Today I had a phone call from an old social work colleague. He moved to Florida several years ago and we seem to touch base about this time every year. I suspect it is because he misses hunting in the fall. He typically asks how the hunting is going. Today he asked how Kristine's wedding went, and told me about his trip to Alaska fishing with his wife. We talked a bit about fishing here in Wyoming, the conversation drifted to bird hunting with Pheasant season set to open this weekend. He informed me that his Black Lab, Katie had died recently. She had lived for 16 years and had been a great dog to hunt with.
After I said goodbye it was not long before my mind was filled with memories about the different dogs I've owned or known. So many stories, you know with every dog there is always at least one good story.
My father loved dogs, he used to talk about a Boston Terrier Bulldog he had when he was a boy. The dogs name was Buster and would ride in the basket on his bike as he delivered news papers each day. My parents told me that a Springer Spaniel named Sam had taught me to walk. The legend is that Sam would come up to the couch where I had been perched by my mother to keep me out of trouble, I would slide down his back to the ground, grab a handful of fur and he would walk me around the room. Sam met with a bad end, he was shot by a rancher for chasing sheep with some other dogs. I suppose the lesson here is to be careful what kind of crowd you run around with. Princess was the most famous dog in my family of origin's lore. She was a beautiful Irish Setter, who unlike many Irish Setters actually was pretty intelligent. Princess went wherever my father went. Dad was once accused of having an affair with a red head by some one who thought that Princess' hair and ears flopping out of the window was Dad drove by belonged to a woman. There are too many stories about Princess to tell them all, one of my favorites was about the pigeons. Dad used to raise and race pigeons as a hobby when I was a young boy. He had saved some money to purchase a male and female pair of pigeons from a well known breeder a few hours away. Early in the morning he put an empty bird cage and Princess in the old Ford station wagon and headed off. After picking up his new birds he drove for home. On the way he stopped at a café to get something to eat. When he arrived at the car following his meal he found Princess in the front seat with both pigeons hanging out of her mouth. Apparently she was very pleased with herself, presenting these birds she had got to Dad. He always said that he did not know if he should laugh or cry. He did not take Princess with him when he went to get the next pair of birds.
My brother Jim had a dog once named Scooby, she was some kind of cow dog. Scooby moved with us from Montana to California, to Washington State. While I did not have much use for Scooby Jim certain was attached to her. Jim called me the other day and asked if I needed a dog. I know enough to know that generally if some one calls you and offers a free dog that there is a catch. I asked probing questions about this dog Jim was offering. What I discovered was that Louie (the dog in question) was part something and part something else. He likes to jump straight up and has the peculiar habit of jumping to the top of a 6 foot fence perching on the top of the fence like a bird and then jumping down only to wreck havoc in the neighborhood. I declined, I'm on thin ice with my neighbors already.
My own family has certainly owned several dogs with colorful personalities. There was Lucky, Rusty, Chester, Erminguard, Kate and Sadie. We know have Patches, he now a very old Dalmatian. All of these dogs hold some place in our hearts and mean more to some than to others in the family.
It is funny the bond that can develop between people and dogs. I remember getting my first dog. My Jr. High School science teacher Mr. Conlin had some Black Lab puppies for sale for $10.00. I took $10.00 of my lawn mowing money and picked out a male puppy, I named him Champ. My father and I had visions of Champ becoming a great hunting dog. He certainly had good instincts and showed some promise, but he also had one trait that was not conducive to living among the Native Americans on the Reservation we lived on. He would try to bite anyone who was not white. I had to make certain he was tied up all of the time. I had to be careful when I brought home my Native American friends etc. We talked to Mr. Conlin who confirmed that Champs mother had the same trait. Champ was a big powerful dog who was known to pull his dog house behind him down the street as he chased people. Obviously this was not working out very well. Dad found a rancher friend who lived in a remote part of Eastern Montana who was willing to take Champ. Dad and I had both hunted on his ranch over the years a. It was a long drive home from the ranch and while I was upset at having to let Champ go, I also felt a sense of relief that I did not have to worry about him anymore. Not long after that we moved to California.
Approximately five years ago I was seeing veterans on the medical unit of the VA hospital I work at, I came across a veteran who had the same last name and whose address was in the same proximity of the rancher who had taken Champ. As I talked with him and his wife I asked if they remembered my father, his wife said that she did because she had worked with him at the HIS Hospital in Crow Agency, MT. The rancher could not remember his name, his wife explained that he could not remember people's names very well anymore. On a whim I asked, "do you remember a 14 year old kid who gave you a Black Lab about 30 years ago or so". He smiled and replied, "I think that dogs name was Champ wasn't it, he sure was a good bird dog, I hunted with him a lot". His wife replied that he had the uncanny ability to remember every dog he has ever known. I enjoyed a few minutes of conversation with them after explaining that I was that kid who gave him the dog. It was nice to know that Champ had lived a good life and it gave some closure to that part of my life.
