Bo, A True Sporting Dog

By Gregory Marten

What makes a truly classic gun dog? It is a question that has been pondered over by many hunters. Some people like to rely on hunt tests and official sounding labels to judge a dog's worth, while others tend to brag about lineage or special trainers employed by guys who seemingly have lots of money but no time. Fortunately, most of us would agree that there is something in each dog that identifies it as special.

By most any standards my father's dog, Bo, would not have been labeled as a superior field canine. In fact, she was not pure bred, rather some kind of terrier-lab mix. Bo was about the size of my springer spaniel but with short stiff black fur, a pointy graying muzzle, and triangular ears. The only training she received was in real hunting situations. Instinct did the rest. Bare in mind, these facts in no way lessen her value as a companion and a quality partridge finder.

Her last season of some thirteen autumns has recently past. In this time Bo occasionally proved to be extraordinarily cunning in the woods. My last of many outings with her was quite memorable…

It was a glorious mid-October day in Michigan's northern Lower Peninsula. Dad and I were having an afternoon hunt with two family friends, Chad and Aaron Kapala. We chose a spot mixed with aspen and alder near the river not far from Dad's house.

Chad and I paired up and took my young springer, Zoie, to the left. Dad and Aaron went with the veteran, Bo, off to our right. A playful rivalry soon developed over which group might find birds.

About a 100 yards before reaching the river Bo flushed a grouse which dad shot at, but the bird continued to fly toward us. Chad spotted it running across the downed leaves. We managed to flush it again and woefully missed the second opportunity.

We thought we had seen the last of that ruff. No other shots were made, and when we reached the end of the covert we turned back toward the truck. Chad and I came to the vehicle first. A moment later Dad stepped out of the woods and onto the two-track with a grin below his moustache. Bo ambled slowly at his heels. Reaching into his game pouch he produced a tail-less partridge. He let us stand there slack-jawed for a bit before explaining how Bo came proudly of out the undergrowth with the bird held firmly between her jaws!

Persistence was always one of her defining qualities, and this was not just because her old ears no longer heard the voice calling her in. We concluded that one of us must have been quite behind the target. The hardy bird most likely took a pellet or two, and Bo must have cornered it. Her capture of the grouse without a tail is now a part of that river covert's mistique. Does this make her a master field dog? Of course not, but she sure was fun to hunt behind.

Autumn will not be the same without Bo's seasoned nose lifting birds into the gold tinged air. When spring arrived she went outside for a routine patrol around the house and never made it back in. It is somehow fitting that she passed away outdoors, probably on the scent of some songbird. Her tired heart was most likely overwhelmed, racing for one last time.

Return to homepage