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I was born and raised in southern California, just south of Los Angeles. My parents grew up in southern Arkansas or as the folks around Fayetteville would say, lower Arkansas. I spent virtually every, and I mean every summer, and an occasional Christmas, of my childhood traveling on I-10, I-20, I-30 to the Arkadelphia exit. My feelings for Texas run deeper than the bitter rivalry of the old SWC days...El Paso to Texarkana-Ugh. If we were lucky, Chuck (Dad who secretly wanted to be a trucker) would mix it up and take I-40 (the northern route) back home. You could finish a lot of crossword puzzles on a three-day road trip... pre-Nintendo.
As a kid who spent the majority of his time surrounded by 12 million people of every nationality, houses, concrete, and all things man made, south Arkansas was my Amazon - it was another world entirely. For me, it was a step back in time. My Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Doyle Delamar, who were more like grandparents to me, had 1 or maybe 2, TV channels, a party line, for a while no air conditioning and they lived 20 miles from the closest big town Arkadelphia (pop. 10,000). My Uncle Doyle worked most of his life at the White Lumber Mill in Sparkman. Each morning at 7am, a loud horn would blast through town and over the railroad tracks, reminding folks the morning shift was about to start...trust me when I say, step back in time. Every year, I looked forward to this two-week excursion. This was when I was allowed to handle explosives and firearms...legally. I spent my days sticking firecrackers in ant mounds and shooting pinecones off the highest trees with my trusty Daisy. These were all criminal acts in Orange County. When I was around 10 years old, my Uncle Doyle decided it was time I learned the responsibilities of man and his relationship with all that inhabits the earth...not in those words. This was different from him waking the entire house at 3 am, shooting his Belgium made Browning out his bedroom window at the armadillos tearing up the yard. This was official - me and an open site Marlin .22, Uncle Doyle, his 12-gauge and "Red", his 20lb squirrel dog. Uncle Doyle and Red were inseparable. Each and every morning, after cooking breakfast for Aunt Evelyn, Doyle would clean off the plates, step outside and feed Red. Every evening before supper, per Evelyn's request, Doyle, with Red in tow, would work through the garden picking vegetables, both understanding their place. And after each supper, the same routine, feed Red. He cared for that dog as he cared for his wife of 60 years. The morning had come and off to the woods we walked - Uncle Doyle, Red and me. The three of us together, Uncle Doyle the kindest, gentlest man I've ever known, softly answering every question a 10 year old can muster, and Red patiently walking slightly behind. After identifying every tree and critter I could find, Uncle Doyle came to a stop, looked down at Red and asked "where's that squirrel?" Never before had I seen anything like it...a dog, not much bigger than a fox squirrel, bolting deep into the big woods as if possessed. Until now, my relationship with Red was during the summer trips, when he would lay under the swing on the wrap around porch, sleeping most of the day, not even phased by the countless dirt daubers or the occasional horse fly. Now it's late fall. It's cold and Red takes off like he's being chased by the Devil himself. Shortly after Red's departure he starts howlin'...Uncle Doyle looks down at me and says, "come on, son, let's find that squirrel." Later, that evening, Doyle steps outside, sits down and lays a pan of squirrel and dumplings in front of Red and softly says, "good job." Many things have transpired in my life since those cherished trips of my childhood - athletics, the rebellion and selfishness of MY adolescence, growth and enrichment of college, postgraduate degree, the fulfillment of educating young adults, marriage of 20 years and counting and the incredible relations with family and friends. When asked to write about who I am and how or why I train retrievers...I couldn't help but think about what life's lessons taught me, not through words, but the actions of one man's 6th grade education, his squirrel dog and all living things. As with most creatures, it's the experiences we have early in life that establishes who we become and what we represent. "Real merit of any kind cannot long be concealed, it will be discovered and nothing can depreciate it but a man exhibiting it himself. It may not always be rewarded as it ought; but it will be known."
War Eagle Retrievers Accomplishments
For more on Derek Randle, visit WarEagleRetrievers.com.
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