Thin Ice and Long Odds: Judging Winter Water Work on a Cotswold Shoot

There is a point on a cold Cotswold morning when the flight pond stops being an asset and starts being a hazard. The light is still grey behind the beech hanger, the thermometer on the tailgate says minus three, and the water at the near margin has that flat, tin-coloured sheen that is neither water nor ice. Somebody always says the dog will be fine. Often, somebody is right. The whole job is working out which morning is which before the first bird is pricked.

Ice never announces itself

From the peg, a frozen pond just looks like a pond with a bit of shine on it. Up close it is a patchwork. Six millimetres of grey-white crust at the shallow end, open black water in the middle where the springs push up, and a soft sugary rim where the field drains in. A dog that goes through at the margin is in a foot of water and out again in three seconds, slightly embarrassed. A dog that goes through forty yards out is in a completely different situation, and it will not be you who is wet.

Look for the colour first. Clear, dark, bluish ice is typically the strong stuff. Anything that has gone white, milky or patchy is suspect, and the grey slush where a feeder stream enters is the worst of the lot. Listen, too: a dull boom that travels across the pond under your boots is not reassuring. Tap the margin with a stick and watch whether the sheet sags in a wide saucer rather than cracking sharply. That saucer shape is thin ice, and it will not hold a spaniel, let alone a labrador.

What the cold actually does to a dog

Cold water strips heat from a body far faster than cold air at the same temperature. A thick Labrador coat is insulation, not a wetsuit, and it is close to useless once the undercoat is soaked through. The first plunge triggers a gasp reflex, which is why a dog that goes in unexpectedly sometimes comes up spluttering and disorientated rather than swimming. After that, the muscles in the hindquarters start to cool and stiffen, the swim becomes flatter, and the dog keeps going anyway because everything in its breeding tells it to.

That is the trap. A keen gundog will not self-assess. It will head out into open water seventy yards from the bank, pick a duck, turn into the wind, and then find that the way back is into a wall of ice it cannot climb. Every winter, somewhere in the country, that story ends with a handler going in after the dog. Two casualties instead of one.

Watch for the quieter warning signs on a working day: a dog that suddenly sits and refuses to move, a tail that hangs limp for days afterwards, shivering that continues long after the towel has been out. Cold tail is a real thing, and so is cramp in an older dog that has been standing in a wet truck all morning.

A handler's checklist for the edge

Before any dog goes into water between November and February, run the same handful of questions through your head, every time, without exception.

• Can the dog get out? A steep, undercut bank with a lip of ice along it is the killer combination. Look for a shelving margin, a slipway or a cattle drink where a wet dog can find grip.
• How far is the retrieve, really? Distance across open water is not the same as distance across stubble. Cold, current and a bird in the mouth all add up.
• Is there moving water involved? A swollen Coln in spate after a thaw is not a flight pond and should never be treated as one.
• What is the bird worth? A pricked duck that sails sixty yards into the middle of a half-frozen pond is very often a lost bird whether you send or not. Weigh the bird against the dog, honestly, and be prepared to write it off.
• Can you get to the dog if it goes wrong? If the answer involves wading, a boat you do not have, or a bank you cannot climb, the answer is no.

Calling a dog off is a trained skill

Handlers talk about steadiness as though it only means not chasing. It also means stopping, turning and coming away from something the dog badly wants. That does not appear on the day. Build it in October, on grass, with a dummy lying just beyond the dog's reach and a stop whistle between the dog and the prize. Practise walking away from a marked retrieve, once, cleanly, and then pick it yourself. A dog that has been called off a dummy twenty times will accept being called off a duck once.

The other half of the skill is yours. Sending a dog is an act of optimism. Calling it off is an act of judgement, and it should feel like a decision rather than a defeat. Nobody on the shoot will remember that you declined a retrieve. They will remember a dog that had to be carried back to the truck.

Keeping the work sharp without the water

A frozen fortnight does not have to mean a fortnight off. Memory retrieves into kale stubble, marked falls across a dry ditch, and a bit of steadiness work at the pond edge with the dummy landing on grass all keep the gears turning. The pond itself can still earn its keep as a training ground: walk the dog along the bank, sit it up, drop a dummy in the shallows within reach, and let it wade only to the point where its belly is wet. Confidence grows without risk.

If a genuine water retrieve is unavoidable, choose shallow running water over still water, pick the warmest part of the day, keep the retrieve short and have the dog back on the lead and into a towel within a minute.

Warm up, dry down, warm up again

A cold dog going into cold water is a bad start. Five minutes of trotting on the lead before the drive raises the core temperature and loosens the muscles. Afterwards, get the wet coat off the wind immediately, dry the chest and armpits rather than scrubbing the back, check the pads for small ice cuts, and get the dog into a crate with clean straw and a blanket over the top. A wrapped hot water bottle, warm rather than hot, is worth more than any amount of rubbing. Skip the hot bath. Warm a dog slowly and it stays warm.

A final word about other people's ponds

Ask the keeper before you send a dog into a flight pond you do not know. Many are fed with barley and managed carefully for the ducks themselves, and the owner will have views on a wet dog churning up the margins. A short conversation at the meet saves a long one afterwards, and it is usually the person who asks who ends up being invited back.

Winter water work is a judgement call, not a test of nerve. The dogs will always volunteer. It is the handler's job to decide whether the offer is worth accepting.