Charlie Boillod is our first and oldest customer whose time with various Ryman/DeCoverly Setters spans more than four decades. Recently Charlie was kind enough to write up some of his experiences and send them to us along with some great photographs. We hope you'll enjoy his unique perspective on DeCoverly English Setters.

Growing up in the early 50's, in a not yet completely overbuilt suburban town in New Jersey, it was still an era when it was not uncommon to see young boys afield in unspoiled woods and cover with bow and arrow or an air rifle, and working trap lines along a local river, myself included. Apart from receiving a new pair of L Bean boots the most exciting delivery came monthly in the mail with issues of Field and Stream and Sports Afield. The back pages were filled with advertisements for shooting accessories and gun dogs. With every issue I was drawn to a black and white photograph of a heavily marked Ryman English setter soft mouthing a ruffed grouse. Little did I suspect that early memory would be the seed that led to a lifetime affair with those dogs.

In later years I lived in New York City but hunted extensively in New Jersey and Vermont, however always with friends relying on their English Setters to quote, "point the way." Wall Street in the late 60's was very good to a young man starting out with only a few hundred other employees at Goldman Sachs and that, in turn, enabled me to buy a substantial home in New Jersey, the prerequisite being a large back yard. Before the furniture was in place I hired a contractor to build a state of the art kennel, complete with a custom cedar doghouse. Finally it was time to visit Shohola Falls, PA.

I spent an entire day with Ellen and Carl Caulkins mesmerized with so many gorgeous dogs in one spot. Eventually I expressed my long latent desire to buy a dog, "just like the one in the advertising picture." In fact I pointed to a very large grown dog named Grouse Monster and asked if he was available, but Carl said that was not the animal to take home and that I should start with a puppy. He would call when he had a litter with what he thought was the right "head dog" for me. Somewhat downcast I returned home awaiting his call.

It wasn't long afterward when he summoned me back to see if the male he'd saved was acceptable. Indeed, Ryman's First Chance with classic tri-colored markings and beautiful confirmation was perfect. Before leaving, we went over some first dog instructions and I proudly described my new kennel. To this day I will never forget Carl's prophetic words. Upon reflection he said, "Well it's amazing how these dogs can find the master bedroom."


The kennel lasted less than a week and was replaced with a rose garden. The master bedroom was just a start and almost forty years later all my five "boys" have enjoyed a space on all the couches as well as the master bed's pillows. Fast-forward to the latest member of our family, DeCoverly's Best Beau who, in spite of his 70 pounds, insists he also spend hours on my wife's lap in front of the computer. In her mind "dual" English setter refers to a "lover" as well as a hunter and, as she says, "I can sleep without you, but not without him." Jealousy is a terrible thing.

I grew up in an old-time culture of hunting dog owners who thought that a "real" hunting dog should be housed outdoors and not trained before the age of one. An outdoor dog, no longer an option, it was on to phase two. With Carl's advice I purchased an early edition of Richard Wolters' Gun Dog. The rest, they say, is the history of all five of my hunting companions. Within days Chance was locking up on a grouse wing and trained to the gun in a few weeks. At age nine months he was regularly holding point on quail at Amwell Valley Conservancy and within the first year of hunting was a remarkably successful pheasant dog. So much for old school theories.

But in his third year of life tragedy struck Chance. While playing with my small children in our Invisible Fenced yard he was found dead in the pachysandra. Fearing poisoning or some other unexplained malady I had my wife's first cousin (a UPA trained vet who owned a large hospital and practice) do a complete autopsy complete with Y section and brain tissue analysis.

Turns out the cause of death was an unlikely non-allergic reaction to a bee sting that he swallowed and had constricted his windpipe causing asphyxiation. Devastation for the entire family, with an obvious solution, is not consolation. A call was made to the Caukins, which turned out to be a defining point in my life, and more significantly, that of Ken Alexander, the future of the Ryman line, and the formation of DeCoverly Kennels.

Ellen and Carl had stopped breeding pending a sale of the entire Ryman Kennel with over a hundred plus animals to a wealthy coal mine owner in the south. Ultimately that too would become a dog tragedy but for the moment it just meant I would have to wait for the breeding to begin in a new location. I was absolutely disconsolate and noting my reaction Carl casually suggested that he knew of a trainer who raised a number of Ryman dogs that were then sold as finished hunters. He would see if perhaps said Ken Alexander had any puppies that would come to my rescue.

In fact he had a large male tricolor puppy that absolutely fit the bill. In a quirk of fate Ryman's Superlative Sam would become my last "Ryman" dog. Carl bought my dog and Ken's entire litter because prior to the move people kept asking about the availability of puppies and he knew he had readymade clients for the dogs. More significantly, he entered into a business agreement with Ken for a future supply of DeCoverly dogs. We all know, especially Bill Sordoni and family, how that turned out.

