End of a Partnership

John Ford had worked as an over-the-road-for-the-public-all-age pointing dog handler his last twenty years. For the last ten he had partnered on the road (“helpin’ each other,” the system was called) and for summer prairie training with Billy Green, whose career had mirrored John’s, the difference being John hailed from Georgia, Billy from Alabama. Each was forty-three, married with two teen-age children, and with a hard-working wife, John’s a nurse, Billy’s a sales rep for internet business services.

Both had enjoyed sufficient success to have enough loyal patrons to keep them in the game, though that condition was as for all of their craft a near thing, subject to change any moment for any number of causes—the death or injury or illness of a dog, reversals in the finances of a patron, the causes were endless. But John and Billy soldiered on in their quests to win enough, develop enough winners to replace those that ceased to be, combat the inevitable disappearances of owners or key dogs in their strings.

This February found them bound for Grand Junction, each with one qualified entry for the National. Billy’s was Pipe Fitter, a five-year-old pointer that had qualified with a first in the Lee County and a win of the Missouri Championship. John’s was Boiler Man, a six-year old pointer qualified by wins of the Alabama and Southeastern Championships.

At the Saturday night drawing before the Monday start they were lucky to draw times to run just a day apart, Billy in the third brace, John in the fifth. So they could go home Thursday the first week and not have to hang around and “kick gravel” while waiting to compete, as every handler dreaded.

On Monday Billy woke with a severe abdominal pain. A “Doc-in-a Box” nurse-practitioner in Collierville diagnosed a likely appendicitis attack, confirmed at Baptist Memorial Hospital in Memphis here Billy underwent successful surgery for removal Monday night. Before going under the knife, Billy asked John to handle Pipe Fitter, and he agreed.

When John told Boiler Man’s owner, Harley Coin, a relative newcomer to trials but a patron with plenty of what his last name implied, Harley objected strongly. “You are not going to handle a dog competing with mine,” Harley said. John was greatly offended, and immediately said, “If you feel that way you can get someone else to run Boiler Man.” Harley said, “I will, and my other dogs too. I’ll tell you tomorrow where to deliver them.”

John had six dogs for Harley, four all-age and two derbies. The all-ages besides Boiler Man were half qualified, the derbies each winners. John had in five minutes destroyed the viability of his business, one he had worked hard to develop and nurture over twenty years. He dreaded calling his wife to tell her. What must he do? He was numb.

He had recruited a scout for Pipe Fitter, Don Jarmin of Albany, and called him to tell someone of Harley’s reaction just to share his misery. Don said, “Why don’t you call Mr. Ben Reach in Albany, he always knows what’s going on in the bird dog worlds.”

Fred knew what Don meant by “worlds.” Besides the obscure field trial world there were others centered on bird dogs, most notably the shooting plantation world center in the quail belt, that fertile stretch between Albany and Tallahassee where the only thing thicker than quail and long leaf pine were come-here dollars.

So John ran Pipe Fitter, who had six good finds, hunted a smart forward race and finished with a good cast, showing adequate stamina not to be discarded by the judges on that account. He was clearly top dog at the end of his brace, but there were many more ahead, including Boiler Man. (Fred had no worry that Boiler Man would win, he was not a three hour dog, same as 80% of those entered).

Fred called his wife the night after handling Pipe Fitter and told her the bad news. She told him not to worry, reminded him they had faced together many crises, ended, “Remember it’s no one’s health.” As a nurse she knew always the things that really mattered.

Then next morning he called Ben Reach and told him the news.

The week before Ben had got a call from a client who owned a shooting plantation below Thomasville.

“Ben, I am looking for a dog trainer and hunt manager, someone who could move up to general manager and handle all three positions in a few years when my general manager retires (he used to handle all three).”

After Ben and Fred talked, Ben called the client. “ I may have your man,” Ben opened.

Pipe Fitter was carried by the National’s judges as top dog until the last day when he was nosed out by Contender, an aptly named cross offspring of a White Dog sire and a Rebel-bred dam. John Ford went to work for Ben’s client in time to manage the spring burn.