I am the guy who gave up on a pointer I couldn't handle and then read where he had won a national field trial after I had given him away. That's right. No charge.

Without discounting my own stupidity about canines I still don't want Magnificent Murphy back because even if he won every field trial honor in the book I still couldn't use him. Murphy and I had different philosophies. I bought him to run big in open country--but not as big as he did. For all I know he may have hunted part of the time where the season wasn't even open and in those days he'd get lost and howl until I trudged to the scene of his embarrassment, whereupon he'd take off again before I could catch him. I considered shooting him but I couldn't get within range when I was in the mood.

Not only did Murph fail in getting me shots at birds, he ran out all the game before more considerate and less athletic dogs could get there. When he pointed it was too far away to tell what he had and by the time I could get near he would have become disgusted, busted his birds, and gone on to conquer other worlds. When a man with an electric collar and a good quarter horse got on his trail he began to win field trials. I wish him the best of luck, and hope I never see him again.

If we all judged hunting dogs by the same standards, most of them would be out of a job and some breeds would be sent to the pound en masse.

TOP DOGS ARE INCLINED to be specialists. I knew a champion skeet shot who had trained a poaching dog that ran into posted cornfields and chased the pheasants out to where he could shoot them. The man was thus a contributor to canine delinquency, making a criminal of a well-bred pointer, and I have often wondered if such degraded instincts could be made hereditary. Imagine a shoplifting poodle or a Great Dane that mugged people in alleys.

Specialized dogs are the real wonders, but I am as much impressed by those that adapt to a variety of situations. My Brittany, Kelly, although not very staunch as a pointer and infuriating as a non-retriever, worked all of the North American varieties of upland game and while other dogs may have done it, I haven't heard of them. He managed it so you got the shots, even while some of his tactics would make perfectionists weep.

Another Brittany named Michael McGillicuddy is as stylish as high button shoes but has figured out a lot of things above and beyond the call of duty. I once planned to steal him but felt it would be like kidnapping Albert Einstein and would probably give me an insurmountable inferiority complex.

In addition to his other accomplishments McGillicuddy has figured out some mind-boggling pheasant tactics. For the benefit of you disadvantaged peasants who have never hunted ringnecks, they tend to run rather than fly and have sent many a polished pointing dog to a psychiatrist. McGillicuddy knows about this and when he nails a pheasant in thick brush he figures that as the gunner comes up the bird will probably run rather than take off.

So as you approach from McGillicuddy's stub-tailed rear he will look over his shoulder to make sure you are ready and then just as you come abreast of him he jumps straight up in to the air and says, "Grr-r-r-row!" The pheasant squawks and goes and if you don't hit him it's your fault and McGillicuddy goes off to find another one. He reasons that going straight up is not breaking a point, a philosophy that might cause a bit of confusion among field trial judges.

McGillicuddy, incidentally, was entered once in a field trial and disgraced his owner. At the "breakaway" he amiably admired the judges' horses and refused to engage in any childish racing about. He did find and point all of the bobwhites that had been planted in the "bird field" but the damage was already done. Field trial dogs are not supposed to fraternize with the gallery.

NOW I HAVE HUNTED with three ruffed grouse dogs that bark when a grouse flies into a tree. This isn't unusual, I understand, and it's a good trick where I've hunted ruffs in the West. When the dog points a grouse the bird is likely to become bored with such classic tomfoolery and flutter up into the nearest tree, sometimes to sit on a lower branch and inspect the intruder. Since you might not be able to see any of this activity because of thick brush, a couple of yips from your helper are welcome.

Among the efficient but nonconformist southern dogs are the palmetto prodders, generally English pointers. I have seen some of them do their stuff--although I never met George, who I have heard was the acknowledged master of the process.

George wound point just as well as any Fancy Dan aristocrat when the covey was in a reasonable spot. Then when the bunch split up and scattered into thick palmettos, George would put on his work clothes, so to speak, and sniff them out one by one and boost them up with his nose.

Since he could point until the season closed without being found in those palmettos, George adopted a logical procedure and no trap club ever enjoyed better presented targets than those George produced one at a time. Such tactics have been used, of course, by springer spaniels and even Labradors, but they don't point the covey to begin with.

DIVERSITY OF HUNTING METHODS and areas has led to some really wild escapades by breeders, some of whom have produced wondrous things and some of whom have fouled up the whole business.

The English setter, of course, is one of the finest bird dogs, generally having a bit more affection than the pointer and wearing a longer coat for rough going. But after you hear the objectives of the various breeders you wonder at the things that are happening to the poor old setter.

Originally, I think, he was intended as a close-going workman you could follow without track shoes. Then, when some setter owners found that the pointers ran faster and farther, they began breeding to meet the competition. The result was that for some time many setters competed on even terms with pointers and took home some of the shinier hardware in the classic field trials. A few still do it although pointers seem to have the edge there and I find the phenomenon of hunters trying to turn the setters around and take them back to their former style.

In getting them slower and closer, some breeders have made them bigger--one hell of a lot bigger. I am continually startled when approaching the home of a friend of mine to be met by a setter which weighs 90 pounds when he's just had a good meal--and although I like to look down instead of up at dogs when I'm seated on a divan, I know that this canine mastodon comes from a line of dogs bred for close work and may have cost as much as all of the dogs I've owned put together.

Now the German shorthair, for example, is traditionally a heavy, slow-going plodder if you don't approve of him and a big, cautious, tight worker if you like him. But some shorthair owners looked around, decided the English pointer had something they didn't, and apparently let some speedy Englishmen under the kennel fence. The result has been some fine dogs that look like English pointers with shortened tails, go like the milltails of hell, and often have the biddability commonly associated with the more deliberate shorthair. Not everybody was satisfied with that and I've talked to some people who'd like to slow them down a little and head back in the original direction.

On the other hand, the Brittany spaniel is a pretty good pointing dog and was booked as an "old man's dog" that wouldn't lose you if your feet were sore. He's supposed to be highly adaptable and my experience is that although he may not have the nose of the pointer, he's usable at almost anything and is easy to live with because he weighs around 35 pounds.

But even I wanted one that would go a little wider sometimes and ended up with one that's too big to make the Brittany book and has lumpy muscles all over him. Just as I was basking in the admiration of people who appreciated my biggie, I heard of a new strain of Brittanies built for big country and hard going. I found the man who was breeding them and he showed me a beautiful dog that made mine look like a clod but appeared decidedly setterish. He weighed about 45 pounds, same as mine.

"This is one of the smaller ones," the breeder said. "We want a Brittany that can be seen above the weeds and that will go all day. Some of ours weigh 70 pounds."

He has some fine dogs but his ideal is beginning to sound remarkably like an English pointer with a short tail and hair like a setter.

There is no harm in any of this and the result is that you can find almost anything you want that looks like something else if you'll investigate far enough. It's a little like the guy who buys an improved cylinder shotgun because he wants it to scatter and then brags that it really throws full-choke patterns.

TIME WAS, OF COURSE, WHEN A CHEVROLET was a Chevrolet without any other names appended, and then came the time when you could get a Chevrolet with more power than a Cadillac. And the car dealer will tell you that his compact car is really larger than the competition's compact--or that his big car is really smaller and handier than the competition's big one.

All of the dog business is confusing to anyone who isn't aiming at something definite for his specific job. He may be surprised to find a German shorthair that goes over the horizon and an English pointer that makes him bowlegged by walking between his feet.

Maybe they should shake the breed names in a basket.