Here are some other trainer/dog combos submitted by our readers:

Forrest Dean and Feagin’s Mohawk Pal
J.L. Holloway and The Ace
Carl Duffield and Commander’s Hightone Beau
Dewey English and Lebanon Tim
Ed Harrison and California Sammy
Bill Cosner and Wonsover
Roy Jines and Protogal
Tom Lunsford and Smilin’ Through
Gene Lunsford and Stormy Tempest
Collier Smith and Mr. Thor
Herman Smith and Beau Essig Don 
C. Bert Black and Pix
Walter Sandifer and Running W Wrangler
Fred Rayl and Fiddler’s Pride
Lee Hoffman and Sam’s Madison Jake
Bill Conlin and Handicap Mike
Bob Lamb and Sugarshack
Francis Frazier and Ariel’s Hobo Becky
Ray Smith and Turnto
Dr. P.T. Kilman and Tiny Wahoo
W.C. Kirk and Johnny Crockett
Jake Bishop and Susquehanna Tom
Henry Gilchrist and Shanghai Express

If you'd like to submit others, we will add them to the list and add photos, if available, of the dogs and handlers to the Slideshow Album 8 which currently contains 92 photos.

They leave early each July from a hundred places across the continent. They drive in a general direction, north — some due, some veering east or west — but all bound for prairie land, U.S. or Canadian. It had been so every summer since the late 1800s, when bird dog men discovered the magic of the vast open acres holding prairie chicken, sharptail grouse, the natives, and Hungarian partridge and pheasant, the imported exotics.

The lands offer training opportunities unrivaled and escape from the merciless heat of the south which in the winter offers the other side of the coin — temperate weather in the quail belt.

At first they had journeyed by train, their employers joining them at summer’s end in their private rail cars to shoot the gamebirds their young dogs had learned on. Then trials for the dogs were organized so the rich men could take home bragging rights and trophies and the trainer-handlers could earn a bit extra from the purses, meager then as now but conferring reputation, always a big thing for them and their employers.

The traditions formed proved enduring and the sport of bird dog field trials grew slowly but soundly, its devotees few but committed, fanatic even, the result of the abiding love of a man (or woman) for a good bird dog, that harbinger of joy for even the most cold hearted. The profession of trainer-handler remains a small guild of peculiar perfectionists, men (and women) who understand how to mold a bird dog to the curious qualities required by the sport — to search far and fast and forward, to point and stay pointed until found, and then to stay put as the birds fly away, as counter-intuitive an act as ever asked of an animal, except that asked of a Catholic priest.

Each summer for a century and a quarter the trainer-handlers have left home with the same thought — will I discover this summer The One — the dog of my lifetime, the super talent that will sweep the competition and make it and me immortal in the tight little world of our sport — a sport 99.4% of mankind will never hear of, much less comprehend. Most never find The One, but for a few who do life is never the same — henceforth they are special in The Fraternity.

Ask any of The Fraternity, and they can, from a list of bird dogs, pick the men who found them or from a list of the men name their dog, The One that got them to the pinnacle. To a few men’s names more than one immortal dog will adhere, but there will be but one who’s name and image leap to our first consciousness.

Here (in no particular order) is a partial list of people and dogs forged together in collective memory:

