1977 United States Open Brittany Championship
By Sam Clements
Red River Lady, white and orange Brittany Spaniel female, owned by Doyle E. Bradford of Oklahoma City and handled by Marc Appleton, bested a field of twenty Brittanies 'to win the U. S. Brittany Open Championship that commenced March 21 at the Lake Murray grounds, Ardmore, Okla.
The companion Victoire Nationale Brittany Derby Classic attracted a field of sixteen and was won by Gun Runner’s Texas Express, Brittany male, owned by Mike Boydston of Olathe, Kan., and handled by Jon Anderson.
Ten years ago, Delmar Smith of Edmond, Okla., was, from the standpoint of activity and usefulness, a young man. Today he is younger. The man is as ageless and as timeless as the Oklahoma Hills.
During the running of the fifteenth annual renewal of the U.S. Brittany Championship that was just concluded, Delmar Smith graciously agreed to come down to the Ramada Inn in Ardmore, possibly the best water hole ever to host a bird dog club— spacious rooms big enough for a birdfield, good food, wonderful service and people who hurt when you hurt and learn your name— to assist the reporter in developing the purpose, background and history of the United States Brittany Championsip Association.
After three hours of the most interesting discussion you could imagine, it was obvious that Delmar’s thinking about this, or any other worthwhile bird dog organization, starts and stops in exactly the same place: The betterment of the breed.
For starters, he mentioned that the first and foremost purpose of any bird dog is that of a hunting dog; a field trial dog is nothing more than a hunting dog— only more so. Said another way, “If you have a hunting dog that fires away for thirty minutes and then quits, what have you got?” A good question. Accordingly, the first consideration of the Championship Association was a searching for endurance— a dog that could hang in there for a full hour and finish strong and going away.
Endurance, Delmar continued, like most other desirable qualities in a dog, has a great deal to do with breeding. For example, the only sure-fire way to develop a first class dog— and it by no means always works— is the breeding of proven adults to proven adults and a constant searching for certain physical characteristics. Eyes, for example, that set back in the head so that a dog can tear through cover without damage to its seeing apparatus. This eliminates the pop-eyed dog. Delmar commented that the first impression of high and well forward tail positioning is for style and looks; however, from a more practical point of view, such desirable tail placement actually lengthens back leg muscle and gives the dog considerably more pushing room with his back running gear. The front leg, he told me, has a reaching capacity of about 45° forward and if we can breed a dog with a natural 40° forward front leg placement (rather than straight up and down) we actually double the efficiency of the pulling machinery. Makes sense. There was a discussion of the fact that many bird dogs, by family tradition, have difficulty breathing properly and therefore run “hot.” The trick, it seems, is to look for dogs that breathe free and easily. It is interesting to note that it is possible to breed a dog with a “well-up-forward” toenail positioning so that he can take the country apart without tearing them; and a dog with enough chest room to allow for the expansion of the outer lining of the heart during heavy exercise. This is important and eliminates the necessity of starting and stopping so that the dog can stay out there bird hunting.
How successful, one might wonder, after fifteen years, has the Championship been? Let me tell you first hand, considerably so. Show me a dog that has really put something worthwhile together during this period of time and I’ll show you a dog with the Association’s— and equally likely, Delmar Smith’s— tracks right behind him.
Though the track is a little worn, it is not amiss to say that the dedication and hard work of the people who run the Championship make it go. John Doak, the capable and dedicated president of the Association, and his beloved Mama Annie, work endlessly for the betterment of the club. There is not a better club secretary around than Dr. C. T. Young. The club has been completely worthwhile and, from the standpoint of its original and present purpose of the betterment of the breed, has been gloriously successful. Some of us do, however, need to stop here and now and take another look at our hole card. We need to reapprise ourselves of the fact that the witnessing of the running of a National Championship is a rare and bountiful privilege— not unlike the borning of a new day at sunrise or the coming of the night when the day is gone. There are only so many, you know. Frightfully few, in fact. We need to know again that there are, from a spectator’s or a participant’s point of view, a couple of ways to go about this: sleep late, hang around the cantina all afternoon and then try to button-hole a judge or a reporter or a passer-by and find out what happened; or ride every jump of every brace and don’t be afraid to risk life and limb getting to a dog that has something going. The difference is the difference between first-hand and second-hand bird-dog information. Second-hand information is dangerous. And too, staying out there among ’em eliminates the constant, forever and everlasting griping— mostly about substantially nothing.
