Tag Archives: dog backpacking

The Poodle Doodle

During Montana’s fishing season I work part time at a local fly shop. The owner, fishing guide Joe Cantrell is great guy. He lets me bring my dog to work. Allow me to rephrase that last remark: I’m required to bring my dog to work. I think that if I didn’t bring Sophie to work, Joe would send me home to get her. I really think she ought to be on the payroll, but so far I haven’t been able to get Joe to sign off on that.

You may remember meeting Sophie in my blog entry of June, 2014. Sophie is my standard poodle who will be three years of age in a few weeks. Her birthday is Feb. 17, just in case you want to send her a card. Or a dog bone. Or maybe both.

Sophie loves everybody. When a customer enters the shop, she often stands on her hind legs with both of her front feet straight in the air as if to offer a High Ten.

It’s amazing how many people in Montana aren’t familiar with standard poodles. Maybe it’s because not many are seen in Montana. I’ve received comments like, “I didn’t know poodles could be so big!” (Sophie weighs about 50 pounds). But my favorite comment came from a customer who entered the shop, took a look at Sophie and asked, “What kind of a doodle is this?”

You’re probably aware that standard poodles are sometimes crossed with Labrador Retrievers and Golden Retrievers. The results are called, “Labradoodles” and “Golden Doodles” respectively. The hoped-for product in both cases is a dog that features a heavier build, has a strong hunting instinct, retains the intelligence of all three breeds, and has the hallmark, non-shedding coat of the poodle.

So the customer’s question, “What kind of a doodle is this?” was fair question – but I just couldn’t resist offering a smart-aleck reply:

“She’s a poodle-doodle.”

There’s a story behind how this Montana outdoorsman ended up with a poodle, and for that I refer you to article mentioned above. I really didn’t know much about standard poodles when I got her. But now I wouldn’t trade her for a whole herd of Labs.

How do I love thee, my poodle? Let me count the ways –

  • Poodles do not shed. They have hair instead of fur, making them pretty much hypoallergenic.
  • Sophie doesn’t smell like a dog, although sometimes her feet get a little stinky.
  • They’re scary-smart. I remember taking Sophie on a cross country hike last summer. The grass was taller than she was, so as she wandered out ahead she kept losing track of me. Finally she jumped up on a stump to see where I was. I’ve never seen a dog use a stump as a step stool before. That’s pretty smart.
  • They’re incredible watch dogs. We have a large front window in our living room with a bench underneath. Sophie spends hours sitting on that bench staring and out of the window. If anything moves out in the pasture, be it nothing more than a mouse, Sophie will let me know about it.
  • She’s exceptionally “birdy” and has a great nose. Most people don’t know it, but poodles were originally used as hunting dogs and they still make great hunters if they’re bred for it. She even has the webbed feet of a water retriever.

So my advice to you? If you’re ready for a dog, get a poodle-doodle. They’re only #8 on the American Kennel Club’s list of most popular dogs, but I’ve concluded that Poodles Are America’s Best Dogs. But then again, this advice is from a guy that owns a pack goat.

But wait, there’s more! (I’m being facetious of course, but there really is more). I’m interested in your thoughts. You can reply, send me an email, and/or help design the new monthly newsletter –

 

 

Real Men Own Poodles

Overheard recently by my wife at her place of employment –

“You ought to meet Katherine’s husband. He’s this big, 6’3” macho outdoorsman and his dog is a POODLE!”

Ahem. That’s STANDARD Poodle, if you please. Not one of those yappy little car wash mitts.

So why a poodle for a macho man?

Me and Sophie
Me and Sophie

I’m glad you asked that question, because there’s a backstory. Not that I owe you an explanation. But seeing as how you’ve read this far, let’s continue.

When we moved to North Central Montana years ago (The Land of the Upland Bird) I wanted a bird dog. So I got a yellow Lab pup. Named him “Nugget” as I expected him to be pure gold. And he was.

Trained him myself, and in spite of my many mistakes Nugget became a retriever’s retriever. But the inevitable happened. Nugget turned 13 last January, and went the way of all the earth shortly after.

I began thinking about another dog, but after Nugget I couldn’t bear to get another Lab. So I started doing some research, and discovered that Standard Poodles were originally bred as hunting retrievers. Some of them still have it in their blood.

