a cocker pointer?

My wife is visiting family, deep in the mountains of Pennsylvania.  When I first saw it, I exclaimed that if you got lost, they wouldn’t find your body for months, if not years.  And the people there make me look clean and respectable.

For some strange reason I couldn’t go along.  It must be because I have to work.  Yeah, that’s it - work.   Never mind my twenty five weeks of accumulated vacation - I have to work.   It’s not that I don’t like the mountains: it’s just that I hate the mountains.  It’s not near civilization.   You have to drive forty minutes to get to McDonalds (and I can’t stand McDonalds).  McDonalds is one of the few agencies on the planet that can violate established laws of physics: the food comes out faster than it goes in.

So I’m a bachelor.  This is supposed to be a good thing.  But I’m not your stereotypical husband - I actually like my wife.   She is the one who drives, sitting on the couch with the remote control.

I also like my dog, Marshall (see above bar).   Marshall had to go with his mommy this time because I can’t give him the attention he’s used to.  Plus dogs are really supposed to love the outdoors, although you’d never know it when he’s at home.  The outdoors are nothing more than a Doggie Bathroom: he prefers the Great Indoors.  He must’ve gotten that from my side of the family.

Marshall is a black cocker spaniel, the third rescue we adopted (thus proving we don’t learn well or quickly).  He’s partly stereotypical cocker - he’s adorable, loves everyone, and appears to be more like a teddy bear than a dog.  He’s also way too smart.  His retention and tenacity come into play when scouting for his favorite toys/snacks: used tissues.  If I use a tissue and throw it away before bed, he wakes up in the morning and runs right over to retrieve it and shred it.   He monitors used napkins on tables and my wife.  As soon as she turns her attention away, he launches himself at the table for a tasty treat.  I have never seen this behavior before.

So Marshall is having a great time at the mountains.  He saw his first lake, which met with instand approval (and instant immersion).  This was no surprise, as he’d swim in his water bowl if it were big enough.  My wife can’t let him in the bathroom while she bathes, lest he hop in the tub (he did).   He’s enjoying the woods and the neighborhood.  He’s even getting along with a large yellow lab, who’s the perfect big lug.

My wife called to let me know that he had somehow turned into a pointer.  They were out walking and he froze where he was, paw up in the air, sniffing.  It happened a few more times, to her great amusement.

This morning I am informed that my wife knows the reason for this: he’s tracking bear.

What?

He’s tracking bear.

Yesterday he assumed the position (pointing), sniffed a bit, then launced himself right for the woods, where the bears come around at night.   Fortunately for Marshall (and my wife), this was during daylight.

My dog, hunting bear.

There’s something wrong with this picture.  It might not even be my dog.  I say this because this is the dog who only wants to be with his mommy.  The dog who understands how to lay on the floor, but prefers the leather recliner.  The dog who sleeps around my wife’s head like a fuzzy umbrella.  The dog who can’t bear to see the cat getting attention, so he leaps over him into someone’s lap.  The dog who is so happy to see you, he squeaks.

I suppose it just surprises me when my dog acts like a dog.  Perhaps I should call him Brian.