Category Archives: About Seamus
Ticks
Ticks wait for the host animal from the tips of grasses and shrubs. They are not commonly found in trees. When brushed by a moving animal or person they quickly let go of the vegetation and climb onto the host. Hard ticks, the American Dog tick, Lone Star tick, Deer tick and the Brown Dog tick are the most common ticks found on dogs. The Deer tick is half the size of the other ticks and can cause Lymes disease in both dogs and humans.
The best treatment for ticks is prevention. There are a number of products that your veterinarian can recommend. Some of the best products to protect pets are those applied to the skin topically such as Frontline Plus. Since ticks can also attach to humans and cause disease, hunters, trappers and hikers should cover exposed skin. Tucking pants into socks or boots and wearing long sleeves when in the woods is always a good idea.
If you find a tick on your dog, do not use home remedies such as applying petroleum jelly, grease or a hot match to the rear of the tick. If you must remove a tick yourself use blunt tweezers or disposable gloves and grasp the tick close to the skin. Pull the tick straight out with steady, even pressure. It may take a minute or two to release. Remember ticks can cause disease in both dogs and people. Your veterinarian and your physician should be consulted if you find a tick on you or your dog.
Ticks have four distinct parts of their life cycle. They are the egg, six-legged larva, eight –legged nymph and the adult. The life cycle requires as little as 2 months to more than 2 years to develop depending on the kind of tick and the environment. The life cycle can be complicated and can involve intermediate hosts. The adults are the stage that is visible on the skin.
Dr. Bruce Baker co-owner of North Main Animal Hospital, www.northmainanimal.com
Category Archives: About Seamus
Joy
If it were possible to buy pure joy, it would come with a label that read “Compliments of a Brittany.”
There is a place along the Jordan River that’s accessible only by canoe or an overgrown two track – when I say overgrown, I mean, if you’re fond of the paintjob on your car, walk in. Seamus and I hunt this not easily accessed acreage several times a year, especially when flights of woodcock migrate their way from Canada to Louisiana, stopping to rest along streams and rivers.
This is a special place and the odd timberdoodle can be found most any time of year. The ground is moist to wet most of the year and suitable for a good food supply and makes a good nesting area. When the flight birds are in, shooting is fast and furious and an extra box of 7 ½’s is a must.
Once part of a working farm, it has since been reclaimed by nature. Although furrows are evident they are hard to see because of tall grass and weeds that hide the depressions – I’ve stumbled many times in the ruts. It is a place where Seamus is in his glory and if I want to stay with him, I’d better be willing to cover a lot of ground. So after a day’s hunt that ended in a twisted ankle and a bruised ego, I opted to purchase a new pair of 10 inch Red Wing Irish Setter Boots for the next hunt; following Seamus through thick and thin – mostly thick.
There are beaver in the area as is evident by felled trees with pointed ends that look like sharpened pencils. Deer trails crisscross the swamp between the river and fields and turkey appear on occasion. I’ve heard of bear being seen in the area, but so far, Seamus and I apparently make enough noise to warn them off.
It is in this place that Seamus learned the difference between grouse and woodcock and I would have traded my 20 gauge Red Label for a video cam.
It had been rainy and windy for several days with wind coming from the North West and temperatures flirting with the freezing mark. Duck hunters were chomping at the bit and so were woodcock hunters. Seamus and I had been looking for signs of migrating birds by driving two tracks at dusk hoping to come on “doodle” picking up gravel along the dirt roads. Spotting the occasional bird, Seamus became antsy and almost unable to control himself in the front seat of the pickup. The decision was made; tomorrow we’d hunt our secret spot, searching for “timberdoodle”.
The truck jostled its way down the two track, taking scratches from overhanging brush. The abrasiveness of the scratches was softened by the dew still covering everything. No visible frost was a good sign but drops of water dripping from branches made it clear Seamus and I were going to get wet.
Seamus was geeked. My ears were ringing from the whining – almost howling – I’ve had next to my right ear since the truck turned onto Old State Road. It begins when I put on my boots and gets louder when I attach the bell on his collar. By the time we arrive, he’s out of control with excitement; it’s that way since the first time we hit the woods and hasn’t diminished since.
Climbing over me when I opened the door, Seamus jumped from the truck and buried his nose in the grass and leaves and debris. Several short blasts on the whistle and “stay” commands kept him dancing around the truck impatiently waiting. I knew from previous hunts I needed to get geared up quickly or he’d be off.
Finally, sliding two 7 ½‘s in the barrels of the Red Label, I gave another blast on the whistle and gave the command “hunt’em up”….we were off.
