This is a field trial story worthy of Sherlock Holmes, or Laurel and Hardy, but that could have been tragic. It’s the story of the theft of a handler’s entire string of entries at a field trial held at Amelia, Virginia in the early 1980s, a time of strong competition among accomplished east coast pro and amateur handlers, including Gerald and George Tracy with their Trachaven dogs; Harold and Sherry Ray with the Smith Setters; Larry Moon with Great Notion, Hilmar and Bobby Joe; Billy Kuser with Lee West’s dogs; Roy Manns with Tommy Liesfeld’s dogs including veteran Sensation (world record holder with 116 wins); Arthur Bean of North Carolina with Bob Wehle’s young Elhew dogs to polish for Bob to run; and amateur Alvin Nitchman who fixed human teeth in New Jersey and beat everybody with dogs he trained before office hours, like Pork Roll.
This story has a human villain, eight canine victims, and one human hero, Lewis Clements, amateur owner-handler of Ch. Roll On Kizzy, daughter of HOF Ch. Evolution.
What Happened?
Roy Manns left his string on a tie-out chain in a shed at headquarters Saturday after the running, as he had countless times before, and retired to Buddy’s Motel. When he returned before daybreak Sunday, the chain was empty. He was sure someone was playing a trick on him, but after checking with the usual jokester suspects he eliminated that prospect. Then he noticed a certain shadowy marginal handler from North Carolina who had been present Saturday was gone, and he became suspicious of theft.
In those days theft of broke bird dogs was not uncommon, particularly in years when South Texas had a good wild bird crop, creating demand. Driving home to Madison county Sunday afternoon, Roy remembered a dedicated amateur trialer named Lewis Clements lived near the suspect. He called Lewis at home Sunday night, who said his work as a salesman would require him to drive by the suspect’s home (a house trailer) Monday morning. Lewis agreed to look for evidence of the eight missing dogs.
When Lewis drove by, the suspect’s dog truck was not in sight. He drove past and parked off the gravel road a couple blocks beyond, then walked back through woods to inspect the suspect’s kennel area. Low and behold, tied by ropes to pine trees behind the suspect’s house trailer were all eight of Roy’s missing dogs!
Lewis faced a dilemma. Should he go for the Sherrif, his first instinct, or gather the dogs and lead them away, his second, prompted by the fear the suspect’s wife might have seen him and would call her husband who might return and spirit away the dogs again. He decided to move his car closer and gather the stolen dogs and drive them to safety, which he managed.
He feared that the dogs, put into the trunk together, would fight, but they did not. Lewis drove to the nearest pay phone and called Roy at home collect. They agreed to meet near the Virginia-North Carolina line, which they did about noon.
Now, for justice. But this was in the day before cell phone cameras. By rescuing the dogs from the thief’s property, Lewis had destroyed the only objective evidence of the theft. The thief would undoubtedly deny involvement and allege a set up. Roy decided not to involve law enforcement, and the thief went unpunished. End of a good story, recounted in detail to me on the phone by Harold Ray, who was present at Amelia that fateful weekend more than forty years ago.