This is, let’s face it, a bird dog Championship and we never hear the dogs complaining.
An able trio of respected sportsmen presided for the titular running: R. D. (Bob) Danley of Oklahoma City, Harold D. Davis, of Arlington, Tex., and Elmer E. Pillers of Dallas, Tex.
One Hour Qualifying Series
The first brace went into a howing wind which became progressively stronger as the day went on, reaching ultimate velocity of 40 to 50 mph. The icy blasts coming off the water onto the exposed ridges made a horse tighten its girth and a rider hunker down into his coat.
Each course is made up of great rolling hill country where a dog can let it all out and go, and tight wooded country which requires that a dog handle a bit to stay in the ball park. It is a peaceful land and a half-mile off the pavement and a few hundred yards off a dirt road; you could be, with a little imagination, in any century of any age. The silence of the grounds is, save for the lonesome wail of a lonesome handler here and there, and the clop of the horses’ hooves, the silence of a million years.
Ringo De Britt— Orphan Boy of Destry.— Ringo got out of the gate nicely and went bird hunting. The dog was long enough, wide enough, always to the front and handled kindly for the entire hour, He stood loftily on a point at the water’s edge at 35, but no birds could be moved. Orphan Boy never got it going, was considerably short, tough on the bends, looped some and went birdless, with an unproductive at 24.
Dr. Scott’s Tough Enough— Big Red of Texas.— Doctor did not look like his usual good self. Most surely he went blazing around the countryside, but acted a little spooked about something; managed to keep a tree or some object between himself and the handler and looked ragged. Tex, a likable young dog that was doubling in brass and running in both the Championship and the Derby, got into an unfortunate jam at twenty. He got out and going quickly and put together an almost perfect clog race. He came up out of a draw, crossed in front of handler and banged tight and hard into a point out on the side of a hill. When Roach went in, his horse followed him tight on the dog. A fellow pro, in attempting to get the horse out of the way, added, without intending to do so, the confusion. When the other handler rode behind the dog at the same instant and Roach took the birds a little wide and flew them directly back over the dog’s head, it was too much. Tex chased and was picked up.
Fritz de Bretagne— B. G.’s Gigolo Trooper.— Fritz had an in-and-out race. At times he looked unbeatable and at others lie wallowed in the cattails at the edge of the water, bulled some and handled roughly. The dog had unproductives at 26 and 50. Gig had a very fair race, went to the right places and handled kindly. He moused and larked a bit at thirty but, except for lack of a bird, finished good enough.
The Real Thing— Jack Flash O’Dolly.— The Real Thing, though he does not appear to have the dash and fire which won him last year’s Derby Classic, gave us an excellent dog race for thirty, shortened somewhat for ten, and was considerably soft for the last twenty. He hung out there, however, enough to make the finals. Flash gave us the best hour we had seen. The dog went flat out for the entire hour, showed a world of desire, produced a complete all-age race and looked splendid.
Tall Oaks Bandolero— El Bandito.— Both had almost identical races— wide, good gait, handled and went to the right places. The fact that Bandolero looked a little heavy on his feet, softened a few moments at 45 and moused a bit, probably kept him out of the finals.