Sam, when not curled up with my young children, went on to become an almost legendary setter with well over a thousand pheasants and countless quail, grouse, and woodcock to his credit. So just a few prideful recollections if you will.

He was just over a year old and had never encountered ruffed grouse before, when in relatively open cover on a friend's farm went on point. Steady to wing but not shot I was perplexed that he did not retrieve the downed bird. I hoofed it to the dead game and was returning when I cleverly noticed Sam had not moved a muscle. Upon closer inspection a second bird got up and we had our first grouse double together. As a long standing pilot I learned early on to trust my instruments and as a hunter this was clearly a lesson to trust the Ryman nose.

Sam, through instinct, experience, or just plain genes was what I call a "compass pointer," the first of two that I've had. Given the terrain and quarry he would routinely back away from a first point and circle around (sometimes to all points of the compass) locking up several times and then moving to keep the bird between him and me. When watching this performance I would lose focus on the task at hand until I noticed the expression on his face that clearly translated into "What the hell are you waiting for?"

And finally, his "12 minute point." He had corkscrewed around a flattened hen pheasant that was clearly visible underneath him, literally between his front paws inches away from his nose. Three of us surrounded him and after being amazed at the sight decided to take pictures and we all posed separately with guns at the ready -- not a feather (dog or bird) moved. Finally giving a guest the privilege of flushing and downing the bird my other companion noted that almost comedic routine had lasted over 12 minutes. Pictures and stopwatches don't lie!

The real testament to the close working nature of my dogs (not my shooting abilities or lack thereof) is that, after returning from living in London my .12 gauge pair of Purdys have been essentially used for decorative purposes only. A .20 gauge Browning Diana hasn't fared much better, only occasionally called to battle in impossibly heavy grouse cover. So for nearly three decades the weapon of choice has been an Abercrombie & Fitch (Zoli) .28 gauge deluxolusso. It's lightweight and balance almost makes me a worthy hunting partner for these animals.

A further note on these steadfast animals and what makes these devoted companions so special. Late in life Sam developed a lump on his elbow and I took him to a vet specializing in orthopedic surgery. X-rays clearly determined that he had a large bone spur that had calcified over many years. When it was determined that at that stage no operation would be successful I queried the doctor and asked why, after all the later years he'd hunted, there was no sign that the painful condition had bothered him, he simply replied, "Because he loves you and wants to please you."

Time for a two-dog house and it was off to the newly established Ken Alexander's DeCoverly Kennels. Once again, he had chosen a large tricolor male but upon my visitation I made the choice with my heart not my head. Potentially a mistake but not in this case. The orange and white had so much energy and was so persistent with his boundless affection that DeCoverly's Gentleman Jake came home with me. He was a great hunter like his predecessors and instinctively backed Sam who was glad to have a stable mate even if tolerated in a rather aloof manner, (sometimes a trait of these aristocratic Rymans). But Jake really made his mark as "Mr. Personality" and as a beloved "party dog" for my teenage daughter and her friends. After what he'd seen with that crew I was thankful he couldn't talk.

It is always so difficult when holding puppies to accept the fact that we'll probably out live them. Time passes and so did Sam and then Jake. A small comfort was a masterful eulogy written by Eugene O'Neill entitled The Last Will And Testament Of An Extremely Distinguished Dog. Required reading during that long dreaded period of aching loss.

Not certain at that point that another dog was in my future I took a motorcycle ride on a beautiful fall day "just to see" the new kennels. You can easily imagine the outcome of that two-wheeled junket. Having made similar trips in the past to the other kennels I was stunned to see the beautiful grounds and sparkling new facilities and equipment. I met Ken and sincerely wondered if I'd been wasting my time on Wall Street for thirty years. "What on earth do you get for a puppy now? $10,000?" Ken replied, "No, but I will say the dogs have been very good to us." And with help from an old friend and hunting companion Bill Sordoni they have been, in turn, very, very good to the fabled Ryman/DeCoverly line.

Back to business and the mandatory (and predictably ruinous) trip to the plush new puppy house. As you may have experienced yourself, this is a place, to use my wife's Irish expression that "squeezes your heart." And what to my wondering eyes did I see but a litter of only two totally white and blind newborns, but with quote "a very good mother." I actually held in the palm of my hands the male "Is he ever going to have spots?" that would become my DeCoverly's Big Ben. I attempted to buy both but was told I could only have one or the other. So Ben's sister Jane remained at the kennels to mother many fine litters. She is still fondly remembered as the puppy pictured in Ken's arms in a memorable DeCoverly Christmas card and that picture can still be seen in past issues of the Newsletter.


Big Ben became a fitting name for an English setter because apart from the famous clock his lineage came from Grouse Monster and he grew to be a true descendant, heavily marked and ultimately weighing nearly ninety pounds in hunting trim. The picture dog in the outdoor magazines had returned.

