"Point"—the word is not merely stated but exclaimed. Dick Daane and I move in on Jack and Train, two English setters as immobile as two Marines at attention. As we move around the dogs attempting to find any slight avenue that might afford a shootable glimpse, two grouse. "Bird" we both announce, a shot, drifting feathers and Jack soon appears with a grouse carried softly in his mouth. He trots to Dick with the red phase male bird. Jack always knew who shot the bird.
In over fifty years of pursuing the ruffed grouse I have stored many memories like the one described above and I have hunted with numerous grouse dogs. Many were good, a few downright liabilities, and a very few great.
Any discussion of great grouse dogs must be tempered by the effect of selective memory, unintentionally selective, but selective just the same. As the years go by, the broken points, the failed retrieves, and the various other dog malfeasances fade but the solid productive ponts, the windshield wiper quartering, and the maneuvering to pin a running bird remain clear and true as if time stands still.
It should further be acknowledged that, as with all fiercely debatable subjects such as religion, politics, and choice of shotguns, to discuss and rate grouse dogs is to invite controversy, run a risk of insulting good friends (and their dogs), and to be guilty of breaking that golden rule that prohibits such discussions in polite society.
Having acknowledged all of the above, I will proceed to state that the best grouse dogs I have ever hunted with were Dick Daane's "Sam's Black Jack" and "Night Train Daane." Many circumstances influence this statement. Jack and Train were the dogs I hunted behind during the best years of my long grouse hunting history. We hunted when grouse were plentiful. We hunted when Dick and I could go fast and cover a lot of ground; when we could hunt long days in the thickest of covers. More importantly they taught us how they hunted. Dick and I knew that the dogs were the most important part of a two man, two dog team.
There are other dogs that I've hunted with who were and are very special. Had I spent the many hours with any of them that I spent with Jack and Train this evaluation might be different. Jim Foote's Libby and Cindy were superb. They complemented Jim's deliberate style of hunting as no other dogs could. The memory of my crossing shot over Libby and her slow but perfect retrieve is cherished and bittersweet as it turned out to be her last grouse.
My brother and sisterinlaw's Katie, a tricolor who was still hunting this fall at age 14, was when younger, as good a grouse dog as one could imagine. Katie's son Ghost may be the best ever in the open hills and valleys of northwestern Pennsylvania. He is absolutely steady and a real joy to watch. There was Sally and Dave Downer's Ike, the sire of so many fine dogs, great on grouse and who would point a brood of woodcock and then lie calmly and watch with great interest as the young woodcock was banded.
My point is that on any given day quite a few dogs are great. Our setters, Abby and Mac, can be brilliant and Peg and I wouldn't trade them for anything. Jack and Train, however, did their job day after day in whatever weather. They hunted with and for us, not for themselves. We could go for hours without Dick raising a whistle to his lips or even saying a word except for the occasional "good boy" as one of them came close to check on us. They found birds and held them. They pointed, broke, advanced and eventually pinned the running grouse. They learned to circle and hold the bird between them and us. They always honored and backed each other. In fact, when we went from bells to beeper collars they learned the different sound of a point signal and would honor the sound.
How many grouse did Dick and I shoot over them? I don't know and it isn't very important. What is important are the years of fourway partnership, of grey November days, hot September afternoons, and bitter cold December evenings when four good friends pursued that sovereign of game birds, the ruffed grouse.
So, who gets the gold, Jack or Train? Dick and I may differ but I will always believe that Sam's Black Jack was the finest grouse dog I have ever had the privilege of knowing. However, each fall evening when I sip a bit of cognac at the end of a hunt I drink a silent toast and say thank you to two great grouse dogs, Jack and Train.
If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principle difference between a dog and a man.
-- Mark Twain
RWOL
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