Ed Mack Farrior (the classiest dog man ever) and Warhoop Jake
His father, Mr. Ed and Air Pilot’s Sam
Er Shelley and Pioneer
Dave E. Rose and Alford’s John
Charlie Babcock and John Proctor
Clyde Morton and Ariel
Bob Armstrong and Mary Montrose
Chesley Harris and Becky Broom Hill
James Avent and Sioux
J.W. Martin and Doughboy
Jack Harper and The Texas Ranger
Earl Bufkin and Mississippi Zev
Leon Covington and Lone Survivor
John S. Gates and Lester’s Enjoy’s Wahoo
Herman Smith and Wayriel Allegheny Sport
Collier Smith and Native Tango
George Evans and Shore’s Brownie Doone
Paul Walker and Fast Delivery
Fred Arant and A Rambling Rebel
Faye Thornberry and Miller’s Miss Knight
Phil Brousseau and Little Frenchman
Howard Kirk and Sierra Joan
Bud Daugherty and Buckboard
Hoyle Eaton and Riggins White Knight
Billy Morton and Wrapup
John Gardner and Miss One Dot
Harold Ray, Sherry Ray (Ebert) and Tomoka
Bill Rayl and Builder’s Addition
Marshall Loftin and Monte Bello Peggy
Bob Lamb and Forty Grand
John Rex Gates and Texas Fight
Pete Hicks and Bisco Big Jack
Bill Hunt and Rebel Wrangler
Tommy Davis and Whippoorwill Rebel
Colvin Davis and Quicksilver Pink
Randy Downs and The Hitchhiker
Ed Husser and Brush Country Specter
Lefty Henry and Marquis Gold Rush
Rick Furney and Law’s High Noon
Andy Daugherty and Bear Creek Bess
Robin Gates and Flatwood Hank
Mike Matney and House’s Rain Cloud
George Crangle and Tarheelia’s Lucky Strike
George Moreland II and Pineland Kate
Ferrell Miller and Miller’s Silver Bullett
Freddie Epp and Blackbelt
Fred Dileo and Funseeker’s Rebel
Rich Robertson and Tekoa Mountain Sunrise

Dave Grubb and Miller’s Silver Ending

There are others. See how many you can name, and which named above are incorrect? For example, of the many great dogs of John Rex Gates, which would you (or he) pick as The One?

Tom Word

There is a slideshow of dogs accompanying this story on the photo gallery page (album eight). We will try to add the missing dogs and get better photos if possible. If you have any, please submit them and we will add them to the slideshow.

Since I was comparatively young, I have been fascinated by the feet of dogs, especially the pads, of course since the evening my Uncle Roy and Uncle Pat surprised me with the information that dogs “sweat” through their pads.

“Not like horses and cows and most mammals like people”, Pat said, “a dog cools himself only by his lips, tongue, mouth...and his pads...”

All through my hunting days, and in watching thousands of dogs in many thousands of hours in all weather conditions and on every footing imaginable, this nagged at my mind.

Over the years, I began to believe that the reason some trainer-handlers won more consistently was impacted by the way the dogs’ feet were cared for.

When the jaunty Traveler was put down in the very first brace of twenty-seven starters he laid down a heat, coupled with faultless bird work, which started low mutterings that he was being unfair to organized grouse labor. And when in the closing seconds of that driving heat he poured over a hill, tail cracking, to nail an old grouse that had good reason for thinking that he was a way over in neutral country, some of the wiser observers began calling up railroad stations to arrange for transportation home.

But the happy tradition-busting Traveler had his real race up his sleeve, a heat he laid down in the two-hour grind of the finals on Monday morning. It wasn’t a grind for him—he is no grinding dog. He sets a pace that is even and level throughout and then goes about his pleasing chore in a way that makes the observer feel that this could go on and on. Snow began falling midway the final heat making the footing extremely slick but it did not affect Tex. He just kept pouring along with the flowing power of a perfectly tuned engine....

Through this scene flitted Traveler feather-footed as a cat, noiseless and swift as a snowy owl. To see him, one had only to look in the right place. If not there, he would be in a minute. In simple fairness to the dog, it should not be said the Dr. Ziliak was the handler. Tex was doing his own hunting; the good Doctor was just out for a two-hour walk. Not once did a whistle go to his lips; he does not even carry a whistle. To those field trialers seeking an example of quiet handling, wherein the dog goes hunting with the least possible direction from the handler, we give you the combination of Dr. Ziliak and The Texas Traveler!

From the foregoing, it must not be thought that Tex was always near at hand. Far, far from it! No dog showed fleeter foot or greater range, yet he was swinging to the course with an uncanny sense of direction which prompted the thought that someone had kept him up all night, making him study a map of the area. Most important of all, he was hunting every jump of the way—and he was loving it!

As a matter of fact and for the record, many old grouse trialers, competent in their judgement, fell to wondering if Traveler was not laying down too big a race; that he might be too wide in his search. This could be answered in two ways: First, when a dog can hunt swiftly for two hours, covering his country like a blanket, yet show so constantly and regularly in the right places as never to cause his handler a moment of apprehension, then that dog is not too wide. Second: He was certainly much wider than the other (it is freely admitted), but that establishes no case against him. Are we to say, “Thus far and no further?” Are we to set up some fancied standard based upon the performance of some good and highly admired dog and then say: “Exceed this, and you are out?” A dog is never out when he exceeds the excellent. And this is precisely what Traveler did. He did not win his championship against poor dogs. On the contrary, he took on the best dogs in the realm of grousedom—and he beat them!