Almost immediately Seamus, nose to the ground, made his way into a thicket I could see held pockets of standing water surrounded by rich black dirt. I followed the best I could and got my first jolt of adrenalin when the bell stopped. Stepping deliberately through grass and around downed timber until I saw Seamus on point; his head cocked, nose angled downward, staring intensely into a clump of vegetation. I must have startled the bird as I made my way through bushes, trying to create an opening while keeping the 20 ready to get off a quick shot, because suddenly I heard peening and a whirling sound and saw a woodcock take off like a helicopter zigzagging to avoid treetops. Seamus bolted forward and almost ate the ground the “doodle” was sitting in.
I tried to see where the bird went but he was quickly out of sight as he flew thru the slit like openings of the thicket. No matter, there would be more.
We hunted for several hours. Seamus was on his game and seemed fresh as a pup. Most flushes were “doodle” but a couple of grouse were thrown in the mix; one ended up in my game bag. Then something strange happened that still makes me wonder.
Seamus was searching along the edge of conifers separating the bog along the river and an opening dotted with stands of willow bushes. At the edge of one of the thick stands he went on point. As I walked past him, a woodcock flushed from his right but he didn’t break point. I kept walking toward where he was pointing and another “doodle” broke ground. This time I watched him as he almost hopped forward about 20 yards and disappeared in the grass. No shot. Seamus saw him land too and nosed his way toward where we saw the bird land. Again he flushed as Seamus got close; this time not waiting for me to walk in. Again he appeared to hop and set down about 20 yards away and again Seamus went after him.
Six times this scenario played out the same way: The bird flushed, flew in a hopping fashion 20 or so yards ahead and sat down; each time waiting for Seamus to catch up as though playing tag with him. Finally the bird flushed and zigzagged into another thicket and disappeared.
The grin on my face must have been from ear to ear because it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. I called Seamus off and we worked our way back to the car. We had a few birds and lot fewer shells then I brought in.
We were both soaked; I admitted to being tired and ready for a sandwich, Seamus only slowed down when he saw the sandwich.
TD
Category Archives: About Seamus
What Did You Say?
I read this blurb on Facebook that read: ‘Talking to yourself and answering is ok, the problem is when you ask yourself to repeat it.’ In other words, if you carry on a conversation with yourself in your mind, you’re ok. But if you ask yourself, “What?” there’s a problem.
A while later as Seamus sat in front of me, staring at me with his head cocked, ears perked up (a tell-tale sign a Brittany has something on his mind) with eyes following my every move, I began talking to him. I wasn’t just making comments, I was answering for him … based on our years of communicating. He was waiting for me to fix breakfast, and that means bacon.
When I finally got up and headed for the kitchen, Seamus beat me into the room, taking his usual place next to the stove, just far enough back so he could see everything I was doing, to include putting bacon into the pan.
While going through the motions, I realized I was still talking to him and when I looked at him, he twitch and re-position himself as to say, “Get on with it.” To which of course, I answered, “Don’t be so pushy, it’s coming.”
The part that made me think about the blurb on Facebook was when I’d ask him, “What?” because I wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell me to add another slice or turn up the heat.
I think I have to stop reading these little witticisms, sometimes they cause me to out think myself.
TD
Category Archives: About Seamus
Wake Up Dad
This morning – apparently I didn’t stir quick enough – Seamus jumped on my bed, pawed and nuzzled me until I responded and gave him is morning scratch.
He was back to his old self.
A great start to my day!
TD
Category Archives: About Seamus
Pain!
Seamus is hurting. It happened when I took the rowboat out of the water to keep it from getting filled with water since no one would be around for a couple of weeks to bail it out. As I untied the stern, Seamus jumped in, thinking we were going for a ride, something he likes to do. When I untied the bow and stayed on the dock, he tried to jump back onto the dock but came up short as the boat drifted away from the dock with me holding the bowline.
The thing to know about Seamus is that he doesn’t really like to be in water, at least not over his armpits. So when he fell back into the water he tried to jump back up, but it was too deep for him to push off with his hind legs. He tried several times, despite my attempt to get him to swim to shore; something he could do easily. On the last attempt to jump onto the dock, he fell backwards and under the dock twisting to get back upright.
He let out the most sickening, ear piercing scream I’ve heard since one of the kids fell and hit her head on the baseboard of the dining room after tripping over Jake, our yellow Lab.
Finally, regaining his position, he swam to shore and climbed over the rocks onto the bank and I saw the limited movement of his hind legs as he hobbled up to the cabin. He was hurt and scared, and so was I. He didn’t stop or even turn around until “She Who Must Be Obeyed” let him into the cabin.
