (and usually best) hour which he hunts alone, just me and his best dog with him, but that dog is seldom if ever good enough for Mr. Crouch especially if it’s not a good dead bird finder and retriever….’
“Before the evening ended, Mike belonged to Fred Crouch and Ollie Eanes had a check in his pocket for more than he’d ever before sold a dog for.”
The mood in the library-conference room had been lifted. Sam poured dividends of the Macallan 16.