DATE: Monday, September 22, 1997            TAG: 9709191180

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B3   EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: Column 

SOURCE: George Tucker 

                                            LENGTH:   81 lines

SMART DOG'S GOOD SENSE CREDITED WITH SAVING A LIFE, THANKFULLY

To celebrate National Dog Week I'm going to share two canine stories with you. One of them is true, the other is an Eastern Shore Virginia yarn of the shaggy dog variety.

To kick off with the true one - which always reminds me that most human beings are way behind our four-footed friends as far as common sense is concerned - I'd like to pay belated tribute today to a nameless male Chesapeake Bay retriever whose canniness saved my life almost 50 years ago. In case you don't know what a Chesapeake is, it is recognized as the best duck dog in existence, its dense, sedge brown, waterproof oily coat making it impervious to icy water and bad weather.

As its name implies, the Chesapeake had its beginnings in Tidewater Maryland where two stories are told concerning its origins. Although slightly different, both have several details in common.

The first tells of two Newfoundland puppies, a black one named Sailor and a dun-colored bitch named Canton, that were rescued in 1807 from a foundering Newfoundland brig by a Maryland vessel. Brought back to Baltimore, they are said to have become the ancestors of the Chesapeake of today.

The other story involves the same dogs that were reputedly presented to a Maryland planter, George Law, by the captain of a Newfoundland vessel that came ashore near his home on the Chesapeake Bay. Be that as it may, canine authorities agree that the two dogs were crossed with yellow-and-tan coon dogs popular for hunting in that area and that the Chesapeake as we know it today (and which was officially recognized by the American Kennel Club in 1933) evolved.

So much for background, now for my belated tribute. Right after World War II, I was visiting a friend in Richmond who was an ardent horseman. Early one cold winter morning we drove out to the hunt club where he kept his mount. As I didn't ride, I settled down in the company of a companionable Chesapeake in the club office to await my friend's return.

The old pot-bellied stove there was throwing out a little too much heat and the magazines on hand were ones I had already seen, so I decided to take a walk. Fortunately, the Chesapeake decided to join me and in no time I was having a lot of fun tossing sticks and pine cones for him to retrieve as we sauntered across the frosty fields.

Everything went well until we reached a deep ravine. When I started to cross it, the dog's attitude changed abruptly. Instead of retrieving as he had been doing, he began barking wildly and running in circles. Thinking he was just acting up, I climbed the embankment on the other side of the ditch and continued my walk. The dog followed me, but at a distance, still continuing to bark furiously.

Looking up I saw a weatherbeaten old house in the midst of a weed-choked yard filled with several abandoned trucks and automobiles in an advanced state of dilapidation. But that wasn't the only eerie thing I saw.

Peering down at me from an upper window was an evil-looking cuss aiming a shotgun in my direction. Realizing I was trespassing, I hastily retreated, the Chesapeake running ahead of me as though urging me on. Reaching the ravine the dog resumed his former friendly attitude and retrieved objects until we arrived at the hunt club office again.

When my friend returned from his ride I told him about the Chesapeake's strange behavior and what I had encountered on the other side of the ditch.

``The dog has more common sense than you have,'' he laughed, nervously adding, ``That old bastard over there killed that dog's mate in cold blood two weeks ago just for plain meanness.''

Turning from the serious to my more hilarious whopper, there is this yarn concerning an Eastern Shore Virginia sportsman who owned a most remarkable Chesapeake. When the dog was a puppy its owner taught it to go into the water by tossing a carved wooden bone into a nearby creek for it to retrieve. Then, one day when a sportsman from a nearby county turned up at the man's place and began bragging about a smart dog of his own, his host countered with, ``Just wait until you see what my dog can do.''

The two men then took a stroll to the edge of the nearby creek. When the Chesapeake's master threw the wooden bone into the water the dog strutted out on top of the waves and brought it back.

``Well, now,'' the Chesapeake's proud owner crowed, ``what do you think of that?''

The visiting sportsman paused a moment and then drawled, ``Well, it's not too bad, but to be perfectly frank I wouldn't give a damn for a dog that can't swim!'' ILLUSTRATION: Drawing

Chesapeake Bay retriever

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