opening day

Usually, the end of October started a flurry of activity - checking all the gear, supplies and treats, those that would survive the day in a pack. Pastries from Starbucks rarely fit the description but they were somehow always plentiful. The things that were normally stored away for the other 9 months of the year were carefully checked for operation and blaze garments rewashed and dried ready for use. Everything was laid out and matched against a checklist to make sure nothing was forgotten and loaded into the truck the night before. The first Saturday in November was opening day.

It was never easy getting ready because Starbuck knew what it meant.  Certain shapes and colors (yes, blue-yellow spectrum for most dogs, blaze orange for the Buckster) were immediate clues to Starbuck and he would get barking excited. Holding a finger up w/ "shhh!" would only make things worse; it was then to be treated like a secret, like SBtv.

Therefore, most of the preparation needed to be done, really, in secrecy, while the Buckster was sleeping or in short bursts while he was outside. On occasion, he would be suspicious upon waking up or coming back in the house as everything, even secrets, have a scent. If everything worked out discretely, he was surprised on opening day and ready for a full day of fun, starting from the moment we pulled out of the driveway.

Being so excited to be out in his hunting area again, after a long 9 months, he ranged far. His first birds up were usually well out of range. In the picture (you can't see him but trust me), he is in the red square and the dotted line is the approximate trail he took to get there - in the time it took to get the camera out of my vest.

This year was very odd, the first without him on opening day; I didn't even remember that I used to look forward to preparing for it.

It came and went.

I plan to take his ashes out there, a bit later in the season, to take a look at the view again - at least one last time.

anywhere with a view

I was never really sure how good Starbuck's vision was, wondering if inconsistencies in percerption were eyesight related, color related or trickery related. At fifty yards, he could distinguish between a finger made to look like a treat and a real treat (up close, he might pretend the finger was a real treat to get the last laugh). If that treat fell on the floor right in front of him, looking around for it telegraphed he may have found it faster by smell. Or, perhaps it was just a game as he knew I would steal it from him if he didn't pick it up right away. He always got the treat in the end but sometimes with a game of chase first.

As mentioned in the last post, there was a discernable difference in his behavior and movements that would portend he was on to something; getting "birdy" is the technical terminology. Once in while, the getting "birdy" turned into getting "resty," as what he was on to was a good place to take a rest. These were not always readily available as these spots needed several attributes in order to be considered:

• shade
• ample breeze
• cool, damp earth, either exposed or easily reached by digging
• water and treats (givens)
• a view
  

A view? Usually, it was some place that the ocean (and passing whales) could be seen or a photogenic mountain range or the sunset. As he rested, he would look off to the distance, presumably enjoying the moment of rest and the view as much as I did. Like us, he would drift into a daydream as he looked across the ocean.

Some days, we spent more time being "resty" than "birdy" but no one argued. Some days, that was just fine.

camouflage

Although it is commonly thought that dogs are incapable of hiding their feelings in the same way that humans can, they can camouflage their tactical intentions. Starbuck was always overjoyed to go hunting - barking the whole way to the hunting area (silent only when sniffing the outdoor BBQ we passed every week), running around in circles while I got ready and then ranging far as we hiked along the dirt road to the hunting area. Once he scented something, his demeanor changed into a stealthy predator. Nose to the wind, he triangulated his quarry's position and approached with caution.

As  field conditions dictated, he might have further shrouded himself with an odorous mask. Aromatic plants would seem to have been adequate but the scent of choice was usually left behind by other animals. You would think that the birds he preyed upon would find it odd or unnatural that formerly stationary piles of cow dung or their own turd were now quartering across the field in front of them but he seemed confident that the birds were fooled. The sad commentary was that they usually were fooled.

Trickery and camouflage found their way into home life as well. I first took a picture of the fully-awake Buckster on the couch from 15 feet away and started to walk towards him. As I got closer, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, even changing his breathing, so that a sleeping dog may lie unfettered by paparazzi. This second picture caught him monitoring the efficacy of his camouflage through slightly opened eyes, and if he was out of harm's way, when he heard the footsteps stop.