HOW THE BEAGLE MAN WOUND UP WITH A DUCK TOLLER

I’m not even supposed to be thinking about another dog yet.  That’s what was in my head after Ricky, the World’s Most Handsome, Most Lovable, and Most Stubborn Beagle, passed away in April, 2014.  I’d always heard that when your dog dies, you’re so disconsolate that thoughts of the next dog are unimaginable.  But that’s not what happened with me.  Through Ricky, I’d so learned the joy of life with a dog — he was my first — that I couldn’t fathom life without one.

And so, Project Future Dog was launched . . . almost right away.  That process, as those who know me well could surmise, would not be short, nor would it be simple.

Of course, I started a file on every breed I was considering; that goes without saying.  German Shepherd.  Husky.  Golden. Cavalier King Charles.  (There were others, I’m sure, but I seemed to have tossed the files when the project was completed, which is very not like me.)  Yes, I know what you’re thinking:  If you loved Ricky so much, why not just look for another Beagle?  Well . . . one of the things I found most striking in my 11 years of Ricky-walking was how often I’d hear, “Oh, he’s so cute! first My first dog was a Beagle.”  Seems that Beagles are a lot of people’s first dogs, but not often their second, or third.  And I was about to join this one-and-done club.  Because, yes, Beagles are adorable.  And yes, Beagles are lovable.  But there’s the stubbornness, the food obsession, the scent fixation.  Behind that sweet face — let’s just say they’re not as easy as they look.

One thing I knew is that I wanted a larger dog.  One that was handsome, athletic, and not high-maintenance.  German Shepherd came to mind.  Luke, a Shepherd, belonged to our friend Mark, and he was wonderful.  But Carol didn’t want a large dog.  Also, she was a little bit fearful of Shepherds.  She told me, since I’d become accustomed to people stopping me over Ricky’s cuteness, that I wouldn’t like it if they seemed afraid, or even crossed the street, at the sight of my “scary-looking police dog.”

Putting aside the merits of her case, when my wife objects to one of my plans, unless it’s something I really, really want to do, it’s just not worth the aggravation.  There would be no German Shepherd.  Back to the drawing board.

Of course there was Everybody’s Favorite — the Golden Retriever.  Our good

friend Lang had a Golden — always had a Golden — and swore by them.  My trainer at the gym had one, too.  And the guy behind the counter at the dry cleaners.  Lovely dogs, all.  But big.  If I really wanted to mollify Carol, and go for a small breed, I suppose the Cavalier would do the job.  Drop-dead gorgeous, those little critters.  But awfully small.  I wanted to go bigger than Ricky; the Cavalier was actually smaller.

Enter the Buhund.  Never heard of it, right?  Think Akita, but half the size.  Carol’s colleague at work had one — called Gustav (or “Goose”) — and Carol was in love with that animal.  Referred to him as the perfect dog.  So I started doing a little  Wikipedia-ing.  And the first thing I noticed is that the breed is not simply a Buhund, but a Norwegian, or Norsk, Buhund.  Norway!  My favorite country!  Male Buhunds, I learned, go about 30-to-40 pounds, also right on target.  They’re “extremely lovable and are known for their love of children.”  All right!  No one crossing the street at the approach of my dog.  I arranged to meet and “interview” Gustav, and he was indeed, a very cool dude.

When I noted here on BEAGLE MAN that the Norwegian Buhund had climbed to the top rung in the standings in Project Future Dog, I received this comment (below) from a follower:

I was fascinated by your write-up of the Norwegian Buhund — sounded like a perfect little dog that I would consider for myself.  So I did a little research on the internet.  Those photos of the Buhund pups were adorable.  But then I noticed that all of them have those tightly curled-up tails.  Which means that, well from behind, you’re always looking at their . . . butt-holes.  Not all that attractive. — Kathleen M.

An unusual way of looking at things, to be sure, but hindsight (get it?) is 20/20.  I just could no longer see these Scandinavian dogs the same way.  The Buhund, sorry to say, was no longer the front-runner.

On and on the project dragged until I got another reader comment that changed, well — everything.  It came from Zelia, one of my writing students.  Zelia, like many of my writers, has been with me for years, and we’ve come to know quite a bit about one another.  So when Zelia suggested that I strongly consider the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, I took notice.  “My youngest daughter has one,” she added, “and adores him.”

I phoned her daughter, Jayne, who said she’d been introduced to Duck Tollers via her “obsession with agility competitions.”

She’s been training dogs since the early 1980s.  Of her own current Toller, Motor (what a spot-on name for a Duck Toller, I’ve since discovered!), she told me, he’s “my companion, trick monster, hiking buddy, and play-ball guy.”  Everything she touched on about Tollers — their energy level, their intelligence, their athleticism, their desire to please — was money.  Males tend to weigh between 45 and 50 pounds, so they checked that box, as well.  The only thing that remained was for me to see one, up close and personal.  I located a Toller owner in Weston, the next town over from Westport, and arranged a look-see.  Yup, the  little red duck dog (as they’re proudly called by Nova Scotians, I’d learn later) was the one for me.

I looked into kennels in New Jersey, and New York, and Minnesota — but along the way I

became fixated on the idea that if I’m going to get a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling retriever, it would be really cool to go up to Canada and get one from Nova Scotia.  I hooked up with Saltydog Kennels in Ardoise (about an hour’s drive from Halifax), followed their August litter daily (more accurately, multiple times daily) on puppy cam, and flew up with oldest son Matt for a bike-riding and dog-searching visit in September.  While I chatted with Steve, the breeder, one of the four-week-old puppies was doing all he could to eat my shoelaces, my sneakers, and my ankles.  Like all his litter-mates, he had white paws and a white chest, but he also had an adorable little white blaze on the tip of his nose.  I told Steve that was the pup I’d had my eye on during my puppy cam sessions.  His face lit up.  “Funny you should say that.  Based on everything you told me in your questionnaire, Green Collar is the one I’d earmarked for you.”

So that was that.  The dog formerly known as Green Collar would now be Kemba.

And the rest is history.

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