[mobirdhunter]

I read with great empathy the recent posts of our Forum colleagues, Craig and Troy, who had each lost a hunting dog. It was especially tough reading those posts as we were losing our Alder (a.k.a. Clearcut Notorious Black Alder) to cancer at the same time. Alder was 11, and was, as all dogs are, quite a character. Bred from lines that would be best suited to horseback field trials, she very likely would have been a winner in competition, but she became available at a time when we were without a dog to hunt over. She would probably not have been my first choice for a hunting dog with her breeding, and I had to work hard to bring her range (400+ yards by the gps!) in to make her suitable for foot hunting. Sometimes I felt guilty about altering her range when I saw the joy she had in running to the horizon. Hunting her in the grouse woods was nerve wracking as she would quickly work out of range, and into mischief. Hunting her on the prairie was like competing in an Olympic race. But if you wanted to find birds, Alder was your girl. I've never had such a hard going bird dog. That drive resulted in lots of injuries over her lifetime -- run-ins with barbed wire, thorns, and other gnarly things, but when it was time to quit the field, she was the gentlest, and most loving dog I've ever known. She had a way of looking me in the eye that went straight to my soul, and toward the end I agonized trying to read that look, hoping for the sign that the time was right to put her down. I'm sure there are those of you who know all to well that look.

I guess writing about her is a catharses of sorts, and I know that I'm not alone here with those of you who've been owned by a dog and had to help end their suffering. I also know all the things caring folks say to you at your loss, but it still takes a while for the emptiness to lessen -- it never really goes away.

I hope when you read this and think of your dogs, past and present, that you'll reflect on this incredibly special relationship between hunter and dog. There's nothing quite like it, and, thankfully, never will be.