Reno, the Wonder Dog

What a great weekend this past one was.  Stacy and I traveled to Omaha to see my father's side of the family we haven't seen in just about forever.  My cousins Kathy, Mike and Terry and their children and, gasp, grandchildren.  They were all in their twenties the last time we spent any time together.  We did talk briefly at my dad's funeral in 1994.  Their father Bill, my father's only brother died young at the age of 33, so we spent alot of time with them growing up. 

The funniest story of the day was my cousin Terry's story of a hunting trip with my dad's dog Reno.  My dad loved to hunt and believed Reno was a well trained hunting dog.  So my dad would go hunting and blow a whistle to direct this uneducated hunting K-9 around the field.  Reno was an english pointer so he did have some instinctive hunting ability, but was never trained to respond to a crossing guard's whistle though.  So my cousin Terry borrowed Reno so he and our friend Tripp could have a pleasurable and productive hunting experience.

When they arrived at the field they thought would harvest a bounty of pheasant and quail, Terry let Reno out of the car and starting blowing the whistle... and blowing... and blowing... and blowing.  The last they saw of Reno after the last whistle had sounded was his butt disappearing over the horizon.  We are guessing now that Reno's interpretation of the whistle was to run and not stop for anything.

So, Terry and Tripp spent their entire hunting day searching for Reno the wonder dog.  They found him about dusk.  The ride home was a long and quiet one.  Reno was never invited to go hunting again.  Reno was given by my parents to an Iowa farm.  He was last seen heading for Minnesota. Reno would be 371 years old today. (In dog years)