Without saying a word, I could feel the daggers she was throwing with her eyes, accusing me of doing something to Seamus. I explained what had happened as I checked him for swelling of muscles on his legs and hips, then felt along his spine for any bulges. Nothing.
Finishing what needed to be done, we loaded the car and headed home with Seamus in his usual spot, stretched out behind me. He didn’t whimper or cry, he just laid there, changing positions occasionally.
At home, he passed by his food dish, ignoring supper, and looked uncomfortable as he tried to find a position that didn’t hurt. The night went the same way …with me lying next to him on the floor until he had enough of me and moved to another room.
It was a long night as every time I heard him stir, I’d check on him, only to get a look that said, “I hope you’re satisfied.”
By morning, he mellowed and laid on the floor next to my bed. (Usually he be on the bed, but couldn’t jump up.)
He was still careful in how he moved, sat or laid until he smelled the bacon frying on the stove. Though slowly, his tail wagged and he was sitting in front of me waiting for his share.
He was better than he was the night before and even scratched himself with his hind leg. Another good sign.
All this brought back memories of a couple of years ago when he got some foreign object in his throat and had to be operated on to get the swelling down. I felt as helpless then as I do now.
He’s improving, I know he is because he’s already getting under foot. He just doesn’t get out from under as quickly as he did a couple of days ago, but is getting there.
Seamus is my bird dog, hunting partner, confidant, and constant companion …he’s my friend. We’ll both get through this.
TD
Category Archives: About Seamus
Rabbit Poop
There seems to be an explosion of rabbits around the cabin this year; apparently they had nothing else to do over the long snowy winter. Their droppings are all over in the woodlot, under the drooping blue spruce, in the culverts and in the flower garden “She Who Must Be Obeyed” planted around the back of the cabin. Seamus found them, ate them and scared the hell out of me when he succumbed to the effects of eating the M&M sized pellets and began vomiting, having diarrhea, and exhibiting general listlessness. His general demeanor was one of depression; even his coat and skin felt harsh to the touch – if that makes any sense – not to mention his ears crinkled in a way that said, “I’m hurting, boss!”
It never occurred to me that there was anything to worry about having rabbits around the cabin. I mean, they’ve always been there. in fact, they’re everywhere and Seamus has never bothered with them or their droppings …until this year.
So, not having had small kids in the house for a lot of years, I reacted like a first-time dad: Seamus not being able to tell me what’s wrong, I dotted on him in any way that seemed to make him feel better. We spent a lot of time wandering the shores of Lake Michigan – his favorite place to run Up North – and spent a lot of time scratching him behind his ears.
The long and the short of it is, until we got his poop analyzed, and found out what the problem was, he got treated like a prince (not too different from his everyday treatment).
Finally, as the saying goes, “This too shall pass.” And it did. Now he’s back to barking at me if I don’t get the bacon going fast enough in the morning and wanting his ears scratched if I’m sitting with my arm hanging over the side of the chair. And heaven help me if I don’t let him ride along when I go somewhere.
Not too spoiled ….I wouldn’t have it any other way.
TD
Category Archives: About Seamus
The Field Cut
It’s time. Seamus needs his yearly field-cut. This morning, in a weak moment, I called the kennel and made an appointment for Seamus to get groomed. It wasn’t a planned thing to do, it was spur-of-the-moment …and it made points with “She Who Must Be Obeyed” – a good thing to make happen occasionally.
Seamus is almost nine years old and I can see that he’s slowing down a bit. Not that he doesn’t hunt as well as he used to, in fact, he’s better, but like me, he shows the strain of exertion. So maybe a haircut will help keep him cool as the days get warmer. A haircut doesn’t do it for me, but I draw the line on giving him “two fingers of bourbon.”
Every night – most every night – Seamus goes for a walk and by the time he bets back from the mile walk, he’s panting and ready for his frozen yogurt treat. When he finishes, he’s not panting anymore. (Sometimes I think he cons me with the panting thing until he gets the treat.)
Lately I’ve been considering getting a new pup … not to replace Seamus, but to add new blood to our grouse hunting this fall. If I could get a pup Seamus sired, so much the better. I know Seamus would be willing to do his part, “She Who Must Be Obeyed” is the obstacle. Better work on making a few more points.