Bonus: Unlike Labs, poodles don’t shed. Labs shed like a Montana blizzard, and my wife was tired of vacuuming up enough hair each week to make a new dog.

Enter the Standard Poodle.

The short story: I contacted Dreamscapes Standard Poodles in Trout Creek, Montana. Dreamscapes breeds their Standards for bird hunting, retrieving, backpacking and carting. We now share our home with a very nice female Standard pup of just under four months of age. Her call name is Sophie – alias Sweet Pea, alias Snuggle Bunny, alias Daddy’s Girlie-Girl and sometimes alias Monster Baby.

After church last Sunday a friend gave me a ride home. I asked him if he’d like to see my new dog.

He said, “Does she have bows in her hair and painted toenails?”

I smiled. “Of course. Bright red.”

He laughed and said, “I’ll pass.”

Silly redneck. Everybody knows poodles make the best hunting dogs.

What do you think? Are you with me or agin me? Would love to hear your thoughts!

But wait, there’s more! I’m interested in your thoughts. You can send me an email, post a comment right here online and more –  

Reminisce or Live?

By Mike Raether

Do you like to daydream? I caught myself daydreaming at my desk

Entrance to Friday Harbor, San Juan Island, Washington State
Entrance to Friday Harbor, San Juan Island, Washington State

recently, or rather, reminiscing on some past pleasures of my life. I smiled as I remembered when I had a boat, a 24’ cabin cruiser aboard which I spent many lovely days plying the protected bays and harbors of the San Juan Islands of Washington State. Ah! Those were the days! I thought to myself, missing the sea something awful now that I live hundreds of miles away in the mountains of Montana.

About that time an alarm went off in my head.

“Self,” I said to myself, “What are you doing living in the past?”

There is danger hidden in some memories. A memory can be an insidious enemy that drifts lightly into our minds, enchanting us like a feather floating on the wind, all the while robbing us of the present and the future. We can get so caught up in memories that we forget to live in the present, and sometimes even pass on the future. We can become like old men feeding pigeons in a park, mindlessly passing time until death draws a curtain over life.

I do cherish my memories, especially as I’m now in my sixth decade of life. I’ve been a lot of places, seen a lot of things, and done a lot of

Road to Somewhere
Road to Somewhere

stuff. I think I’ve lived well, and would have few regrets should I receive a bad report from my doctor. But I’ve come to realize that there’s a whole lot of livin’ left to be done. And life may have saved the best for last.

I write mostly to my older readers today, who like me are standing in the shadow of mortality. Far gone are the days of youth when I thought I was bullet-proof. My body howls at the things I demand of it. If I take a six-mile hike, I’ll pay for three days (although I’ll do it anyway). I used to survive on five or six hours of sleep a night and brag about it, but now eight hours of solid sleep is one of life’s great treasures. And so it’s tempting to fold my hands in rest, leave the mountains of life to the young bucks, and toss a few crumbs to the pigeons. Until the challenge of what yet may be serves up a better plate than that of stale, past pursuits. Until I think of what can be, what should be, what must be.

I’m reminded of those who accomplished great things in the Indian summer of life.

At 60, playwright and essayist George Bernard Shaw completed the play, Heartbreak House, thought of by many as his masterpiece.

At 70, Benjamin Franklin helped draft the Declaration of Independence.

At 80, British-American actress Jessica Tandy became the oldest person to receive an Oscar for her performance in Driving Miss Daisy.

In his 80s, the Biblical patriarch Caleb sought permission to make his home in the hill country of the Promised Land, where the enemy still held strongholds. “Perhaps God will be with me,” he said, “And I’ll drive them out.”

“Perhaps…” Perhaps is a good word. The 16th century French Renaissance writer Francois Rabelais once said, “I go to seek a great perhaps.”

What is your “great perhaps”? What would you attempt if “perhaps”? What would you try? Why not find out? Beats feeding pigeons in the park.

Grow old along with me!

The best is yet to be,

The last of life,

For which the first was made.

(Robert Browning).

But wait, there’s more! (I’m being facetious, but there really is more). I’m interested in your thoughts. You can send me an email, post a comment right here online and more –