"Right in there, boss!"

Unlike some dogs–Labs and English pointers come to mind–Brits don't respond well to heavy-handed training. Powder rules the roost at the Carty residence, making sure my two submissive setters toe the line. She used to try that in the field, too, until the setters simply left her in the dust, and Powder, being the smart dog that she is, knew a lost cause when she saw one and gave up.

But in my yard it's a different story. On an e-collar, she takes half the already light stimulation I use with my other dogs, and even that can be too much. Last spring, I slapped a collar on her and took her outside for a refresher course in obedience. I told her to heel–a command she's known for years–and when she surged ahead, I gave her a modest nick.

Powder went through the roof. She howled, ran back to my side, and for the next two days refused to hunt or point the birds I planted for her. I was smart enough not to do my obedience training anywhere near my bird field, but somehow she made a connection, and it took several days of sweet talking to get her back with the program. She's fine now, and none the worse for wear. But I relearned a valuable lesson: Brittanys are sensitive dogs with very long memories. A soft touch goes a long with these little orange fellows.

I've had several Brittanys over the years, and my last dog, Fancy, was probably the best retriever of the bunch. Although I keep hearing about Brittanys that are "natural" retrievers, in my experience a strong drive to retrieve is a happy aberration. Fancy was no exception. She made it clear that retrieving was something she'd do if I asked her, but not something she loved. Yet ask her I did, and she usually acquitted herself reasonably well. Perhaps her most noteworthy retrieve happened while my friend Bill and I were pushing up a narrow coulee, and Fancy had just stopped to point.

A digression: I say, "stopped to point" rather than "slamming into" a point for a reason, because that's what many Brittanys do. One of my friends, a setter man to the bone, complains that he can never tell when my Brittany is pointing or simply pausing to take in the view. That hurts, but it's a valid criticism.

Fancy used to seem almost casual about pointing birds, and Powder doesn't show her excitement unless the bird is literally within feet of her nose. This in no way reflects their lack of desire, which may sound like a rationalization until you've seen it happen over and over again, with a dozen different dogs, as I have.

In any event, Fancy, in her casual way, was pointing just ahead, and when the covey went up, Bill wing-tipped a Hun that sailed out 50 yards and vanished in the tall grass. Fancy was after it in a flash.

And then, just as quickly, she disappeared. I stomped out looking for her, fuming. How dare she run away with a wounded bird on the ground? I whistled and called, then whistled and called again. I had no idea where she'd gone. Angrily, I finally began searching for the bird myself. And that's when Fancy reappeared, the still-kicking Hun in her mouth. She'd been trailing the bird a good 10 minutes.

Affectionate and birdy -- that's the Brittany in a nutshell.

Fancy was also a good swimmer, and several times over the course of her 11-year career she was called upon to do water retrieves. Brittanys, unlike most of their spaniel brethren, don't take to water naturally and ideally should be taught at a young age. To that end, I spent most of my first summer letting Fancy romp along behind me on fishing trips. By the time she was six months old, she'd swim in my wake while I waded upstream casting flies.

She never learned to love water like some dogs do (including one of my setters, believe it or not), but she never hesitated to dive in for a retrieve or cross a shallow stream when called upon to do so. Nothing is more aggravating than a dog who runs up and down the bank of a six-inch-deep brook, unwilling to get its feet wet.

Brittanys are handy, pocket-sized dogs that keep well in a small house or apartment. But their reputation for being hyper is overblown, in my opinion. I think a lot of that is from their innate friendliness. Powder is all over anyone who visits my place, to the point of being a nuisance, and it would be easy to assume she's like that all the time. She's not. Within five or 10 minutes she settles down and retreats to her pad, where she spends most days napping.