My urban spinoni are great hunters. I have learned never to think that I'm just taking them out for a fast poop, because there are several notable pigeon feeders on our block and there are always plenty of birds about. Oh, the stares we get. (Admiring, of course.) They spot a pigeon, and it's just like Niagara Falls (slowly I turned, step by step, inch by inch...) They lock up in perfect unison, and stay there.
The pigeons? "Feh," they say, and go back about their business. They don't move, the dogs won't move. Annie is no longer in the first blush of youth and can be persuaded to leave them and go on her walk, if you make an issue of it, because she knows we're not going to shoot anyone in the middle of New York. Pete, however, is young, and full of hopes and dreams -- he stays and WILLS me to do the right thing. I have to do a lot of explaining. Ten years down the line, the only hunter education class in Manhattan will be jammed with graduates of P.S. 11 who were treated to the daily sight of bird dogs in action in their formative years.
The other day, my mighty hunters decided that the pigeons did not interest them. Even though they were right in front of the playground where the pigeons parade about in great flocks, thumbing their noses at any bird dog that passes, MY little lambs were pointing the local bike rack. It turns out that among all those wheels is a tiny pile of oak leaves, the last ones that haven't blown away. In those leaves is a little family of sparrows, fluffed up like tiny tumbleweeds against January cold desolate.
The pigeons? "Feh," they say, and go back about their business. They don't move, the dogs won't move. Annie is no longer in the first blush of youth and can be persuaded to leave them and go on her walk, if you make an issue of it, because she knows we're not going to shoot anyone in the middle of New York. Pete, however, is young, and full of hopes and dreams -- he stays and WILLS me to do the right thing. I have to do a lot of explaining. Ten years down the line, the only hunter education class in Manhattan will be jammed with graduates of P.S. 11 who were treated to the daily sight of bird dogs in action in their formative years.
The other day, my mighty hunters decided that the pigeons did not interest them. Even though they were right in front of the playground where the pigeons parade about in great flocks, thumbing their noses at any bird dog that passes, MY little lambs were pointing the local bike rack. It turns out that among all those wheels is a tiny pile of oak leaves, the last ones that haven't blown away. In those leaves is a little family of sparrows, fluffed up like tiny tumbleweeds against January cold desolate.
I have my 1 year old Spinone up here in Boston, and the same thing.... He LOVES the pigeons. It is a riot and I can't help but be proud when his hunting instinct comes out even in the midst of an urban jungle.
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