Heart's Great Adventure

Heart’s Great Adventure (Or) How a Puppy Goes Haywire 

By Capt. Tony Petrella 

SEPTEMBER 18, 2008—a date that will Live In Infamy for Manistee River Heart!

  Ghost had hunted in the late morning, pointing two grouse and one woodcock to go with the four other wild grouse flushes. I bagged one for her, just as we were calling it quits after a 30-minute hunt because it was getting pretty hot.

  Heart moped around the house all day because he didn’t get to have any fun in the woods, so I decided to take him out hunting around the house at 5:45pm.

  Everything started out fine. He even put up a grouse in the thicket just north of where all of the pipelines cross the Manistee River.

  He got into the woodcock cover south of the crossing, and worked the thicket by the big oak tree. Then his spring sprung and he vanished into the jackpines.

  I went all the way down to “Norway”—where the road ends amid a huge growth of Norway Pines and the swamp begins. Nothing. I circled around the edge of Frenchman’s Creek. Nothing.

  So, I cut back toward the river and headed toward home. When I got to the thicket where he’d put up the grouse I thought I heard his beeper. Then I heard Ghost bark. “A-ha,” I thought, “he’s back home.”

  Nope.

  I set about cleaning out the truck, and heard the beeper. Sounded like “point” not very far away. So, I geared up and went looking. I got close. The bell was loud. But when I called and whistled he started moving. Away.

  I went home.

  By now it was full dark and Heart was nowhere to be heard. The phone rang. Kate answered and started laughing. “It’s a guy who found Heart. He swam the river and he’s over on Deward Road.”

  I drove to the other side of the river, down Deward Road about a half-mile past our house. A truck was stopped. Young guy standing in the road. No dog.

  “He ran off.”

  Oh, shit!

  “I saw him sitting here in the road and thought he was worn out. I petted him for a while, then he jumped up and ran off into the woods about five minutes ago.”

  I’m in a tee shirt, shorts, and boat shoes. No compass. Just a leash and flashlight. Off I go to the sound of the beeper (“Charge to the guns, men!”).

  By now Heart figures I’m so mad that I’ll kill him (Yeah, like he’s ever been struck with anything harder than a pillow he chewed up!), or he’s confused by the echoes of my whistle and voice, or he’s terrified because it’s pitch black and he’s banged and scraped and bruised and hungry.

  FINALLY, the flashlight beam pins his beady little eyes and he freezes long enough for me to grab his collar and fasten the leash.

  Now, I just have to get out of the woods.

  OK. I’ve gotta brag just a little bit here. I looked at the sky, took a dead-reckoning course, and several minutes later we came out on the pipeline. Not wanting to press my luck, I walked north to where I knew there was an old access track.

  Yep. Here it is. A few minutes later I’m back on Deward Road and my truck flashers are just 30 yards to the south. Whew. What a welcome sight.

  I literally toss Heart into his crate, climb behind the wheel and turn the key. Grrrrrrrrr. Grrrr. Grr. Sigh. Fortunately, I’ve got my cell phone. I try to speed-dial the house. No signal. I dial the number. No signal. I get out of the truck and redial. No signal.

  It’s now 9:10 pm. I walk 30 yards back to the access track, where the tree canopy is open over the road, dial our number and stick the phone as far into the air as I can reach.

  “Tight Loops Fly Fishing, this is Kate.”

  “Red,bringtheJeepdownDewardRoad. Battery’sdead. Heartgotaway hadtochasehim.” Silence. “Can you hear me????”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Thirty minutes later, the Tahoe is purring and we’re bouncing home. I leash-walk Heart directly to his bedroom crate, turn off the light and close the door. Kate had heated up chili. Heart was going to bed without supper, but I certainly wasn’t.

  This morning Heart went back into basic training on the 15-foot orange lead Magoo bought for him last fall. Whistle. “Right Here.” Whistle. “Right Here”…for nearly 30 minutes. Later today we’ll repeat the drill. And then again. And then Saturday, Sunday, and in the evenings after my fishing guide trips Monday and Tuesday.

  Whistle. “Right Here—Good Boy!!!!!!!”

  I hope.