Senator T J— Wheels de Britt.— This brace not only produced among the best two dog races of tbe Championship, but also a delightful little bit of social by-play. We were helling through the woods to turn the dogs off a peninsula and there was this matter of a pinkup truck parked deep in the trees. There was this young couple in there and, well, . . . you know! Budd called Point and we rode right on out of there. Oh! The blush of spring—the bloom of young love . . . Senator, the reigning National Open (ABC) Champion and a former winner of the Victoire Nationale Derby, is a splendid bird dog. He went long, far and wide, always to the front and apart from the lack of a bird was just super. Wheels was just that. Though not quite as wide as the Senator, he gave an excellent account of himself and was every ounce as good.
C Killiam’s Sergeant Mike— Sand Hills Ginger Snap.— Mike had a good, solid 45 minutes, went far and wide and true to the course. At 45 the roof fell in. The dog was sailing down a dirt road when birds lifted off to his left and flew a couple of hundred yards down onto a point. The handler, not having seen the birds go, spent considerable time trying to produce in front of the dog and finally sent him on to relocate. The dog pointed again, ended up on his belly during a flushing attempt, was sent on, pointed the third time and sat on his bottom as the birds went. Ginger Snap, last year’s runner-up, had a good, solid 45 minutes, slowed somewhat for the final fifteen, but stayed out there in good enough shape to make the finals.
Perry’s Rustic Prince— Jipas Ornery Henry.— Rusty, the defending champion, is, with all due respect to my own and other folk’s dogs, the best bird dog I have ever seen on the ground. He flew out of the gate with fire in the engine room, quickly encountered deer on the course and ran himself to death on two occasions. He came back on course at fifteen, gave a perfectly good account of himself for 25 and slowed considerably for eighteen; then at 58 made a long, sweeping, forward cast up a treeline and rolled on out to the front for the take up. Once in a while a great dog is judged by his own lofty standards, rather that the standards of his opposition and it may have been for this reason that Rusty barely made the cut. Ornery Henry was ornery. After a smashing good start, the dog knocked a covey as ten and was ordered up.
Goldtone’s Doc— Jacque Pierre III.— Doc got consist¬ ently stronger as he went and gave us a beautiful, well handled, all-age race. Jacque was short, moused a bit and never got it going.
Red River Lady— Jacolet’s Wandering Star.— Lady, or Babe as she is called, is the little dog that gave us such a mighty thrill at last year’s Derby and came within a whisker of winning it. If she has wings, they are the invisible wings of a humming bird. The little dog just sails across the country with speed and drive one wouldn’t believe. The only time you see her bounce is when she tops out on a far distant ridge and pops high into the air, without slowing and in mid-stride, to get a bead on her handler. Babe doesn’t know what a scout looks like. The little girl thrilled our hearts for 33 and then got serious. She pointed out on the edge of a grassy slope and after a determined and hustling effort by her handler, Marc Appleton, to produce birds, was sent on to relocate. She buzzed around like a bee, stacked up tight again at 35 and the covey was moved thirty feet directly downwind from her. Babe moved out from the find and finished the hour in splendid shape and easily won “Top Dog” or the qualifying series. Star had a good enough race for the entire hour and this, with her gorgeous back on Babe’s point, got her back for the finals. It is completely worthy of note here that when the judge gave Star’s handler, Rick Smith, permission to take her off the back and send her on, he took her away off to the side and sent her right on out of the country. A splendid and gentlemanly thing to see.
Championship Finals
Jack Flash O’Dolly— El Bandito.— This was another situation which produced almost identical dog races. Both dogs hung out there far and wide and handsomely for the entire hour and finished as strongly as they started. But no birds.
The Real Thing—Senator T J.—The Real Thing didn’t have it today. Apart from a couple of classy casts at the beginning, the dog was close and slow, was hacked considerably; although he had a find, of sorts, at forty, he couldn’t make it. Senator again gave us a great and courageous dog race. The course was tight and although we saw the dog only every once in a while, he was always out front and carrying the mail. No bird.
