It was in the fall of 1944 that a neighbor of ours in Cleveland asked me to go pheasant hunting with him. Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity since I preferred the peacefulness of the meadows and streams to the clamor of competitive sports.

Frank Valent had always shared his game with our family and now I was going to experience first hand how he and his pheasant dog (an English Setter named 'Laddie') worked as a team. The food they brought home for the table was far superior to the rubber chicken and horse meat that was the only food available to civilians due to the war.

I can still visualize that first day with Laddie staunch on point, and the rooster (pheasant) cackling as he flew straight up and then leveled off horizontally for his getaway. Just as the bird appeared to have made his escape from man and dog, Frank shot one time. The pheasant seemed to stop in mid-air and hang there for a moment before he dropped out of the blue sky and landed right smack in a blackberry patch. I was transfixed by it all and more than likely my mouth was hanging open and was ready to catch flies.

Frank must have called "Junior...Junior...JUNIOR!" five or six times before I snapped to my senses. Then what he said to me (again, several times) caused my mouth to shut and opened my eyes to the fact that the only reason Frank asked me to go hunting with him was because his dog, Laddie, would not fetch the pheasant. I was to be a substitute dog named "Junior" and retrieve his birds from the briar patches.

Each time I retrieved a pheasant, Frank would shoot his 12 gauge shotgun, toss the bird, drag Laddie over to it, open the dog's mouth, cram the pheasant into Laddie's mouth, and say 'fetch, fetch' over and over. At that very moment I felt how Laddie must have felt with this huge bundle of feathers stuffed into his mouth and blocking off his breathing (to some degree). To make matters worse, it was an extremely hot day.

By putting myself in the dog's place (which at the time had to be totally intuitive) I discovered the cornerstone of my philosophy of dog training and canine behavioral psychology. That cornerstone is called Mutual Respect, and has proved itself in all aspects of training, psychoanalyzing, and therapeutic reprogramming of vicious and dangerously vicious and shy dogs that all other dog experts considered to be hopeless, genetically defective cases that should be destroyed. One classic case was a Springer Spaniel that was considered beyond help due to Springer Rage Syndrome (see the book Jelly Bean vs. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde).

In the competitive field, Mutual Respect was most instrumental in receiving the Canine Distinction Award for AKC Obedience in 1957 and for holding a National Retrieving Champion for 1962, 1963, and 1964 (with a perfect 500 point score in 1962).

It has been over 60 years since the fall day that "Junior" retrieved his first pheasant and discovered Mutual Respect. The principles have never needed to be changed, only enhanced and expanded.

(By the way, for the record, I did teach Laddie how to retrieve,
and I never had to play the retriever substitute again!)

C.W. Meisterfeld Ph.D

This article was excerpted from Dog Whisper: Intuitive Communication by C.W. Meisterfeld. Copyright C.W. Meisterfeld 1999.

Not to be reprinted or used in any form without
the express reprint rights from the publisher.

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