Song of the Prairies
posted in General |By Joe K. Noe
Picture the Canadian prairies, long rolling draws speckled with areas of brush of various shapes, sizes and types. The early morning September air is cool, crisp, clean and two handlers, two judges and a gallery of about 25 all head out on horseback to follow the two dogs in the first brace of the day. One dog swings out to the left, the other to the right, but both break forward and then go out of sight over a rise. Both handlers begin to sing a long melodious “whooooooaaaaa.” They sing the same song but there is an obvious difference. One may sound like a soloist in the church choir, the other off-key and out of tune. But to an experienced ear and to the dogs being run each is a beautiful song of the prairies.
As the handlers top the rise, they are still singing. The dog to the left side of the course is still moving and its handler changes his tone slightly, letting his dog know, “I’m coming, get going.” The dog on the right side is standing tall near the crest of the next rise pointing into a small patch of olive green buckbrush over a quarter mile away. The handler raises his battered cap with a faded dog food company logo on it and sings out, “Point her!” The handler, his scout, one of the judges and most of the gallery kick spurs and canter off towards the pointing dog. Despite his confidence in his dog’s staunchness, the handler doesn’t trust the birds to wait around. When they are about a hundred yards away, the judge sings out, “There they go!” as a covey of chickens rise into the air and fly high and fast before they drop behind a distant rise.
The dog remains statue-like in the clear morning air, as the handler dismounts and pulls his beat up old .410 from the scabbard. At the shot, a single sleeper flies out. The dog never flinches and all is in order. As the dog is released by the scout, the handler takes up his song where he left off and the dog is off like a rocket, invigorated by the sweet scent of birds and the song of the prairie. As they ride forward in pursuit of the dog and the rest of the group, the other handler’s song changes from the melodious “whoooaaa,” to a sharper, cautionary “whoa” that is followed by a shot signifying the second find of the brace.
Once more together, the two handlers harmonize as their dogs course wide and far to the front in search of more birds. The dog that had the first find has once more disappeared to the front. His handler picks up his pace to get to the next rise where he stops and sings as he surveys the wide open prairies, but still does not see his dog. The handler sings to the judge, “Send my scout, judge?” The scout is away at a gallop with the slightest nod of the judge and rides out in search of his charge. The best scouts often know their dogs better than the handlers, and know where the birds are likely to be on every course on the prairies.
“Whooooaaaa,” the handler continues to sing until he tops the next rise and can see his scout way off to the right, standing on his saddle with his hat held high in the air. The handler sings “Poooiiiint,” and they head for the scout without yet being able to see the dog. As they close with the scout, he points to a clump of brush in a shallow draw and all see the dog standing with flawless style. This time the birds sit and are flushed by the handler who punctuates his song with another bang from his little .410. This time he and his scout take a minute and water the dog. The climbing sun is already beginning to heat the prairies. When the scout finally releases the cooled dog, the handler continues his song with a melodious “whoooaaaa.”
In the back home world of radios, tapes and CD’s a song rarely lasts more than a few minutes, but the song of the prairie, hopefully, lasts for an hour. In this brace, the handler with two finds checks his watch noting that there are five minutes left to his performance. He keeps true to the course knowing that the windmill ahead is home to another covey of chickens. He hopes that his dog has the bottom and speed to get there before the judge calls time. He tries to inflect a note of encouragement into his song as his dog, that has been here before, heads for the windmill.
The dog makes a wide circle around the windmill, expertly using the wind to his advantage. When he gets downwind, he turns sharply and feathers into the scent as he comes to a point just before a tiny clump of brush. As the handler looks at his watch and sees that there is only a minute left, he spurs his horse to the dog and dismounts. The other handler can still be heard singing his part off in the distance, as this handler walks in front of his dog. Nothing. He tries again, still no birds. The judge sings out “Time.”
The handler looks at the judge and then at his still rigid dog. He takes one last step in the direction of the dog and two tight-sitting chickens come boiling out. The handler fumbles with his gun as his emotions go from disappointment to elation and finally finds the trigger and fires. The dog shows no reaction as it watches the birds disappear in the distance and smiling, the judge says, “Pick’im up.” this song of the prairies has ended with a performance in the books that anyone would be glad to have. But the next movement of the concert will begin as soon as they ride to the dog wagon to get another brace.
Two more handlers and two more dogs will now give their rendition of the same song. And so it will go until the last brace is run. Some versions of the song will end short of time as dogs run off or fail to handle their birds. At times, over the days of the trail, some songs will push the performance of the dog and handler from that first brace but in the end it will be that song of the prairie that will come out on top.
Art by Christie Young