After hunting in New Jersey in his early years we moved to Nantucket during the period of my divorce and he became my solace as well as my 24/7 companion. He was constantly with me on the beach surfcasting or on my flats boat fly-fishing. And yes, he regularly spotted stripped bass on the flats and once pointed a colony of seals on the beach. There are many fond memories of hunting the large native population of pheasants on the moors and one evening in particular when we both watched with great interest a large flight of woodcock land in my front acreage against a beautiful Madaket sun set. We were very busy the following day.

But a bachelor's life was about to change radically for us because on a cold winter's day in February 2000 we boarded the Hyannis ferry and headed south to move in with my longtime "significant other' Maureen Somerville in Battery Park City in lower Manhattan. I distinctly remember handing her Ben while I parked the truck and her remarking that, "He's so big for the city and our apartment. Maybe we should consider a smaller breed." Not likely because within a week they were inseparable day and night for the rest of his life. As a matter of fact when we finally got engaged and later married on the beach under Brant Point Light in Nantucket many of her siblings and others asked "why?" after so many years. She repeatedly answered, "Five reasons; Four carats and his English setter." I didn't even make the top five!

When Ben left us I was devastated. We had been through so much together. And fearing signs of oncoming suicidal tendencies Maureen instructed that, in no uncertain terms, I was to get back to Winola Falls ASAP. The result being DeCoverly's Best Beau. He was her wedding present to me but in reality it was her first puppy and now my dog in name only. Despite Ken's admonition that "you realize you're taking home a terrorist," he has become the love of her life as well as mine. Without question the most athletic and aggressive hunter, affectionate and devoted soul I've ever had. So when I first took him for an overnight in the country my wife stated rule number one: "If he doesn't come back you don't either." Thanks to Bridget Bodine's collar training (a first for my dogs) the outcome was never in doubt.

And how did these dogs adjust to city life? There was no adjustment save the exception of an exciting new sport -- stalking and pointing pigeons. They absolutely loved living near the water with beautiful trees, lawns, and dog runs. When you look up English setters in a dog encyclopedia they invariably indicate the breed needs lots of exercise. But remember these are "gentleman's shooting dogs' specially bred for close work with walking hunters and through experience I've learned they do fine with minimal outings. And when cabin fever strikes the farm and trout stream are only an hour away.

Still, Beau has become the unofficial mayor of Battery Park City. And if I had a nickel for every time I was asked if he was "a long-haired Dalmatian', or someone said, "what a beautiful dog,' or a child petted this gentle soul I would worry a lot less about the state of my IRA.

Speaking of raising money, I will relay two final episodes which entail other incredibly long puppy points. A one legged pigeon was perched on a marble pedestal on the local Esplanade overlooking the Hudson River and clearly had no intention of giving up his position. Beau naturally locked up only a few feet away. A friend stopped to talk and I was distracted for some minutes until a tourist asked if he could take a picture of the dog---still on point. What followed were three other photo ops for passersby's and I only regret I didn't have my violin case opened begging contributions. Cameras abounded again with a long sitting point staring up at a pigeon atop a lamppost. Another proud moment in "the joy of ownership," as Ken Alexander would say.

Not unhappily my days of fly-fishing the world and bird hunting trips around North America are probably over. No longer a member of hunting clubs or preserves, and perhaps returning to my roots, Beau and I now just occasionally hunt wild birds in western New Jersey.

But one product of my trips to Nova Scotia was meeting a newly widowed lady of a famous guide. Through hours of recited history of my setters, replete with pictures, I was able to secure a large collection of her husband's hand hammed and specially tuned dog and puppy bells.

I have never favored the commercial bells offered by Orvis and others and these unique items have become treasured possessions worn by all my dogs. When retired from the field, each bell is hung by a ribbon above a framed certificate of their lineage via the Field Dog Stud Book.

I still have bells left but it's now a real question whether I'll have other DeCoverly dogs to wear them. Hopefully so, but I must admit to confronting my mortality after several airplane and motorcycle crashes. And recently nearly bleeding to death, which caused massive heart damage and two strokes. Fear not dear reader because thanks to modern medicine I'm miraculously fully recovered with no lasting effects, in good health, still riding motorcycles across country, and chasing Beau's tail.

Inevitably though, after cheating the grim reaper so many times, my card will eventually turn up. When it does I'll remember the best definition of heaven I've ever heard. It's a place where "all the dogs that have loved you come running to greet you." After all the truly wonderful "Setters Years" on earth I pray that will happen.

Charles Van Saun Boillod

DeCoverly Kennels | Post Hill Road, RR 1, Box 1316 | Factoryville, PA 18419
P: 570-378-3357 | F: 570-378-3358 | E: dcoverly@epix.net | W: DeCoverlyKennels.com