Chloe, my corgi/bird dog mutt, tries to do it all - that’s what you get when you combine pointing, herding, and flushing breeds into one squatty package.
Each of Chloe’s four legs is just about five inches long. I know because I finally pulled out the tape and measured them. Her corgi stature makes it a challenge to observe her when she’s in “bird dog mode,” compulsively working the fields and forests searching for anything with feathers.
Chloe’s obsession with birds is her driving force. I discovered her love for everything that flies - including moths, kites, helicopters, and jet liners – not long after I adopted her from the Heart of the Valley Animal Shelter in Bozeman.
My two dogs and I spent our first evening with Chloe camped out along the Missouri River - I thought it would be a good place for all of us to bond. After just a few minutes walking along the water, Chloe displayed a surprising instinct. When she spotted a flock of geese in the tall brush, her eyes locked on the waterfowl; she raised a foreleg and her stubby tail and calmly extended her head and nose in a straight line towards the quarry. She stood frozen in silence for several minutes until the geese lifted off of the grassy banks, flapping and honking their way down river.
I knew in the future I would rarely catch Chloe exhibiting such a perfect point – it’s almost impossible to see her in the grass. For most hunters, such a petite pointer is a worthless pointer. But every time I happen to spot her in the instinctual act, I tell her, “What a fine, fine bird dog you are…” It’s the thought that counts, right? And she seems to like the recognition.
A few weeks after I learned that I now own a pointer, I stopped to walk the dogs in a cemetery near Tracy and found out I also have a high altitude herding dog.
As Jigs and Chloe milled around the overgrown headstones in search of rabbits, a plane flew overhead. Chloe heard the noise above, cranked her head back, and stared straight up into the sky – something I rarely see dogs do – and then took off after the jet. She followed in hot pursuit, yipping and yowling, until both she and the aircraft became tiny dots in the far distance. And then they vanished from sight. Borage, Jigs, and I ran after Chloe as she “tailed” the runaway plane. “This is ridiculous,” I thought. I’ve trained dogs not to chase cars, but never jetliners.
When Chloe has more pressing distractions closer to ground level, flying objects become less tantalizing. Her instinct to put her bionic nose to work flushing birds usually outweighs her desire to herd stray cows, kids, or helicopters. Her stumpy tail is a flagging machine when she’s onto a covey – I really should mount one of those tall orange pennants that you put on the back of a bicycle to her tail. Even though you rarely see her, you know she’s zigzagging back and forth, back and forth across the fields – pheasants and partridge and grouse explode like rockets from the dense meadows, signaling that “Chloe was here.”
Last week as we were walking through the fields bordering the Helena Reservoir, I came across two hunters with a tall, handsome German Shorthair Pointer working the area all around them. The dog loped along with a powerful, yet graceful gait – he was a pro, for sure. Suddenly out of nowhere in the opposite direction of the hunters’ fine dog, a group of grouse blasted up from the brush. “Sorry,” I told the hunters. “My invisible bird dog is kicking up your game.”
When Chloe came back to me, I picked her up to carry her in the opposite direction – I didn’t want to ruin their hunt any more than we already had.
“You got a shotgun?” one of the men asked me.
“No,” I said. “But I’ve been thinking about it…”
“Well, you should get yourself one – go ahead and make that short, little bird dog’s day.”
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