So take a moment to think about a dog you really loved and spend some time petting the one you now have. I for one am grateful that God put dogs on earth with us, they make us laugh and cry. I have learned a great deal from them over the years. Maybe I'll get myself another hunting dog. Right now the new kittens we just got are itching to be played with, have a good week.
After I said goodbye it was not long before my mind was filled with memories about the different dogs I've owned or known. So many stories, you know with every dog there is always at least one good story.
My father loved dogs, he used to talk about a Boston Terrier Bulldog he had when he was a boy. The dogs name was Buster and would ride in the basket on his bike as he delivered news papers each day. My parents told me that a Springer Spaniel named Sam had taught me to walk. The legend is that Sam would come up to the couch where I had been perched by my mother to keep me out of trouble, I would slide down his back to the ground, grab a handful of fur and he would walk me around the room. Sam met with a bad end, he was shot by a rancher for chasing sheep with some other dogs. I suppose the lesson here is to be careful what kind of crowd you run around with. Princess was the most famous dog in my family of origin's lore. She was a beautiful Irish Setter, who unlike many Irish Setters actually was pretty intelligent. Princess went wherever my father went. Dad was once accused of having an affair with a red head by some one who thought that Princess' hair and ears flopping out of the window was Dad drove by belonged to a woman. There are too many stories about Princess to tell them all, one of my favorites was about the pigeons. Dad used to raise and race pigeons as a hobby when I was a young boy. He had saved some money to purchase a male and female pair of pigeons from a well known breeder a few hours away. Early in the morning he put an empty bird cage and Princess in the old Ford station wagon and headed off. After picking up his new birds he drove for home. On the way he stopped at a café to get something to eat. When he arrived at the car following his meal he found Princess in the front seat with both pigeons hanging out of her mouth. Apparently she was very pleased with herself, presenting these birds she had got to Dad. He always said that he did not know if he should laugh or cry. He did not take Princess with him when he went to get the next pair of birds.
My brother Jim had a dog once named Scooby, she was some kind of cow dog. Scooby moved with us from Montana to California, to Washington State. While I did not have much use for Scooby Jim certain was attached to her. Jim called me the other day and asked if I needed a dog. I know enough to know that generally if some one calls you and offers a free dog that there is a catch. I asked probing questions about this dog Jim was offering. What I discovered was that Louie (the dog in question) was part something and part something else. He likes to jump straight up and has the peculiar habit of jumping to the top of a 6 foot fence perching on the top of the fence like a bird and then jumping down only to wreck havoc in the neighborhood. I declined, I'm on thin ice with my neighbors already.
My own family has certainly owned several dogs with colorful personalities. There was Lucky, Rusty, Chester, Erminguard, Kate and Sadie. We know have Patches, he now a very old Dalmatian. All of these dogs hold some place in our hearts and mean more to some than to others in the family.
It is funny the bond that can develop between people and dogs. I remember getting my first dog. My Jr. High School science teacher Mr. Conlin had some Black Lab puppies for sale for $10.00. I took $10.00 of my lawn mowing money and picked out a male puppy, I named him Champ. My father and I had visions of Champ becoming a great hunting dog. He certainly had good instincts and showed some promise, but he also had one trait that was not conducive to living among the Native Americans on the Reservation we lived on. He would try to bite anyone who was not white. I had to make certain he was tied up all of the time. I had to be careful when I brought home my Native American friends etc. We talked to Mr. Conlin who confirmed that Champs mother had the same trait. Champ was a big powerful dog who was known to pull his dog house behind him down the street as he chased people. Obviously this was not working out very well. Dad found a rancher friend who lived in a remote part of Eastern Montana who was willing to take Champ. Dad and I had both hunted on his ranch over the years a. It was a long drive home from the ranch and while I was upset at having to let Champ go, I also felt a sense of relief that I did not have to worry about him anymore. Not long after that we moved to California.
Approximately five years ago I was seeing veterans on the medical unit of the VA hospital I work at, I came across a veteran who had the same last name and whose address was in the same proximity of the rancher who had taken Champ. As I talked with him and his wife I asked if they remembered my father, his wife said that she did because she had worked with him at the HIS Hospital in Crow Agency, MT. The rancher could not remember his name, his wife explained that he could not remember people's names very well anymore. On a whim I asked, "do you remember a 14 year old kid who gave you a Black Lab about 30 years ago or so". He smiled and replied, "I think that dogs name was Champ wasn't it, he sure was a good bird dog, I hunted with him a lot". His wife replied that he had the uncanny ability to remember every dog he has ever known. I enjoyed a few minutes of conversation with them after explaining that I was that kid who gave him the dog. It was nice to know that Champ had lived a good life and it gave some closure to that part of my life.
So take a moment to think about a dog you really loved and spend some time petting the one you now have. I for one am grateful that God put dogs on earth with us, they make us laugh and cry. I have learned a great deal from them over the years. Maybe I'll get myself another hunting dog. Right now the new kittens we just got are itching to be played with, have a good week.
