The good news – Luke has landed. I’m sure that if a squirrel passed by on the telephone line he would follow it forever. Otherwise, he likes lying on the front lawn in the shade of the plum tree until something more interesting, like a guided walk, comes up on the agenda. In every way he has become willing to accede to any reasonable request. Granted, never give an order unless you believe it will be followed.


Therefore, keep it reasonable. He’s a hunter. He loves stalking the local squirrels and is overjoyed when he can chase a turkey or a duck. Good thing I like sharing that with him. As for actually hunting with him, we would probably both embarrass ourselves. He chases and doesn’t want to give if he catches. I told you about the stinky dead crow which was still intact enough to squeak when mouthed? Natural squeaky toy…

I’m a lousy shot. Told you about the hunting day of my youth when the people working the old Brittany got 7 pheasant… and the golden chasing ’em down the ditches caught and brought back 5? If I take him hunting, it will be where I think an audience unlikely.


btw – Whatever has been achieved this year has mostly been through love and affection. I may have tapped him a couple times, but never actually swatted, much less hit, him. Treats only work around home. When he’s “on duty” he isn’t interested. He has frequently hit the end of the leash, but we both agree that just is what it is. He now understands “whoa” is a warning that he’s running out of slack in his expando-leash.


We’ve had a couple short Sierra excursions. He has excellent camp manners and is beside himself with excitement being in the country. He tried trout fishing but the little guys were too quick for him. Whatever; he loves splashing around in the Tuolumne*.


Bad news is limited and neither unusual or significant. Poor guy probably got a foxtail or something like which dug in under his collar and abscessed. Ugly and worrisome for his people but it never slowed him down. He loves the peanut butter in which I bury his antibiotics. Associated bad news is that until that is healed up we can’t wander inour wilder trajectories.


Around home he has become something of a drama queen, but you could consider that a floor show. He sings for his supper. Not really, just for treats and dessert. The vet likes his weight so we must not be overdoing it (And my doc likes mine, down 12# so far this year. Need a personal trainer? I recommend a Brittany…)


Cheers, Charles & Luke