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Thank you Humpty and Geno for your replies. Your insight is much appreciated. This internet thing is an amazing invention, where you can get answers to questions at a few keystrokes from halfway round the world.

Again, thank you for the information.

Best,
griz

We're all ears.

Humpty - The Springer rage phenomenon is generally acknowledged to be traced back to a particular National winning dog. Not exactly sure of the date, but it was roughly in the early 80's, so it shouldn't be related to events which may have occurred shortly after WWII. It's my opinion that many of the best working springer, cocker, and labs are being bred in the UK. They don't rely on electic collars to hide defects, and as a result their trial winners generally throw good, honest dogs. (Full disclosure - my dog was imported from Scotland about 9 years ago.) about 1300 retrieves, and also works as a therapy dog at our Childrens' Hospital

Thanks a million for the great pictures. The are fine looking dogs. Thanks for the pictures again.

Regards
M.L.
Oklahoma Panhandle

Here you go

Grandpa did not only train Grey (that was the dog's name, "grey" as the English for the colour) to hunt. He also taught him a few tricks, of the kind that are often regarded as "useless". Yet, sometimes these little things turn out to be very helpful.

Now every apartment house in the former USSR had a collection of "babkis". That's not the slang for "money", that's a degradotary name for very old and very mean women; these retired witches normally sat on benches fixed up near the entry to the house, gossip, and generally suck the blood of anyone who seemed better off that them (which meant the rest of the house). This menace still haunts most of the Russian apartment complexes. I've been told that only the upper premuim mega expensive living complexes for the New Russians are completly free of it - if so, that alone more than justifies the price.

Grandpa always tried his best to live at peace with the babkis of his house, but that was a mission impossible. At one beautiful day they went after him. What's worse, they actually went after the dog. "There ain't no food enought fer men, and they keep dogs!" was their catch phrase. It must be said that Grey's fits of aggression were always targeted at one of the family; outside he was the sweetest dog, as long as noone tried to go for his food.

But the babkis filed a complaint with the local police. In their description the little Spaniel turned into a terrifying creature, a direct descendant of the Baskerwille Hound, who always roamed the neighbourhood with blood in its eyes and death on its fangs, only looking for someone to tear into bits of torn flesh and broken bones. It was only due to the grace of the Party, that planted the town with an assortment of climbable trees, that nobody was hurt yet, but that, they concluded, was but a matter of time, unless the hellhound is executed, preferably along with its master.

An inspector was set to investigate. He came to Grandpa, and he meant business.

"Do you know" - he said as he came in, with the same intonation as if he was accusing Grandpa of multiple homicide - "that people are complaining about your dog?"

"Which dog?" - said Grandpa, motioning to Grey - "That dog?"

Grey appeared. In his mouth he carried a slipper. He laid the slipper carefully at the inspector's feet, went to the closet, and fetched another. Then he stepped aside and looked into the inspector's eyes, tail wagging, waiting for approval.

The inspector gasped.

"Would you care to have a cup of tea" - asked Grandpa politely.

"These old witches! How dare they take up our time with their totally unjustified complaints about such good people and such lovely dogs!" were the inspector's words of farewell half an hour later.

And another, which is appropriatly a Christmass story. O.K., it isn't really. It happened at New Year, but as you probably know in the bad old USSR days New Year substituted for Christmass. So here it goes.

At the time Dad was only engaged to Mom, but he was accepted at Grandpa's house as a member of the family already. They always liked each other, Grandpa and Dad, but that's neither here not there.

My parents celebrated everything in a company of their school friends, and they all were very merry boys and girls, always willing to have fun and more fun. Actually, the records of their celebrations could make a script for a top TV comic show. That New Year was one of their first.

At about 10 P.M. the host announced a context for a most unusual misical performance. Dad was very eager to win it. They were really rather musical, Mom had a classical piano education, and Dad played drums and the piano at the school dance band. Yet he thought it wasn't enough. He needed something really striking. He announced he would perform last, and quietly sneaked out.

When he returned he had Grey on the leash. Her made Grey sit on a chair, went to the piano, and announced a performance of a special guest star. Then Dad began to play "Yesterday", and the dog started to sing...

When I say "sing" I mean "sing". None of the persons present at the party, when telling the story, ever use words like "howl", "bay" or whine" to describe the sounds emitted by the dog. Grey carried the tune, never missing a single note, as well as old Paul himself. Naturally, he didn't even try to reproduce the words, just the melody - which made him, as one of the guests remarked, a sort of an opera singer.

Of course, Grey's musical ear went only so far. Some tunes left him cold, while others started a fit of loudest barking you ever heard. But with Dad at the piano, playing some slow song by the Beatles, like "Hey Jude" or "Let it Be", it was a sure thing. Grey would close his eyes, raise his snout to the skies, and start to sing along.

Great stories! My own experience of musical dogs is limited to those who harmonize with car alarms (and, back in the Bad Old Days, air raid sirens, remember those?). My old Golden Retriever used to "sing" whenever I touched the basement door handle, since he knew that was where I kept the birdguns....not exactly musical, however.

What great stories, thanks for sharing.

Alex

Humpty Dumpty:

Thank you very much for your stories. You have a gift for telling a tale, and the small insights into life on the other side of the world make it all the more pleasurable to read.

Glenn