But back to the present: Seamus is almost ready to be picked up from his spa treatment and it’s hard to tell who’s more anxious, me to get him or Seamus to come home. Either way, the ride to get him will be longer than the ride home. And, it’s going to be a noisy ride – smelly too; he always smells like a French whore when they bring him out. Groomers think they have to make a dog look and smell like he just came from a spa; a hunting dog prefers to roll in things that mask his scent not drown it in perfume …and he can do without the ribbon tied into a bow attached to his collar too, I’m surprised they don’t paint his nails. But, more points with “She Who Must Be Obeyed.”
There is a period of adjustment that has to be observed when he gets home with the new haircut. I’m not sure why; maybe he thinks it was a punishment of some kind for something he doesn’t remember doing, but he keeps to himself for a while, laying in a corner in the living room where he can keep an eye on me. He’ll just lie there, never moving his head, only his eyes move to keep an eye on me. After a day or two he’s back to normal, pushing himself next to my chair, forcing his nose first then his head under my hand until I scratch his ears. It takes a few days longer to get rid of the perfume. The bow went away a on the ride home.
The final transition is taking him for a walk to see how embarrassed he is when meeting up with his buds. Sounds dumb I know, but you’d be surprised at the hierarchy there is amongst dogs in the neighborhood. Seamus is as independent as they come, but I swear a dog can get embarrassed.
Finally, he’s back …I better shake out my boots just in case he got even.
TD
Category Archives: About Seamus
Training
The first order of business after getting him home was to name him. The breeder’s kids called him “Stash” because he had a brown ring covering his upper lip. It seemed appropriate but just didn’t seem to fit my expectations of the new grouse go-getter. He did seem like a “Fritz”, short for Sniklefritz, a German name for a rascal. Remembering a conversation I had with my son-in-law who informed me he wanted to name his first son, my grandson, Seamus….. well, I decided the new pup would save the boy some torment growing up, so the pup became Seamus.
After a while, the name Seamus just seemed to fit. The only problem I ran into was people not knowing how to pronounce it. Most people pronounced it Seemus, leaving out the “sh” and “a” sound. I’d counter that Sean Connary isn’t called “Seen Connary”. Gradually, it caught on.
Preliminaries out of the way, it was time to begin his training. Seamus was here for one thing, or so I thought. He was here to hunt and nothing else. I paid more money for him than I had for any other dog I owned and his lineage was well documented. But as with all plans laid by mice and men, things would soon take a slightly different turn.
From the beginning, it was obvious that Seamus wasn’t the run of the mill dog. He looked like a normal Brittany, he exhibited all the characteristics of a normal dog, but there wasn’t one gene in his body that told him he was anything but his own dog. He was the alpha male.
There was a time, when I would have rolled up a newspaper and wacked him when he became defiant, but age mellows, at least it had me. In fact, the more stubborn he became the bigger the grin on my face became. After some time of feeling each other out, we settled on a routine that eventually resulted in Seamus acknowledging me as the boss ….at least I was the one driving the truck to where he could hunt.
The only part of his training that went better than I had a right to expect was his taking to finding and pointing birds. I brought him home in October and by the end of January I took him to Trapper Jim’s Hunt Club and had pheasants planted to see his reaction.
The hour and a half trip was the first foray of many Seamus and I would make to places we’d search for birds. But this one was special because he was only 20 weeks old and a puppy in every sense. It was also the trip where he developed his understanding of his place in the truck. He took over the passenger half of the front seat and to this day hasn’t relinquished it. If anyone else comes along, Seamus makes it clear they are sitting in his spot.
I had made arraignments to have birds planted in a stubble field that would cause him to work to get around in, but not so thick to discourage him. As it turned out, discouragement never entered his mind. Playfully at first he investigated the strange new smell of everything. He dug after a field mouse but gave up on it when all he got was a face full of snow. The fellow that planted the birds stayed to watch and as I turned to ask where he planted the first bird, he told me right where the dog is pointing. About ten feet ahead, there was Seamus, body erect, head and nose down, frozen in place looking at a hen pheasant. I don’t think I grinned that wide since I discovered girls. Praising him and softly repeating “whoa” I made my way along side and in front of him causing the bird to take flight. I dropped it with the second barrel of my 20 gauge and headed to retrieve it with Seamus at my heels. A mouth full of feathers later, I took the bird from him and we continued.
Seamus found and pointed all of the birds that were planted that morning. Though my shooting instinct wasn’t as good as his scenting instinct, I found out what I wanted to know. Seamus not only had the instinct to hunt, he loved it.
The ride home was less noisy than the ride there. Instead of whining and climbing over anything he could to see what was new, he was now stretched out across the passenger seat, wet to the bone, sound asleep. He passed his first test afield and he put a smile on my face that returns every time I relive the morning in my mind.
TD