January 20, 2007 Outdoor Column

The following column appeared in the Pittsburg Kansas Morning Sun on January 20, 2007:

Labrador Language 101

My colleague and friend Dr. Chris Christman from Pittsburg State University forwarded to me an online column from The Kansas City Star entitled, “Garmin unveils Global Positioning Device device to track hunting dogs.” Chris posed the question to those included in his email, “…know anyone who could use one of these?”

Those of us who received his e-mail are owners of some flavor of hunting dog, primarily Labrador retrievers, thus we could all share our amazement for this latest innovation in hunting dog technology.

My response to Chris’ tongue-in-cheek question was, “I sure don’t need one, I always know where Aggie is…either swimming around my duck decoys, eating food out of my hunting bag, peeing on something or someone she shouldn’t, or breaking the land-speed record while chasing a cow.” Aggie is my nine year old poorly trained, super human Labrador who is able to leap tall dog food bags in a single bound.

Chris’ e-mail and accompanying hunting dog technology article made me realize that I have never shared with the loyal readers of At Woods Edge my “dog whisperer-like” ability to translate how the common Labrador retriever interprets basic dog training commands. I acquired this intangible talent sometime during the first year of Aggie’s life somewhere between naïve grand delusions of my dog training proficiency and my grandfather saying, “that pup sure has a lot of energy.”

Sit.

Sit is the cornerstone command upon which most, if not all, obedience is based. When the command “sit” is given, an obedient Labrador should plant his rump on the ground and not move from that spot until released with another command, usually “come” or “here.” Notice my use of the word “should” as one quickly realizes that highly trained Labradors only respond to commands when alone with their trainer and quickly develop selective amnesia when in a duck blind while you attempt to impress your hunting pals.

Now, when highly trained Labradors like Aggie hear the command “sit” they interpret said command in one of the following ways (remember, you are reading this dog mind reading phenomenon for the first time in documented history as no other human possesses this amazing talent):
1. “I’ll sit in a minute, can’t you see I’m sniffing this other dog’s behind.”
2. “What did you say, I can’t hear you?” (the amount of time to get the dog to actually sit is directly proportional to the number of pals you are trying to impress)
3. “Oh, you mean ‘sit,’ like where I actually touch my behind to the ground.”
4. “Bounding rabbits always trump the ‘sit’ command you silly man.”

Come.

“Come” or “here” is another core training command that, basically, orders your wonder Labrador to return immediately to your location, do not pass go, do not collect $200. The “come” command has not only practical values in the duck marsh but also can ensure the safety of your dog. For example, if one is traveling with a wonder Labrador and stops alongside the highway for a “pee break,” having an obedient dog that can be immediately called away from speeding traffic could, literally, mean life or death for a dog.

gain, allow me to enlighten you with how my wonder Labrador, Aggie, actually interprets the “come” command:
1. “Be right with you, big guy, right after I roll in this cow pie.”
2. “What did you say, I can’t hear you?” (again, the old selective amnesia gig…oldest trick in the book)
3. “I’ll come immediately if you have a dog treat, otherwise you’re looking at a minimum wait of seven minutes or until I completely ingest this rotting cow opossum carcass.”
4. “Eat my dust old man…that will teach you to go duck hunting in Arkansas and leave me at home.”

There you have it, one duck hunter’s guide to better understanding of the intricacies of the mind of the Labrador retriever. Column inches prohibit more dog whisperer-like interpretations such as of the commands “fetch” and “heel” but we’ll explore those in a future At Woods Edge column, rest assured.

At this point you are likely to wonder why on earth any half-sane individual would endeavor to toil in the field of training their own Labrador retriever as there are surely professional dog trainers who do this for a living. We all have posed that question to ourselves on more than one occasion.

I would equate it to an amateur golfer who plays each weekend, seeking that one perfect golf shot amid hundreds of imperfect shots that makes him come back next week.

Each duck season, Aggie hits a few of those perfect shots. Her first year she dove underwater to retrieve on a crippled greenhead that I thought was gone for sure. Last season she waited anxiously on a fallen log in the flooded timber and delivered to my hand two greenheads that were elementary retrieves to say the least.

Now, as Aggie nears the 18th hole of her life, I find myself savoring each retrieve with the solemn realization that someday she will no longer be there with me to share autumn sunrises. She is neither the best dog nor the worst, she’s just Aggie and she will be right by my side, I suspect, searching the sky for the next flock of greenheads.

Brad Stefanoni is a lifelong waterfowler, wildlife biologist, and trainer of mediocre Labrador retrievers. He can be reached at brad.stefanoni@yahoo.com