...In the field, Traveler has in abundance the four essentials for greatness: A superior nose; high intelligence; a sound body; and a stout heart. 

Grand National Grouse Championship, Nov 8, 1947
Held at Gladwin State Game Refuge, Prudenville, Michigan
Judges:  Henry P. Davis, Dr. Harold R. Ersig, William T. McCarty
One hour qualifying heats, two hour finals
21 setters, 6 pointers

FOOTNOTE:

The Texas Traveler was sired by Jack Harper’s 10 x Champion The Texas Ranger elected into the Field Trial Hall of Fame in 1956. Jimmy won the All American Amateur Championship on chicken, and on quail: Associated Field Trials of Texas Open Championship, The Texas Open Championship twice, the National Free-For-All twice, the Continental three times and the Quail Invitational Championship.

On winning the Inaugural Quail Invitational Championship in 1940, William F. Brown had this to say about The Texas Ranger:

“Ranger covered the country like a windstorm, yet handled with glovelike ease...Ranger was the epitome of what is meant by a big running dog. He covers prodigious amounts of country yet handles with unbelievable kindliness. It was nothing short of incredible the way Jimmy would work the country out front, always appearing at exactly the right place and no matter the scope of his tremendous casts, he always knew where his handler, Jack Harper, was, and seemed divine what direction the course would turn.”

CH The Texas Ranger sits in the driver’s seat. Harper told a lady who wondered about having a dog in the front seat of a Cadillac, “he owns it, I just get to drive it.”

Champions have been crowned and champions will be crowned, but happenings and events surrounding the 1946 renewal of the Grand National Grouse Dog Championship, including the Champion that crowned himself, Burton’s Fleetfoot Ginger, will provide topics for conversation for years and years to come…

In besting the efforts of 24 contestants and following the judges’ requirements of a grouse dog champion, Ginger checked in with a phenomenal scorecard. In his qualifying hour, Ginger did not necessarily set the woods afire. Running a birdless course, Ginger managed to hold the eye and no serious faults could be scored against him, notwithstanding the fact that inconsistency at times, robbed him of perfection. But his final two hours left nothing to be desired. And since the work of champions should bear inspection, perhaps we can dispense with a general smather of words in preference to a breakdown of characteristics as displayed in winning the crown.

Brains: A sensible dog, Ginger keeps his mind on his work. His third contact with game proved that point. A gallery confusion reigned on all sides, the dog refused to relax and forget the task at hand. He pointed a grouse within twenty feet of the horses, and roadsiders jumped atop cars and trucks to view the work.

Nose: Five birds were seen or heard on his course during the two hours—four of them were kicked out in front of four rock-solid points, and the fifth would have been had not the bird been walked up before Ginger had time to pin it.

Stamina: His finish ending the qualifying hour was equal to the best seen. At the completion of his two hour grind, Ginger was whaling away in a swamp, and didn’t care to be picked up. Good showmanship. Strickland fired a shot.

Speed: Ginger is fast.

Range: He demonstrated a yearn for distant climes, and did get out there, but Strickland held a tight line in the finals. Then, too, none other an authority than the late Al Hochwalt told us “a dog’s legs should be long enough to take him to his birds...” Ginger’s legs took him to more birds than any other contestant in the stake.

Style: (Running) Ginger has a very attractive way of going. Head level; tail high and merry. His gait, however, is odd. Short-legged in front, Ginger pounds or chops as he goes. It’s hard to fault him here, for his method of picking ’em up and setting ’em down has no effect on his stamina. Aside from his downhill stand near the cars, where he slid into point level, Ginger towered over his birds with commanding style. Going to game, Ginger dispenses with all preliminary signals; no feathering, no fussing on ground scent. Absolutely cold, his attitude is indicative of, “Here’s one!” Then, too, there was none of that touch-and-go stuff about his bird work. Each time he was rock-solid and each time his handler walked in front of him to kick his birds out. The kind that hits ’em and makes ’em stay put.

