Cynthia asks "why did I name my hunting dog "CHINK"?"

This might take some time.
I was an avid bird hunter when I was young. I hunted upland birds ever since I was able to shoot a shotgun. It is very difficult to hunt without a bird dog or any kind of dog whether trained well or not. In the beginning we just used our farm dogs.They would run out of shotgun range and flush a pheasant which angered any one --that's me. I longed for a good hunting dog but could never afford to buy one just to keep for hunting. It's cruel and unusual punishment to keep a dog on a chain or in a pen. It's against my make up. So I hunted with any dog and tried to keep up. One little cocker spaniel given to us by our neighbor was a very good tracker but ran too far ahead--Neverthe less I run to keep up. Once I got 4 birds in a few hours. I had to give one bird away.
When we first moved to Grandview and established some sort of farm, a neighbor name Olsen had a litter of cocker spaniels. He gave one ( a female) to us. It was a very friendly little dog with a very good nose for birds.She was also untrained and therefore would flush the bird too early for a good shot. She rode in the jeep and also went out in the fields with me to change water and sprinklers. The reason we named her "Pickles" is beyond me. I think it was th families input. I didn't have anything to do with it.
Once during hunting season a neighbor( Jack Meiners) called me to ask if I lost a dog--. I didn't have a dog to lose at the time--except Pickles. He said it was a fine looking breed--an English pointer ( female). Another hunter lost her and it came to his doorstep for refuge. A week past and I finally went over to see the dog. I opened the pickup door and she jumped in as if it was her home. Now I had an English pointer and I named her "Fanny". She was a good hunter but untrained.
As is always the case, she came into heat and I didn't want just any breed male to get to her. I located a Hop farmer who had a registered Canadian Pointer. He allowed her to be bred by his pointer. She had a litter of three or four. She licked the guts out of one little pup in a natural cleaning. Dogs always lick their young but she was too serious at the belly button and emptied the guts. So now I had three pups to give away. I kept one. I gave one to Jimmie , my brother in law and one to another brother inlaw Duane Cavin.Having a litter of pups is no easy matter. I kept one and I name him CHINK. Because I sorta baptised him to be a hunter.
When hunting season approached I took him out with Jimmie and Duane to hunt Pheasants. The mother Fanny and Chink hunted and sniffed out a rooster. I shot--maybe missed--. Then Chink came to me in a fright--he was 'gun shy'. He would get behind me and actually shiver and hug me with his front legs locked around me. I would beat him off with the butt of my shotgun till he calmed down. He went back out with Fanny and hunted .The hugging scene happened time after time. Now I had a real problem. Others would take the dog to the pound, but I kept him. I had faith in him.
During the next year when we were out in the alfalfa field changing sprinklers, I took my .22 revolver with me. When Chink would set a bird, I would drop the sprinkler pipe and walk over quietly and flush out the bird. Then I would shoot the pistol. I broke the dog of gun shyness that way.
When hunting season came around I went out in the field with Chink to get our first bird. He set a bird. I went over to his point and flushed the Pheasant. We were lucky it was a rooster. I shot and the bird fell, Chink ran over to it and retrieved it. He had a natural bred instinct to bring that bird to me. He tasted it pretty well though. So I had a hunting dog.
The sad thing about all this is I had to choose which dog to keep. Fanny or Chink. Also I had the really sad time sending Pickles away . I paid Jimmie a few bucks to take her to the pound or where ever. Gee, I am about to cry over that even at this writing. Now I had to find a home for Fanny--that was a real traumatic time for me. It hasppened this way. The man we bought whole milk from lived o=near the place where ai picked up Fanny in the first place. One day when he delivered milk, ai asked if he would take Fanny as his own dog. He agreed and I never saw Fanny again.
My brother's in law all learned to hunt with Chink. If you clicked the shotgun he was ready to go. Larry and Jimmie and Duane and more othere relatives would come down to hunt. Once Danny Gefre bought a new shotgun and wanted to hunt. We went down into the alfalfa field and Chink set a bird. It flushed on its own and I was such a good shot I hit the bird squarely in the middle--it almost was in two parts. Chink loved the taste of that bird.
A the years went by, Chink developed a really bad case of arthritis. He could hardly walk. Yet when you clicked shotgun he was alive!! But he couldn't jump into the jeep so we had to lift him in and lift him out. I took him to the vet one day because he was stuck under the house whimpering and actually crying. I crawled under the house with a gunny sack. I put him on the sack and dragge him out. I took him to the Vet. The vet gave Chink a shot of maybe steroids--when I came home he jumped out ot=f the pickuo and ran around the house like a new dog. But that didn't last long.
It was on a hot september day when I missed Chink. He now had to drag his hind legs to move from place to place. IN those days we didn't have a road--just a dusty sandy trail. I followed his trail up to my brother's house where I lost the trail. I heard my neighbir down in his orchard shouting so I thought that Chink might be there. I went home. I advertised over th radio but I got no results until the ditch rider asked where was my dog? I asked why? and he said the crew buried a huge dog up at Donalds house. Chink had ventured that far and needed a drink of water . He got into the canal and couldn't get back out in his lame condition,. He drowned. I uncovered the grave to see if it really was Chink. I knew that his paw was mis shaped because a cow stepped on his leg and broke it while I milked our only cow, I heard the bone snap. I took the dog to the vet who put him in a cast for months--the result was that his paw was mis shaped. When I saw the paw, I just sighed a sigh of relief--it wasn't a prayer but similar to "Rest in Peace ole buddy".
Before I close this I have to tell about Chink and his bout with a Pocupine. Yes we had them even there in the desert. I bought a can of ether and tried to sedate Chink but there was no use. I worked and worked and got most of the quills out.Some were way down in his throat. He was breathing heavily and when he opened his mouth I had enough time--as little as you could imagine--to grab the needle with a pair of pliers. It took hours to rid him of most of the quills. Some how the others worked all th way up through his skull. Why it didn't kill him I'll never know. I had many other porcupine incidents when I was younger.