By Bob McBride
After lots of prodding by my family and friends, I was finally able to get my lazy rear in gear and got my collection of hunting stories published. While I was looking through the book, trying to figure out some marketing plan, I realized that the last story just sort of left the readers up in the air. I hadn’t written a conclusion.
I sat down at the computer and tried to think what needed to have been said. For the life of me I couldn’t think of some witty words of wisdom. Then it came to me… I’m not a witty wordy type of guy, but I could tell you a story about my new dog.
Just over eight years ago, we had to put Maggie, our beloved Black Lab, put down. She lived to be fourteen years old and was one incredible dog. My wife, Jodi, and I had been dogless since then.
After moving back to Washington State to be closer to family, we settled on a five-acre property in the woods. This helped to start up my whining, “Honey, I want a dog.” After listing in my mind all the reasons that we didn’t need a dog, the thought of I want a dog kept winning.
The world as we had come to know was fractured with Covid 19, and things were far from normal. Wear a mask… ah you don’t need a mask… better hurry and get the vaccine…no, don’t get the vaccine because it will kill you. Makes you think, “Oh no, we’re all going to die!”
Being officially an old man, I was up and wide awake before daylight, checking out Craigslist on the tablet and drinking a cup of coffee. In the pet section, I stumbled across a listing to re-home a nine-month-old Black Lab pup. I wanted to call right away, but good manners said 6 a.m. is way too early to call someone. I decided to wait until 8 a.m. to be polite.
My call was answered quickly by a friendly lady who explained she had just promised the pup to an earlier caller. Dejected, I advised her that if things didn’t work out, I was very interested. Two hours later, I received a text from the lady that said the earlier caller was not going to take the dog. Excitedly, I called back to say we were still very interested and to give me an address.
We immediately headed to Puyallup, Washington, a suburb of Tacoma about a forty-five-minute drive north. The puppy was living in an upscale apartment complex that had over 150 units. Not a lot of room for an exuberant nine-month-old lab to play.
We knocked and listened to the commotion behind on the door. It sounded like something was just as excited to see us as I was excited to see him. A bundle of excitement bounded out the doorway and began bouncing on all four paws. Somebody’s here to see me! Touch me, pet me, where have you been all my life?
The nice lady, whose upper lip looked like she had just gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson, explained she had purchased Kai the day before from another apartment dweller for her son. The pup’s exuberance, her son’s allergy and asthma symptoms, and her fat lip convinced her that the apartment was probably not the best fit. We agreed to the price of $100 for a new steel dog crate, a new leash, and a wound-up, overly excited black lab puppy.
Headed happily back to Olympia with my new best friend, my mind was a blur with questions. First of all the name Kai didn’t quite fit. I looked it up on Wikipedia and learned, “In Hawaiian, Kai is a unisex name which means ‘sea’ in Hawaiian language or ‘ocean’. In Japanese, kai has a number of meanings, including ‘ocean’, ‘shell’, ‘restoration’, and ‘recovery’. In Kono and Kissi, Kai is a male name; it is also a paramount chief title or prefix that means king of kings.”
I’ve always tried to apply the KISS principle: keep it simple, stupid. Jodi suggested the name Coal. My biggest question was is it Cole or Coal? The lump won out.
Still concerned about our good fortune, I arranged to take Coal to the local pet hospital. I thought $100 was a heck of a deal for an obviously purebred black lab pup. I had a sick, sinking feeling when the veterinarian assistant said, “Your dog is chipped.”
After several telephone calls, we determined that Coal was chipped, but the chip had never been activated or registered. We eventually found out the chip manufacturer had sold that lot of chips to a vet supply store in Missouri. The supply store couldn’t (or wouldn’t) give any additional information about the final destination of Coal’s chip. The hope for tracking down his papers was out the window, but we were able to register the chip in our name.
Coal is a Labrador Retriever, and he really lives up to retriever name. Hey, let me bring that back for you. Or, Why don’t you throw that so I can go get it for you? Even more important than food, the magic words are ball, let’s go, and get it. He loves to swim and never misses a chance to dive into the water.
Recently on a trip to Yuma, Arizona, he befriended several Hispanic kids who were swimming and playing in the Colorado River between California and Arizona. I’m always eager to pass the training bumper off to another thrower, so Coal made numerous cross-country retrieves between California and Arizona while playing with his new friends.