Goldtone’s Doc— Wheels de Britt.— Doc gave us what appeared to me to be an adequate all-age race— long enough and wide enough— and as is his way of doing business, the longer he went the stouter he got. Doc got into some fairly complicated bird work at 21. We found the dog standing rather loosely and birds could not be produced. During the relocation the dog went past the birds going downwind, snapped back and the birds went, maybe a step shy and a second short of a bump. He finished well. Wheels took considerable scouting on the turns, but stayed in there, though he went birdless.
Perry’s Rustic Prince— Sand Hills Ginger Snap.— Rusty had his wind back today. We broke into heavy woods and they went ahelling out of there. Rusty showed at 6, 8, 12 and 15, always to the front and smoking up the countryside. At fifteen the country opened up into long, rolling hills, with wooded draws about a half-mile apart and about that long— a perfect spot to watch a dog let it out and go. Rusty had any number of casts that would have, from the standpoint of speed, size and shape, done justice to the biggest going all-age pointer you could think of. The defending champ was dethroned here for lack of a bird, but he went out in a blaze of glory. His final cast was completely out of this world— a great, forward, blazing effort, far, far to the front, straight on course and going away. Rusty’s great heart and boundless courage make a tired old reporter’s bottom and knees hurt less. Ginger Snap was by no means left out of it. She ran what was likely the second best race of the Championship, looked like a million dollars doing it and was ably handled, a remarkably fine bird dog.
Red River Lady— Jacolet’s Wandering Star.— Today history repeated itself. The Babe, after shaking off the distraction of a near-girlie-dog-fight at the breakaway, put it together and went bird hunting. As we watched her take the country apart, again with that flowing gait and dazzling speed and marvelous handle, we were reminded of the words of Nash Buckingham, when, on a long ago day, he described the legendary Luminary as having, “Laid smoke in the valley and thunder on the hills.” The little dog simply did it all. At 38 Babe was seen by Lloyd Budd, who was riding shotgun for both handlers, standing in a bottom. Appleton flirted with fire as he took the dog head-on and flew the birds right onto her ear. Marc has a lot of justifiable confidence in this little girl and got away with it. She stood there like a . . . well, like a Red River Lady and didn’t even blink an eye. Lightning has, I most assure you, however, struck the outhouse with lesser temptation. Right then and there a champion was crowned, for Babe went on to finish the hour with fire and dispatch. Star had one of her better races, but apart from an excellent back on the Babe’s find, had no bird contact.
Ardmore, Okla., March 21
Judges: Robert B. Danley, Harold D. Davis and Dimer E. Fillers
UNITED STATES OPEN BRITTANY CHAMPIONSHIP
[One-Hour Qualifying Heats; One-Hour Finals]—20 Brittany Spaniels
Winner—RED RIVER LADY, 27673, female, by Pacolet Cheyenne Sam—Treasure Coast Cricket. D. E. Bradford. owner; Marc Appleton, handler.
VICTOIRE NATIONALE DERBY CLASSIC
Misfortune overtook us when we were four minutes deep into this stake and a horse fell on Elmer Pillers, an able judge with a stout heart and a keen eye, and busted his leg. The horse didn’t slip or stumble; all four legs just folded and the animal hit the ground on top of Elmer. There was no opportunity to bail out.
A substitute judge was pressed into service— which is no easy task, for Elmer is one of the better judges around—and we proceeded. Everything worked out all right, for as is often the case, the dogs, except for one superb piece of judging on the part of Harold Davis, could have judged themselves.
Brentwood’s Lady Miranda— Big Red of Texas.— Miranda got off and running and following the pickup, and after a restart at four she went hunting. We saw her at eleven and she was laying it down. The dog softened up a bit at thirty, had an unproductive at 53 and finished in good shape. Tex again showed us an excellent race. This pup may not be as wide or as fast as some, but he was always in the right place and he knows the name of the game— hunting a bird. He stayed in there for the full hour and could have, with a bird, been in good shape.
