Spring is a time for new beginnings. And for some of us, that will come in the form of a puppy. As I started plotting my thoughts for this column, I made the same mistake many will make when it comes to training said puppy. I tried to do too much in too little time and space. I aspired to write a complete “how-to” puppy guide but soon realized that’s simply not possible. Even the best writers can’t fit that volume of information into a single document, just as the finest trainers can’t condense months of a dog’s development into weeks. Instead, I decided to share with you a short window of time I spent with someone else’s dog that helped shine light on training that’s caused me to reflect.

Why Puppy Walks are Beneficial

I’ll never forget when one of the best trainers I’ve spent time around said to me, “Jeremy, it shouldn’t have to be that hard.” Can something as complex as taking a puppy to a high-level hunting dog really be simple?

When I started training dogs, a common preaching was that in order to get a good retriever, all you needed was 15 to 30 minutes a day. I’ve seen the results of that theory, and in most cases, it didn’t yield well. I’m “Dad” to three kids, and they—along with a lot of dogs—have taught me that things aren’t always done as easily as they are explained.

Training is the process of teaching a particular skill or behavior, while developing on the other hand, is about cultivating and bringing something to maturity. Understanding the distinction between these two is essential—while recognizing how closely they can and should be connected is key.

In recent years, I’ve spent more time around “bird dogs,” which has led into conversations with a lot of bird dog trainers. I’ve heard enough of them swear by something to pique my interest. Some will refer to it as a “puppy walk,” others call them “free runs.” Just five years ago, I would have told you there is no way to get everything I needed done by simply taking a pup on these “walks.” Today, I’m not only using the idea with bird dogs, but also my retrievers, and I’m starting to think that it actually might be possible.

The term “puppy walk” is self-explanatory. So simple, it’s in part cause for my skepticism. But the devil is always in the details. There’s so much more happening below the surface than just letting the pup run and hoping for a lightbulb to turn on. I often hear people describe training that way, but in my experience, it rarely happens like that. I don’t think lightbulbs just turn on with young dogs. Rather, that’s just the point when people first recognize the change. Long before the lightbulb turns on, there’s a dim flickering and faint glow while connections form in the dog’s brain. It’s those flickering moments that I had been both misunderstanding and oftentimes missing altogether. Ironically, it wasn’t a puppy that helped me make sense of the “puppy walk.” It was a handsome two-year-old English setter named Rip.

Getting a Young Dog Field Experience

Rip’s owner asked me to help him get his dog on wild birds. Ruffed grouse are some of the most challenging birds for a dog to find and handle, and spending most of October with me at camp would offer plenty of opportunities. Given Rip’s age and pedigree, I assumed we’d be shooting grouse and woodcock over him in short order. I was wrong.

The first week, I watched him run past nearly every bird without much indication or interest. It was only a week, but it felt like forever. We moved 24 grouse over the course of his first six walks, all before I ever saw a point. When he did, I found him standing like a statue, giving me enough time to snap a blurry picture of him and the bird, evidence for his owner. We had done it! It was that easy, right? Wrong.

Although we ended the first week on a high note, by the end of week two, another 20-plus bird opportunities had passed without much change. Rip had lost a few pounds, was getting his wind back, and his run was growing stronger, but so were my frustrations. He still wasn’t engaging with the birds, and I kept asking myself, what was his problem?

Another week went by, and I started to wonder if it was me. Was I just trying too hard? The month started to feel like it was slipping away, and it felt like we weren’t getting anywhere. There was more pressure knowing that I was getting paid for results. I decided to give Rip a few days off to rest. The next time out, I noticed subtle changes. It was only small flickers of progress, but progress, nonetheless. If I hadn’t taken those few days off, I might not have noticed. That next walk began like the others, with a few wild flushes and no interaction from Rip. But toward the end, I heard the cadence of his bell slow down, just enough to know something was different. He raced to the front, with his bell ringing frantically just before a burst of brown flew across the trail, followed by an enthusiastic flash of white setter. He checked back into me wearing a big grin on his face, and I mirrored the smirk back, wondering if this was actually progress?

Young Dogs Learn from Wild Birds

I just kept taking him hunting. On average, we moved three to six birds per hour, but he still wasn’t associating with the flushes. I had one grouse flush in close, but I knew what we were there for. It was the point we were after, not the bird. I never shot, and that bird too was followed by a blaze of white setter in hot pursuit. A pattern was forming, and I began to celebrate the flush and enjoy the chase that followed. That’s also when I realized both my expectations and appreciation for the much smaller things were shifting. The exact scenario that was once a source of disappointment and frustration was now what I rooted for. I didn’t need it to be perfect; I just needed it to be something to build on.

I thought a lot about that bird. It reminded me of a conversation I had with the same trainer who once told me, “Jeremy, it shouldn’t have to be that hard.” A few years back, I had worried I ruined my setter pup after she caught and killed a pigeon on her own. When I finally told him about it, he laughed and said, “Jeremy, that might have been the best thing for her.”

Inspired by those words, I decided to try something else with Rip. On the next walk, a flash of brown scooted from left to right across what was a freshly mowed ski-trail. Like a beagle on a snowshoe hare, his bell traced a line towards where the bird had run, and I scurried closer to see how he would look on fresh scent. Just as we were about to intersect, a second grouse blew out from the same spot and flew straight away, down the wide-open trail. Even I can make a shot on a grouse like that, and it tumbled. Rip reeled himself onto it, mouthing feathers and drinking in scent. Now we were onto something. We were both having fun and gaining momentum. That same walk, he hunted into an area that always holds birds, and his demeanor changed. He began slowing himself, not quite stopping before we’d hear the next flush. Then, he did it again, two more times in the next few hundred yards around a swamp’s edge. 
Finally, I saw him point. It was brief, but it was a point. He relocated himself and just a tinkling of the bell sounded before another thundering flush over a sea of hazel.

Finish with a Win

Temps were cool now, scenting was good, and the birds were there and cooperating. It started with a pair of foot-flushed birds, but not long after, I heard Rip slowing. He closed in just before the unmistakable sputtering of wings clapping against branches, and his bell went completely silent for a few moments after stopping to the flush. Two more times on that walk, I watched him nose his way into an area, only to end up startled by an eruption of wings. Both times, I could have shot but decided to instead enjoy the show. I was seeing the differences between now and just weeks prior. A few hundred yards further, his bell stopped again. I rounded the bend to find him standing on the trail. He was contorted, pointing into tall tufts of yellow grass, and every muscle in his body was strained. I got close enough to see him tremor with intensity before he and I both jumped at the sound of another eruption of grouse just feet from under our noses. That was our last walk in October, and Rip managed constructive contact with five out of seven birds.

In a lot of ways, this is like creating a work of art. Just as an artist approaches a blank canvas with a vision, each brushstroke adds detail and depth to the picture. Done right, the “puppy walk” can be our canvas, a space where the foundations are laid and progress is quietly, sometimes imperceptibly, made. We’re not training the dog in those moments, we’re developing them.

The walks themselves are not the finished product, but the medium through which the art unfolds. Each step, each interaction, is like a new layer of paint—building, refining, and shaping the dog’s abilities and character. It might start out feeling and looking like paint by number, but over time, those series of simple, small moments become a masterpiece.