Barked Out

We humans have innumerable ways to describe getting “what for” from a boss, a parent, a teacher or someone above us in the chain of command as a result of some mistake, misdemeanor, peccadillo, misdeed or indiscretion. 

We say we were “chewed out,” “called on the carpet,” “dressed down,” “read the riot act,” “upbraided,” “tongue lashed,” “braced against the bulkhead” (that one well known to old sailors and coasties!), “lambasted” and so on.  

But anyone who has engaged in some sort of performance or field activity or hunted with their dog has also most likely been on the receiving end of canine displeasure as a result of something the dog viewed as sinful. For creatures that can’t speak any language known to humans, dogs are remarkably effective at getting their displeasure or disgust across, even to the most obtuse owners. 

Often this rebuke consists of the dog giving the human offender “the look,” which is sometimes accompanied by some serious barking that, if you are even just slightly perceptive, you instantly recognize as canine cuss words. Some even carry their annoyance with whatever you did or didn’t do a step further and impose some sort of punishment.

A great example of a dog who acted as prosecutor, jury and judge was my cantankerous old master hunter Brittany. Her pique was legendary among my hunting partners, and she was never sufficiently assuaged by a mere disapproving look. The sweetest dog ever around the house, she turned into the wrathful queen of hearts from “Alice in Wonderland” in the field, and like her alter ego, she frequently went around in the field in the “blind fury” that Lewis Carroll ascribed to his fictional queen.  

She reserved her special choler for whenever her hunting partners failed to perform to her standards. In her world, a mortal sin was failing to make a shot accurate enough to kill a bird, or at least put enough of an end to its flight so she could chase it down and catch it, after she had found, pointed and held that bird long enough for her shotgun-toting partners to get in range. Then, “in high dudgeon” would not accurately describe her outrage. She would administer the sort of punishment she equated with the queen’s “off with their heads” by pointing several birds and holding them until the hunters were about 70 yards away — in other words, just outside maximum range for most shot shells. Then she would give the hunters a canine smirk and bust the bird. Only after this punishment had been administered several times would she relent and give her hunting partners another chance to redeem themselves. But God help anyone who failed to take advantage of this one opportunity for redemption!

A couple of years ago, I interviewed an English Setter owner whose dog had his Senior Hunter title and had his own way of expressing his displeasure when his owner missed what the dog believed was a very makeable shot. While the setter’s owner confessed that he was a long way from being a champion wingshooter, he said he didn’t regularly miss birds his dog had pointed. But when he did, the setter would administer a rebuke by stamping his front paws and barking at his owner. 

The setter’s owner noted that he’d been chewed out more than once in human interactions, but never by a dog — until this particular setter came along. He added that this was one time he was happy he couldn’t understand “dog talk,” because he was sure what the setter was saying was profane.

A lady I know told about their Irish Water Spaniel’s reaction when her husband failed to shoot at a large covey of quail the dog had found.  “My husband was so stunned by the number of birds in the covey that he could pick out one to shoot, and so not a shot was fired,” she said. “The dog didn’t take kindly to that error after he had worked so hard to find the covey. With no shots fired and thus nothing for him to retrieve, our dog very slowly turned his head and gave my husband a glare that would have stopped a grizzly bear in its tracks. We had to be very contrite before he forgave us.”

Another hunter I know who has Boykin Spaniels earned a rebuke from his dog while hunting doves. Even on days when they’re not approaching Mach 1 on the wing, doves are notoriously difficult to hit, and I have often contended that dove seasons were just a plot by the ammunition companies to improve their bottom lines. 

As is usually the case when dove hunting, the Boykin’s owner was missing a lot more birds than he hit. The dog sat patiently through all the missed shots until finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. She walked over to the bucket that contained the few doves that had been hit during this hunt, picked one out and brought it to her owner, clearly attempting to remind him what they were supposed to be hunting that day. 

The owner said everything about her — her body language, her facial expression — said, “Look, stupid, this is what we’re hunting today. Now try and get a few on the ground.”

My Chesapeake Bay Retrievers have all had a not-very-subtle way of letting me know that they’re displeased, which they employ with “the look” if I miss too many shots in a row on ducks and geese. They first glare at me with that look that everyone who hunts with a dog recognizes. Then they turn their back on me, curl up in the bottom of the boat or the blind and, in essence, say, “Let me know if you ever hit one and I’ll go get it for you.”

It’s not just hunting dogs that find a need to chastise their owners. A friend who is into dock diving with her Doberman Pinscher recounted a time when she was taken to task by her dog after a rotten (her word, not mine) throw. 

“My Dobie, like all dock divers, takes off when I give him the release command, and he follows my dummy throw into the water. Well, this one time, the dummy slipped when I threw it, and instead of landing out ahead of the dog in the water ‘down range’ from the dock, it hooked off to the left and was only about three feet from the dock end of the pool. In other words, it was about 90 degrees to the left and well behind what would have ordinarily been my dog’s line to the dummy, practically in line with the end of the dock. I probably couldn’t make a throw like that deliberately if I tried for a month nonstop. 

“Somehow, my dog managed to twist his body in the air so he came down more or less on a line to the dummy. But when he returned with the dummy, it was obvious not just to me but the entire gallery that he was not pleased with my throwing effort.” 

Instead of coming to heel and handing his owner the dummy as he usually does, the Dobe dropped it about six feet from her, glared at her and gave her several very angry barks, then promptly sat with his back to both his handler and the dummy. 

“What was even worse was that a friend of mine was doing a video of his go, and she captured the entire episode. At the next meeting of our local Doberman club, the featured ‘entertainment’ was the dog’s and my dock-jumping performance. I fear it will be a long time before I’m allowed to live that one down.”  

While catching hell from the dog often means there’s a bird involved somewhere, this isn’t always the case, as my late, long-time friend discovered to his dismay when he was beset by his furious Labrador Retriever on one side and by his equally irate wife on the other. 

When the dog tangled with a skunk at their northwoods cabin, there was a need to rid the dog of the skunk odor as soon as possible since the dog was a house dog both at home and at the cabin. Unfortunately, a quick survey of the cabin medicine cabinet and the cupboard with dog stuff revealed no de-skunking compounds. 

The only possible skunk-odor removal in the entire cabin was what the Lab’s owner thought was a can of tomato juice. As most people with a skunked dog discover too late, that is worse than nothing, because all you wind up with is a dog that smells like skunk and tomato. But the Lab’s owner was desperate, not just because of the stink coming off the dog but also because his wife was due at the cabin at any minute.

So, without turning the lights on or paying much attention to the contents of the can, the lab’s owner began smearing the contents on the dog. Only then did he notice that there were a lot of tomato chunks in the juice.  

When the dog realized that what was being smeared on him was tomato chunks, he gave his owner a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look, followed by a vigorous shake, which sent pieces of tomato all over the cabin walls and a substantial portion of the furniture, as well as the guy applying the tomatoes. Before he could react and get either himself or the cabin cleaned up, his wife arrived, walked into the cabin and on seeing the mess, gave him “the look.” Except, in this case, the look said, “You’re damned lucky this cabin is so remote it’s impossible to have a divorce lawyer on speed dial.” 

Fortunately for the Lab’s owner, both the dog and his marriage survived the experience, but he always maintained that it took months before he was allowed to crawl out of his wife’s doghouse or be forgiven by his dog.