It’s a cool night tonight and I ran a track for a young dog and a relatively new handler. As more often than not the finish of the track is decided by the first step the handler takes. It is uncanny to watch, as there are many ways in which that first step can be taken. As many different ways as there are different directions. Unlike competitive or sport tracking man tracking provokes a very primal set of emotions. It is the hunt awakened from within the hunter. For those who have been blessed with the opportunity to hunt you know how your wood skills and adaptation to terrain are honed by your time in the field. Soldiers during war that were raised in the country and who hunted when young were noted for their seemingly natural ability to stalk and kill when faced with the enemy. Many people today have because of popular movements permitted their Natural Abilities to be surpressed. The hunter...hunts. Too many think the human end of the lead is the dead end.... It’s not. Even vocal patterns and pitches are more communicative when the primal hunter is released in the search for the prey. All too often the dogs of the work have been left to the hands of the idle.... We see the crippled results. You can not take that first step unless you are fit and able to step into that world. The world of the hunter. Those who plod through motel hallways and boardrooms have no place in the bush behind a dog when it’s for real. Misbred... mishandled...misused and mistakes will show along the trail. Not only are we losing our desire...we are losing our natural ability to awaken that desire. Flyball is no place for herding dogs.... That’s why those dogs are no longer herding. To track man scent is the most invigorating, awakening experience one can hope to entertain in life. The field is no place for non-working dogs...that’s why sport dogs can not do it. How many real people are involved in tracking today? The first step you see is taken long before the field. I enjoyed the bush tonight.... To track a man is primitive and awakening. To hear a young dog move up on you is something money can not buy, nor words describe. These, my friends, are the nights of which we build upon.

©Mike McConnery-October 29,2003

Mike & Emmy

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