Over a career spanned nearly 16 seasons, when Patch was on he pointed
countless grouse and woodcock; when he was off...Well, as I'm sure you
will agree, Ol' Patch was really OFF...

No desire to use Patch as stud dog and of course to quell the inevitable male urge for female companionship we had him neutered early on. In the last episode I related his obvious distaste at having anything to do with deer. So, when in the offseason, at about age 4 or 5 he started disappearing sometimes overnight, sometimes for a couple days or so where he went and why had us stumped. Worse each time he returned looking not only white as snow but fat and happy. The only explanation we could come up with someone, somewhere was taking him in but of course never really knew. For several years the disappearances happened at least a couple times and always during the off season.

Then one time I let he and Ginny out to clean the kennel and suddenly it occurred could see Ginny nosing about out back but no Patch. When he didn’t show up that night we figured “off on another over-nighter” and... Well, hell, see ya in a couple. But this time “a couple” turned from days into weeks.  Convinced he was gone for good we quit looking but...

Two weeks after he had vanished, we came home from work and there on the porch lay the S.O.B. –as always snow white, upside-down, sound asleep and looking fat and happy,

As I recall he only did the overnight thing once during hunting season. In January, Gale, our oldest grandson, Brian, and I decided to spend the last of the grouse season at our hunting camp. After a big breakfast in mid-morning we headed out. Ginny and Patch both brought their A-game that day and despite a few misses both Brian and I pocketed a grouse.

Late afternoon it began to snow—serious snow that piled up quickly, clogged the dogs’ bells and quickly filling any tracks.  Pretty hopeless conditions, I called a halt and whistled for the dogs to come in. Ginny came right in but no Patch.  When he failed to show after several more blasts Gale and Ginny headed for the truck. Brian and I went looking for Patch tracks.

We found a set (now just slight depressions in the snow) seemed to line out toward a paved road bordered the camp property. But the storm had deer moving and it soon became impossible tell dog tracks from deer tracks.

So we turned back to the truck and for the next several hours drove every road in the area. I knew most of the neighbors for several miles around and knocked on every door had a light in the window. “No Chuck, ain’t seen your dog.” Before going to bed we drove all around again, checked in again with several neighbors...No Patch.

To shorten a long tale, we repeated all the above next morning...Nothing, no one had seen Patch. So we loaded up, drove to a nearby hotel, gave them our home phone number and... Just as we were about to leave, Gale came up with what turned out a brilliant idea...”Our phone number is on his collar. Why not call our neighbor, tell her where we hide the key and have her check our answering machine.”

Bingo!

But here the plot thickens. Seems a guy indeed has Patch in Red Rock...“Well hell, Red Rock is only 25 miles up the road.”

Seems the guy, who just happens to have a kennel full of setters, is sitting reading the Sunday paper when a setter walks by the window... “Hm-m,” says he. “Don’t look like one a mine.” But by the time he puts on boots, coat and hat, Patch is gone. So he follows tracks down the hill and there sitting on the porch of an empty hunting camp sits Ol’Patch--as the guy says, grinnin', waggin' his tail, like where you been.

And that would be the end of it weren’t for the “rest of the story.”

When we get there shove  the old reprobate in his crate, thank the guy he says, “Before you take off, follow me I want to show ya somethin’.”

The hunting camp (does sort of resemble ours) is encircled by a wide, well-trampled path in the snow. Who knows how many laps it must have taken to trample it such?

But the big question is how the HELL did he get here?

Given it snowed most of the night dropping more than a foot, it’s inconceivable he would have traveled that far in unfamiliar territory. The highway passes through mostly un-occupied woods so chances of stumbling on someone were pretty slim. The storm would have kept traffic to a minimum but was plowed. Did a snowplow operator or other driver familiar with the area, pick him up and drop him off at the side road leading to the kennel?

Anyway, all these years later the only plausible answer I can come up with is... We will never know.

What a dog, eh?

Stay tuned there is more, much more...