- Jan 2, 2023
Don't hunt near them.What's the secret to preventing burrs from getting into their fur? A complete pain in the neck to get them out.
What's the secret to preventing burrs from getting into their fur? A complete pain in the neck to get them out.
They do in Nebraska and Iowa.My neighbor has a Griffon because they don't get burrs.
Yeah whatever those weeds are they suck bad, we have them here in Ohio which my Golden always finds.I do a couple of things, but I start with a field golden that has a relatively short/flat/thin coat.
I try to carry a comb with me in the field. If we get into bad burrs we can take a break and do a quick comb down while watering and taking a breather.
Secondly, I keep good grooming tools and a bottle of COWBOY MAGIC detangler (often in with the horse grooming stuff) at the truck where I can put him on the tailgate and take care of whatever needs taking care of. It is WAY easier to deal with burrs asap rather than waiting 'til cessation of shooting hours and along trip home in the truck.
the worst burrs I've ever seen were some sort of tape-like seed pods that glued them to a brace of Griffons that a friend has. They looked like they were wrapped in masking tape, or like Egyptian mummy dogs. We ended up driving 60 miles to the nearest seed supply store to get some CMagic and better equipment. Even then, it was a real battle and those dogs were darn sore.
Gus the Elder after a walk in the backyard.
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great idea!. I'll have some stories to shares and will see if my buddy @Frenchy will add one.If we have solved the OP's issues with burrs, can we add a few Swamp Collie stories? Maybe you guys will indulge me one.
A couple years ago, Gus and I were hunting with a regular buddy and his two honorary swamp collies (actually Griffons) in Western NE, Closing Weekend, January 2022. Gus was in his 13th season, 12 yrs, 6 months, and 25 days old. We were after Prairie Chickens and Pheasants and after several days, we met up with a third person, who I had never met, who had no dog. The Griffons were a bit bushed from the previous day so they got the morning off and we hunted with just Gus. As sometimes happens, the new guy was a bit surprised when Gun unloaded out of my truck. He kinda rolled his eyes. Apparently, he thought no dog was better than a Golden. I get this crap every so often.
I asked him what's up? He said he didn't know that anyone actually hunted with Goldens. That sorta pissed me off. Maybe a bit more than sorta. Anyway, Gus found us a few Prairie chickens, and I shot my first one ever. It was wing tipped but he tracked it down a second time and brought it to hand. No big deal, just a really nice bird and a first for me. I doubt the guy was particularly impressed, but without a dog, we would have no bird at all.
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After a long circuit and good number of miles, we are close to being back at the truck and Gus is working a bottom in front of this guy, who has yet to take a shot, and Gus flash points a big bunch of tall, thick grass. The guy doesn't know what's happening, and I can tell he wants to boot Gus out of the way. I'm out of range, so I holler something like, "That's a rooster! Kill it!". Well, it was a rooster, and it got airborne, and he wing-tipped it, and it sailed across two fences and a gravel road. And before the guy could make it past the first fence, Gus has it run down and is on his way back with it.
I still don't think the guy was impressed, but at least he had to be a smidgeon grateful. I however, was happier that a clam in a sandbar, and I am sure I was wearing the smuggest of grins. That rooster was my favorite bird of the whole day, maybe the whole season, and I didn't even shoot.
I get the swamp collie dismissal bit all the time, but we know better.
I hate it when otters give you the finger. Good story and thanks for sharing it.Best dog I'll ever own was Lab-golden cross. She was small, maybe fifty pounds. Ethyl came along just as Canada geese were making their recovery from near extinction (hard to imagine now). Her first geese were accidental three for two shots. One snowy cold December 1979 morning I surprised a flock of honkers on an oxbow backwater of the Flathead River under a steep cutbank. Dropped the leader just as it got off the water. I knew the second shot was trouble but took it anyway. Two dropped. Those days daily and possession limit was only two. The second pair both fell dead but the first one was still swimming. Ethyl went for a dead one. Let's see how this little dog handles those big birds. No problem. She clambered up that steep bank without hesitation or setting the goose down. I followed her back down to water encouraging her to go for the other dead one while I headed up the bank to get within range of the escapee. Ethyl went to the far bank with the dead honker, running on land to keep up. I called her over, stacked the two honkers on the bank, crouched down next to Ethyl, and got her pointed to the honker a hundred and fifty yards away. Fifty more to go and it would be to the river and likely lost. Off She went. This was risky. She was young, undersized, and inexperienced. If that honker decided to fight, it could drown her. Fortunately, it gave up immediately and Ethyl brought it to the bank. But that's it. I had to go to her. No surprise. That honker was a MONSTER. Huge. Weighed at home it topped the baby scale at sixteen pounds. Somewhere I have a black and white snapshot of 6'1" me standing, goose's foot on my belt, with it's head laying on the floor. I killed the big honker and then was all over Ethyl with excited praise. We started back to the other geese and what do I see but a giant otter sniffing them out. I hollered but it gave me the finger. Okay, I loaded a shell and fired it in the air. Otter swam to the other side and watched. Ethyl wanted a piece of that guy but I kept her in hand with sharp words. Otters are specialists at drowning hunting dogs. One that size was definitely not "inexperienced!" The bugger followed us up the opposite bank chirping for Ethyl to come play. When I got to the stash I slipped off Ethyl's choke collar (back in those days every hunting dog wore a choke collar) and used a noose from one end to tie the geese together at feet. The other end was looped over a thick two foot stick. Geese went over my shoulder and stick under my arm with hands in my pockets (gun under other arm). It was a long four mile walk back to the house with about a hundred yards across a bridge on a busy highway. Someone could turn me in for too many geese but them's the haps. Make a mistake and risk paying for it. These days one might get a medal for shooting too many geese. Ethyl was hooked on geese after that and fighters were the ones she enjoyed most. Such a small dog and a gentle sweetheart but all business when honkers were in play.
I like Gus’s story, and im not surprised by it. My buddy’s golden will sniff and chase roosters all day long. Once the roosters airborne, that golden will stay on it, probably thinking “it’s got to land sometime!”great idea!. I'll have some stories to shares and will see if my buddy @Frenchy will add one.