Althea the dog was born in circumstances not entirely uncommon to her kind. She was pupped in a litter of 7, neither the first nor the last, neither the strongest nor the frailest. Her mother, a Short-Haired German Pointer, had felt the fleeting pangs of love with a Calhoun Hound in the tall grasses of the Alabama countryside. The two had met on a bird hunt jointly undertaken by their masters. And as special and unique as that brief meeting was, it was also not uncommon in those parts. Bird hunters often encouraged the interbreeding of their less-special charges. Those hunters who are un-scientific by disposition simply let nature run its lusty course, fingers crossed for some surprise, new genetic expression that might improve the abilities of the dogs in their pack.

As a result of her random cross-parenting, Althea was born with a unique set of folds in the edges of the flops of her ears. These folds – which resemble the delicate flaps of a bifurcated, furry flower petal, or the acute waves of cartilage on an exotic sea creature – were passed over without much reflection by the dilligent and accepting nose of her doting mother. The special folds didn’t seem to affect her hearing in any noticeable way, nor were large enough to draw visual attention. They remained a mild peculiarity, easily escaping the notice of dogs and men alike.

Althea and her litter were raised amongst the host of aunts, uncles, cousins and close friends that made up the bulk of their master’s bird-hunting stock. The litter grew strong, playing in the short grass of the dog pen on the masters modest plot outside of Birmingham. Althea’s youth was happy and carefree. She was well fed and did not want for love, playmates or the guidance of her elders.

On weekends, the adult dogs piled into the master’s truck and were carted out through the suburbs, out into the flat country of bayou and oak hammock. Once on the open fields, the breed-instinct took over and the dogs stalked and flushed birds from the tall grass. Most of the birds flew, startled, for a few hundred yards before settling again in a quiet spot. But some ended up with shot in their backsides, returning wounded or dead to the high grass where they were collected for feasting. As puppies, Althea and her litter-mates were left behind on such excursions; they were still too young to be effective hunters, their puppy-legs still too short to keep up with the vigorous strides and leaping runs of their master and pack.

But the day came when the master visited the dog pen, strutting through the excited mileu. The pack crowded around his legs, eager for a chance to run and hunt, eager for the aprroval of their uncontested leader. He patted the heads of his favorite trusties as he marched straight to Althea and her brood. There he inspected the puppies, lifting each by their scruff, prying open their mouths as they licked his fingers, inspecting the length and quality of their teeth, pushing apart the knuckles of their feet to affirm the integrety of their webbing. He was satisfied. And that weekend, Althea and her litter-mates were allowed to follow their elders, leaping bravely into the high bed of the red pick-up, toppling and tumbling excitedly as they bounced over dirt roads to the hunting fields.