Hopper’s Robber— Stubby Bazooka.— Misfortune took another stab at us just after we loosed this brace. Judge Davis’ saddle slipped and he sloshed off his horse onto the tank dam, A quick appraisal of the damage indicated there was nothing broken, except for maybe a commandment, and the surviving judge took both dogs and their handlers on around the bend. There was considerable good natured concern, until Mr. Davis got back into the ball game, about having one eye looking at two dogs. Robber was a bit heavy on his feet and never really got out there and going. He stopped at thirty atop draw at the edge of the lake, moved into the cattails at the approach of the handler and a great effort to produce birds was made. A judge moved three birds twenty feet behind and downwind and a shot was fired. Stubby never got it put together and was picked up at 39.
SED Ruff Brown— Gun Runner’s Texas Express.— Brown hand an excellent thirty minutes, tired considerably and was picked up at fifty. Express went out for all the world like a champion. The dog crossed a long tank dam, went blazing away to a treeline a good half-mile away, then took it to the outermost limits of judgment and went barreling on to the front. One judge said to the other, “How about that for openers?” The dog kept up this blistering pace and at 35 banged to a stop, stood perfectly still for a moment, knocked out a covey and chased. This was a prime example of why a good Derby judge rides a little tighter on a handler than an all-age judge might. An all-age handler has time to say, “Judge, look-see what I got.” In a Derby things have a way of happening in a hurry and the judge and the handler need to be looking down the same gun barrel. Had not Judge Davis been sitting right on top of this situation, we might have blown a winner for this stake. The dog, though he slowed at forty from his own blistering pace and the extreme heat, had plenty left, and punched it out for the full hour.
H J’s Pride’n Joy— Sergeant Mike’s Teddy Bear.— Joy went all over the world for twenty minutes, slowed quickly and was picked up at forty. Bear started slowly, turned it on for twenty, was lost twice on the turns and ran out of gas.
Sandra Dee IV— High Spirit Quick Draw.— Sandra is a bird dog and put on an adequate, if not spectacular, race for thirty and then turned it on. It is likely the dog ran the stoutest and best organized closing thirty minutes of the trial. At a minute or so before time, a scout found her standing in a draw a good half-mile from the handler and wig-wagged a find signal. Handler and judge mounted the horse race of the age and went thundering down the hill to the dog, only to find her locked up tight on an armadillo. Ohl For a feather. Quick Draw never got it going and was picked up at forty.
Dakota Rebel— Gypsy’s Dr. Pepper.— Rebel ran the class Derby race of the stake. He was hard and fast, long and wide and went to the spots. He never let up an inch, pounded out the entire hour and finished with a long sweeping cast a good half-mile to the front and going places. Except for the problem of having to jump over a dog with birds, of sorts, and using another without a bird, this dog could have been used as a runnerup. Dr. Pepper ran an average dog race from beginning to end and went birdless.
Tough Enough Too— Bayou’s Little Pick.— Too was scratched by his handler. Pick is a dog that will bear watching down the road. The little dog literally blazed around are course ror zo, ran aii over the world and looked wonderful. He shortened up a bit, for him, at 25 and was picked up at 32.
Cool Hand Luke— Lucy Bee.— Luke ran an odd race. He started slowly, didn’t cover much ground and was not overly spectacular, but as time went along, he kept getting a little stronger and reaching out there. He had an exceptional closing ten minutes and looked good. Lucy had worlds of dash and fire and took the big country apart. She looked tremendous for fifty minutes, folded somewhat and just barely made it.
VICTOIRE NATIONALE DERBY CLASSIC
[One-Hour Heats]—16 Brittany Spaniels
Winner— GUN RUNNER'S TEXAS EXPRESS, unreg., male, by Ban Dee—Preferred Risk. Mike Boydston, owner; Jon Anderson, handler.