The Day the Dogs Lost

We know-it-all outdoor writers like to project an aura of absolute competence. If you read enough hunting and firearms literature, you’ll start to believe every writer lives in a pristine cabin tastefully decorated with big game trophies, a rack of flawless antique shotguns and a kennel full of immaculate, perfectly disciplined bird dogs that obey whispered commands and hand signals from a mile away.

Allow me to shatter that illusion.

Long before I was writing about firearms full-time, I was just another desperate hunter locked in a daily battle of wits against two lawless canine insurgents. Looking back at those early days as a dog owner, I am reminded that the relationship between a man, his canines and outdoor technology has always been a rocky one.

In fact, looking back at the journals from my early days reminded me of just how ugly the battle for supremacy inside the fence line can get.

I have always been deeply envious of families who own real dogs. You know the type: intelligent, faithful, fiercely loyal, obedient creatures content to sit lovingly at your feet beside a roaring fire on a cold winter night. Our friends had a dog named Molly, like that, who could probably solve quadratic equations and instinctively knew which fork to use for the salad course.

Instead, we had Jake The Wonder Dog and Wolf.

Rogues Gallery

To be fair, our dogs fulfilled their primary missions reasonably well. Jake, a veteran retriever, was responsible for locating downed birds and bringing them back to the blind. However, he was rapidly reaching the age where he’d look at me after a shot with an expression that clearly said, “You shot it, pal. You go get it.”

Wolf, an Alaskan Husky and the newest member of the crew, was brought on board to assist in those moments when one dog wasn’t generating enough household pandemonium. Wolf was a fine specimen of young male doghood, and under Jake’s careful corrupting, he was also rapidly becoming completely unmanageable.

Our problems stemmed from the fact both dogs were entirely lawless. While they occasionally submitted to the absolute will of Yours Truly — Master of the Realm and Keeper of the Kibble — they were equally happy to flatten smaller family members while running pell-mell toward the horizon. Their high-speed flights were usually only halted when they proved too stupid to avoid the local dogcatcher.

In this regard, Jake, if he were human, would be known as a “repeat offender” and likely to get 30 years hard time on his next encounter with the law.

Combined with their natural talents for excessive barking, generalized kennel destruction, and a collective personality that would be described as “busy” if they were human children, they weren’t really part of the family — they were an occupying force.

We searched desperately for answers to the myriad behavioral problems. We bought books, watched videos, sought out high-priced experts and spent more time in obedience training than we did with our actual human children. The end result was always the same: each evening, our neighbors would gather on their porches to enjoy the chaotic, gladiatorial spectacle of daily feeding time.

One expert consultant summed up our situation best: “If I were you, I’d move and not tell the dogs.”

Modern Miracle

Everything changed when we finally decided to purchase that modern miracle of animal training: the invisible fence.

The concept behind this device is simple. A wire buried along the perimeter of your yard sends out a radio signal detected by a special collar worn by the dog. As the dog approaches the boundary, he is warned by a series of increasingly frantic beeps. If he continues to ignore the warning, he is given what the owner’s manual calls “a mild electrical correction.” Over time, the dogs are supposed to recognize the boundary markers and stay within the safe zone.

I was highly skeptical and deeply concerned that this fairly expensive system would be entirely useless against Jake, a dog known to gnaw through solid concrete out of sheer boredom. I fully assumed he would walk right up to the boundary, take the shock, and look back at me like, “Huh. Is that the best you got, Chief?”

How wrong I was.

After showing the dogs the new boundaries, I unclipped their leashes and released them into the yard. The reaction from each beast was fascinating from a behavioral standpoint — and, frankly, hilarious from the slightly sadistic viewpoint of a man who had spent years chasing them through the muddy fields in the middle of the night, constantly apologizing to the neighbors.

Flight and Fallout

Wolf was a happy-go-lucky soul with zero pretensions of being an Alpha male. I caught him just as he attempted to sneak next door to visit his new girlfriend. Channeling my inner police officer, I bellowed, “STOP!”

True to form, Wolf glanced over his shoulder then, feigning sudden deafness, took another step. The results were immediate and dramatic.

When the collar issued its “mild correction,” Wolf launched straight into the air like a Polaris missile, executed several impressive mid-air twists and attempted to gain altitude as he streaked back to the absolute safety of his doghouse. Once inside, he stuck just his nose and one suspicious eye out of the doorway. The bewildered look on his face made his thoughts entirely transparent: “How in the heck did you do that from all the way over there?”

Jake was a completely different story. Being the stubborn old hand, he confidently strode up to the line, gave me a clear dismissive look and boldly stepped across.

I will omit the graphic details of his immediate physical reaction, except to say that it created quite a bit of distasteful cleanup work. On the bright side, the grass in that particular section of the yard was much greener for the rest of the season.

Peace Dividend

Within a week, the transformation in our dogs was nothing short of miraculous. Allowed to roam the yard free from tethers, leashes and kennels, they became much happier, calmer and genuinely fun for our kids to be around. For the first time in years, we became that picturesque, happy family with pets lying contentedly at our feet as the sun went down.

While I don’t universally advocate for electronic training collars due to their high potential for misuse by irresponsible owners, the invisible-fencing concept certainly saved my two outlaws from a one-way trip to the county pound — or worse.

Besides, I can tell you from personal experience that the shock really isn’t that bad.

I discovered this firsthand while carrying both collars in my left hand during a walk from the garage to the backyard. I am happy to report that I eventually regained almost full use of that arm.

Modern Takeaway

Decades have passed since Jake and Wolf ran the perimeter of my yard, and I have officially outlived every single four-legged culprit from that chaotic era of my life.

Today, we have satellite-guided GPS collars which have microprocessors that can track a dog’s heart rate from three counties away, and selectable shock levels ranging from a polite tap on the shoulder to a setting known as “Horse Defibrillator.” The gear has evolved, becoming safer, smarter, and infinitely more humane than what I had to work with.

But as I look at the sleek, high-tech training systems on the market today, I smile because no matter how advanced the microchips get, they still have to contend with the oldest, most stubborn force on the planet: a bird dog who thinks he knows better than you do.

Then again, at least he didn’t try to carry two shock collars out of the garage.

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