People are always asking me how I go about picking out a puppy. So, often having done that, I'll be glad to share my years of experience and knowledge.
First, we ought to look at some methods I've seen and heard suggested by others. These rules were primarily used for choosing Labrador retrievers, but I see no reason why they can't prevail, breed notwithstanding.
One method, and a most interesting one, was to collect all the pups in a confined space. This, luckily, happened to be in my rather barren cellar. All the puppies were gathered here together and a live mallard with shackled wings was placed in the midst of the puppies. The mallard began chasing the puppies, some pups chased the mallard back, some chased each other.
The dog I'd kind of picked out for myself just climbed upon an old wooden soda crate to watch the goings-on. In due time, the hen was extracted from underneath about three dogs and given some cracked corn to soothe her nerves. The gentleman with the duck had satisfied himself that one of the big males had taken charge, and that was the dog he wanted. The little female I liked was now asleep on the crate, obviously bored with all the uncouth carryings-on.
Two years later, the big aggressive male was just that--big and aggressive and as hardheaded as a sledge. My sleepy little pal was one of the top young dogs in our local field trial circuit and went on to become one of the finest gun dogs I'll ever own. She still slept a lot but when you asked her to do something she did it--not on her own--only when you asked her. She was a real pro.
Some people like to sort of roughhouse with the puppies and tend to like those who roughhouse back. Others like to watch the whole pack play and see who's dominant. Both methods have some reflection on the ego of the picker, but as a rule of thumb in selection of a dog, it leaves a little bit to be desired.
The most aggressive dog in the litter, if that's what you want, may be tired, bored, or feeling a hair peckish the day you come to see him do his stuff.
Another practice is to pick out a pup and put him alone in a room and see what he does. Does he slink under a chair? Does he jump up and look around to see the lay of the land? Does he cry or whine? Does he bark, demanding attention? Again, this might and might not work depending on so many things we don't understand about a puppy's thinking. I agree, however, if you could use a variety of these tests, over a period of time, you might very well be able to make a very calculated guess of what you want...I guess.
There is a semiscientific test now as well. You do certain things with the puppy and grade it on a scale of one through ten. Then you have a little test for yourself--graded from one to ten, and you try to match yourself to the dog or vice versa. It's actually a pretty good idea, but you have to be honest about yourself--if you're aggressive and hardheaded you have to admit it and not end up with a soft dog you have half-scared to death all the time...or vice-versa.
A man's personality usually turns out to be the critical factor in his selection of a puppy, anyway. It's just that it's often difficult to see yourself as others do, or as a puppy sees you.
I'm not above considering myself capable of making honest judgments about myself--both pro and con. I know my few faults, my tenuous virtues--and those that I might overlook are frequently enumerated by my closest of kin. But I come up empty when I try to solve what subconscious ebb and flow in me seeks out the puppy that is a shoe chewer, holes-in-the-lawn digger, or good furniture gnawer, with beautiful soft brown eyes. But I'm sure that's just what I want. It must be.
I won't say I'm a pushover for a pup, but I don't consider a dog spoiled if you find her sleeping on your bed, on your pillow--because when you tell her to get off, she gets off. At least she minds you.
I never objected too strongly to a dog sleeping on the furniture either, even if I was on it first. And feeding a dog at the table saves all the trouble of scraping the supper dishes into the dog pan later, anyway.
I pick a puppy by trying to figure out which one won't mind sleeping on the bed, even though there's a nice big kennel outside in the fresh air.
I like a pup that's economy-minded enough to gum around with a shoe, preferably one I'm not wearing, instead of those expensive store-bought artificial bones. I like a pup that's smart enough to be imitative--one, who when she watches you plant tulips, may amuse you by running off with the trowel, but is attentive enough to dig them all up the first time her busy schedule permits.
And suppose you're practicing your fly casting in the pond, and your baby retriever sits there watching. Her intelligent brown eyes note that part of the problem you're obviously having is in retrieving the fly line--so being an exceptionally bright young dog she pitches right in and helps. A very narrow-minded guy might take exception--but only a pessimist would say "there goes another good fly line." The true dog man smiles and comments on how quickly her retrieving instincts are showing promise.
To all of us, I'm sure a pup is as good a reason as any as to why we do the things we do. An exquisitely glum and somber November morning with its promise of pintails and mallards is just another day unless you have a pup to take along to play with. We've all bought new guns for puppies, gunning rigs for puppies, leased marshes for puppies--and that's as good a reason as I know.
But if you made me sit down and refused to freshen my glass until I told you the real reason I--and you alike--in all honesty feel this way about a little dog, I guess I'd have to say that there's a lot of little kid still somewhere not too deep inside. And I'd go a little further, while you fix my drink, and say I don't see that it's all that bad that we old dogs still have a little puppy blood ourselves.
What do I see when I look at a pup? I remember what it felt like to run barefoot; to have a secret place to sit and think. And I'm still looking for a dog to run with me when I want to run and sit and think with me when I want to sit and think. The right puppy doesn't mind that I'm not barefoot----he understands. When the right pal comes along--a puppy always knows it.
This story originally appeared in Tears & Laughter by Gene Hill. Copyright 1981 Gene Hill. All rights reserved.