Manners: Never has it been the grouse clans privilege to view a dog whose conduct at wing and shot bared higher polish and finish. Not once did Strickland caution the dog nor was the slightest precautionary gesture visible.

Handling: Ginger stayed in front consistently and showed to advantage, but there were times when Ginger proved to be hard to bend: and as stated previously, Strickland held a tight line on his charge in the second series.

Sense of Direction: Though seldom mentioned, a keen sense of direction is one of the component parts of a class grouse dog. Like some men who are blessed with an ever-present knowledge of where they are in the woods, Ginger, too, runs without the aid of a compass. That happy faculty of always showing to the front; only once in three hours did the dog report from the rear.

Application: Very often we are forced to say that a dog accepted his opportunities on game, but in Ginger’s case it was clearly demonstrated that here we had a dog that made up his own field trial breaks. Each and every find came as the result of diligent searching. It was a warm midafternoon as Ginger searched for two hours. He dug his birds out; they were buried deep in the shady swamps…

Summing up his work, we find that Ginger ran a total of three hours in winning the crown. He had five perfect contacts with game (in the second series); the first a clean stop to flush, followed by four finds handled as the book called for. Throughout he demonstrated range, speed and style.

Grand National Grouse Championship, Nov 6, 1946
Held at Gladwin State Game Refuge, Prudenville, Michigan
Judges:  William T. McCarty, Elias C. Vail, William T. Windsor
One hour qualifying heats, two hour finals
22 setters, 3 pointers

Second Series Contestants

50 Years of Grand National Grouse Championships available from Dave Fletcher (see List of Books)

“ ‘Uncle Dave,’ someone asked, ‘you defined a class dog as “one that runs away, but not quite.” Does that one short, simple phrase cover the subject to your satisfaction?’

“Uncle Dave sat up a little straighter in his chair. ‘Yes, my young friend, I did say that, but it was more in jest than in seriousness, for it about covers the idea that many have of class in a dog, but let me tell you, sah, that’s not my full idea of class, sah.’

“ ‘Well,’ retorted the inquisitor, ‘what do you call class then, in earnest?’“ ‘What do I call class?’ This was uttered as a prelude as he looked his interrogator in the eye and a deeper glint came into his own. ‘My idea of class is a dog that does it all, not the kind that some of these judges have been placing; the kind that run and does nothing else. You remembah, sah, that back in the old days a class athlete was one who was equally good in any sphere that came under the name of sports. If he was proficient in all of them, he was a class athlete and not before. And that’s my idea of a dog. Just because he can run fast and go wide, he means very little to me if he won’t handle his ground properly, if he can’t find bevies as well as singles, if he won’t back if called upon to do so. But you can find dogs that will do it all and when you do, you have a class dog, but you haven’t got one that can only run wide and fast and find a bevy once in a great while by accident, and then perhaps away off somewhere and you only discover him by good luck.’ ”

Al Hochwalt thought that was about the best unstudied definition of class that he ever heard.

William F. Brown, Albert Frederick Hochwalt, A Biography, Definition of Class in a Bird Dog, pg 54. Used by permission.

The power of a thing or an act is in the meaning and the understanding.
NICHOLAS BLACK ELK, The Sacred Pipe

The thrill that goes through you when you see him gliding across the prairies is the thing that makes the long days ahead seem so few and short when thinking what the youngster might give you in return. The stride that you are seeing is smooth and flowing like the gentle breeze whisking across the prairies. What could be better than this, riding your horse across the open prairies watching a young dog that is overflowing with potential? The distance he goes without any effort makes the heart beat faster. Not much else in the world of birddogs gets better than this.

Just when your mind is full of this thinking, what does that young fellow do but fly past the bush, turn on a dime back to it, flash point and put a covey of prairie chickens in the air. All this done with bravery and energy that sends a wave through the air. What a thrill, what a thrill!

The days, the nights, the many hours in the saddle, many miles in the truck, the weather that is ridden in; all these things are worth it to witness what you have just seen.

When your day is done on these prairies and it is late in the evening when you finally sit to rest as you feel each joint ache, you are tired but not weary as you think to yourself, “I can’t wait to see what he does next time.” This is the thing that keeps you going — the hope of tomorrow with such a promising young dog.

This is the promise — as you think maybe this one is the next ONE, the future of this great sport is promised.