I’m a firm believer that a happy dog has a job, or that a job makes a dog happy. My hound dogs had a job chasing bears and cougars. My beagles had a job chasing bunnies. Maggie had the job of being a drug dog, and a search and rescue and tracking dog. So it was time to put Coal to work.
I’ve always loved the outdoors, but I’ve grown away from shooting. I still have the hunting instinct, so the idea of training Coal to find something that I didn’t want to shoot seemed appealing. Rescue tracking and cadaver work requires too much of a working commitment.
I’ve always been excited about finding an antler on my numerous hikes in the outdoors, so the idea of training Coal to assist in finding antlers seemed like a no-brainer. So off we went to the YouTube School of how to do anything. There are lots of videos from lots of dog trainers on how to make your dog a “Shed Dog.” From bottles of antler-scented liquids to a foam antler-shaped training dummy, every thing you need is available on the Iinternet. Let the games begin….
We started out playing with a small, forked horn antler that I had found. After Coal learned that the antler was just as much fun as the ball, we started hiding the antler in an easy location. The better he got at finding it, the more difficult we made it.
Coal’s and my biggest training dilemma was the fact that we were looking for antlers that weren’t still attached to their owner – just a minor hiccup, I guess. Luckily, we were able to reach an agreement. Coal doesn’t chase Bambi, and I won’t yell at him. Just the idea that you’re mad at him breaks his heart. Labs have the desire to please you, and always wonder what they can do for you. Hounds and the beagles only have the instinct to follow and chase. Now our training practice consists of me throwing an antler out on the property and sending Coal out to find it. Within minutes, he brings it back for a pepperoni treat.
It hasn’t been all a bed of roses with a dog that’s living with his fourth family. That’s right: we’re the fourth home Coal has been with. He’s got some separation anxieties that we’ve had to work through. I guess I can understand why some of the previous owners were overwhelmed with his exuberance and his energy level. He’s pretty well destroyed the fancy steel crate that he came with, while trying to escape.
One day when he was fairly new to us, I was off playing pickle ball, and Jodi needed to make a run to the store. She decided to leave Coal at home. When she returned home, she was greeted by a wiggly-butt dog. Knowing that she had left him inside our home, she was perplexed until she looked up and saw the window screen lying on the roof above the bay window. Coal had decided to dive through the window screen and out the open second-story window. Luckily the bay window below the second-story window helped make for a soft landing. Sometimes I think this crazy dog thinks he’s a Malinois, the way he jumps and flies through the air like an acrobat.
Coal’s other personality fault is what we call booping. People like to get down on a dog’s level and say hello. Not so fast with Coal: he’s so excited that you’re showing him some attention, he’s bumps his muzzle against your face and gives you a kiss resulting in split lips and a cold wet dog nose.
Recently we were driving home from Oregon after a shed-hunting adventure. We stopped at a roadside rest area, and I lowered the rear window of the truck about six inches before going inside to use the facilities. I thought my son was playing a trick on me when he said hello to Coal and started talking to the pup outside the truck. Imagine my alarm when I looked at the claw marks down the side of my once-shiny black truck where Jodi’s dog had clawed and struggled to pull his way out of the slightly opened window. Did I mention separation anxiety?
I was finally able to take my motorcycle out for a 90-minutes ride the other day without a separation problem, but I did notice pawprints on the bedspread in the upstairs bedroom with where Coal had made his previous escape out the window.
Although we’ve found several sheds earlier in the year, Coal has only found one all by himself. I’ve been anxiously watching the game camera set up in the orchard. We’ve got several bucks visiting almost every night. One is a dandy 4×4 with eye guards that looks almost big enough to be a muley instead of a black tail. I’m looking forward to the day when Coal runs back to the house with an antler in his mouth that he’s found all on his own.
Coal’s other special trick is balancing a cookie on his nose. When we start the trick, I advise a child to pick a number between one and ten. I make a big production of telling Coal what number the kid has picked, and that he can have the biscuit when we count up to that number. I have them help in counting out loud until we reach the magic number, then Coal will flip the biscuit up in the air and wolf it down.
Is it the inflection in my voice or the twinkle in my eye? No… he’s just a dog that can count. Maybe with a little more training, he’ll keep making me proud. For now, we’re off to spend the winter in Arizona and maybe do just a little more shed hunting.
When he’s good, he’s my dog and when he’s bad, he’s Jodi’s dog. He’s my dog a little more every day!
