Willy, Florida Sportsdog

Willy, Boykin Spaniel

Hi, I'm a Florida Sportsdog bred to hunt ducks out of small, tippy boats. I do not have any testicles, but my eyes are golden and my hair’s curly and a joy to touch. I got sick as soon as dad got me home, which my vet said was due to bad breeding. Now he feeds me special food and gives me eye drops twice a day because I have diabetes. One of my nuts was what they call “undescended,” so they had to cut me open to find it. I cost a lot of money, but I won’t fetch. Ducks? No, thanks. I like to chase a squirrel up a tree, and dad says maybe that’s my calling. I do like to eat  doves with their feathers on if my dad finds one. Dove hunting makes my dad cuss a lot. It makes sand spurs get stuck in my curly coat and between my toes, and then I whine. Dad sprays my coat with Pam and uses a comb to get ‘em out. I prefer the dog park in St. Pete, except for the poop on all the tennis balls. (Some owners don’t “pick up.”)

I love my dad and I look like a million dollars on the bow of our skiff, my ears flapping in the wind. We just got back from tent camping near Lake Woodruff. While I was resting in the truck I ate a thing called a “zipper” off a Simms raincoat. Dad whacked me with it and cussed. I ran off and wouldn’t come back when we got to the fish camp. I discovered a dead possum in the palmettos and rolled around in it some, then found dad in our tent, where he was laying out his sleeping bag. I ran off again and went for a swim at the marina.

It was raining when I came back and we got in our open skiff. Dad used the belt from his pants to hold his jacket closed. I like the rain. Dad caught a few “specs.” I ate almost all of one, and some things out of a jar called, “Gulps,” then I jumped overboard, onto land, but it was  hyacinths in the water, a thick matt of ‘em, and I could barely swim. Finally I got pulled back in the boat.

A train went right by our tent at night, so I barked a lot. Finally the sun came up and dad straightened out the cooler I’d tipped over. I sneaked and ate four  pickled eggs and some boiled peanuts in their shells. On the way home dad rolled the windows down and cussed and shook his head. It may have been my last Florida Sportsdog camping trip.