"I have seen men bury their dogs and not be able to stand up to leave the grave."--Bill Tarrant

It hits soooooo close to home. My Carly was welped in August 2004, the runt in a litter of 7. The last one left when I came calling, advised "that little runt is cute but likely won't make much of a working dog." 14+ years later we've taken our share of quail, pheasants, grouse, and woodcock. This season was her last, and I curse the bird hunting fortunes that it could not have been a better year. It was not all a loss though, as it is easier to take longer walks down memory lane when you're not constantly being interupted by quail flying here and there. I now catch myself doing the same thing, planning the spot, then scolding myself for thinking of things not yet come to pass. But it near, and we both know it. My only hope is the spot is worthy, she has so earned a good one.

Here's to Nash and Ned, kindred spirits we be!

If that doesn't make you tear up then your heart's made of obsidian.
When I buried my first chessie I sat there over her grave and cried. Took me a year to feel right enough to get another one.
When my own English pointer (and my first real bird dog) died of pancreatic failure a couple years ago I buried her next to my Holly and cried some more.
That's the bitter pill we have to swallow for the treasure of their company.
I'm going to hug my dogs right now and remind myself of that old bumper sticker platitude: "Try to be the kind of person your dog thinks you are."

RIP Nash. I hate losing a dog. The dog i grew up with as a kid died one day while i was at pre-school. I still remember coming home and asking where my dog "Sam" was at. My mom told me he was gone and wouldn't be coming back. Even though i was young i knew what that meant. My mom tried to comfort me by reminding me that there was a drawing done of Sam that we had framed and that i could always go look at that if i missed her. I cried for hours. This still actually brings tears to my eyes and it happened decades ago.

On a less sad note- I cant believe that the owner of Nash knew exactly how many birds that Nash had pointed and retrieved.

Wow. Buried my Lab Midnight last summer and cried. Knew it was going to happen because he was 16 had been falling on his face when he tried to stand up the day before. It still hurts.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to the Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water, and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember then in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from you heart.

Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together.........

Author unknown

Dang, I was doing fine. Now you got me crying over Slim, Belle, Nubbin,and Jiggs again.

My new pup Jill is amost a year old and looks like she will be my best bird dog ever. Hope it's a long time before she passes.

It was once said that every man deserves one good dog in his life,and five years ago I buried that dog. His name was Bonnivilles Best Buckingham (Buck for short) best damn lab I ever had.

My old 14 year old yellow lab, Toby, walked out into the backyard year before last, laid down under the kid's trampoline, a spot that he often enjoyed, and died. When he did not come later as I called him I went looking since he could not hear very well. My son and I buried him under his favorite tree near the horse pasture. I still look at that tree and memories flood back into my mind whether of Toby searching for pheasants or playing with the children or just laying by the woodstove on a cold night. He was that kind of a dog in that he possessed more admirable qualities and traits than many humans I know. I still miss hearing the deafening thump of his big wagging tail hitting the side of my pickup as he patiently waited for me to exit upon my arrival home every evening.

I am crying while stroking the ear of a two year old female Bluetick Coonhound as I read this blog. The thought of my dearest friend dieing is too awful to contemplate. My former dearest friend was a black lab who passed at the age of sixteen. He and I were literally inseparable. The pain of his passing was akin to having my heart ripped from my chest, flung upon the ground and stomped by a giant. I thought that there would never be another like him in my life but for some reason, certainly due to no fault of my own, God has smiled upon me and sent the Bluetick from heaven to be my dearest friend and companion. She has pried open my heart and entered that special place that only the Lab once inhabited.

THanks for sharing this, Nate and Ned.

Life's so short. That a good dog's life is so much shorter seems so unfair. Maybe its because we need reminding--I know I do frequently--that there's important stuff we shouldn't be taking for granted. That what we have is today.

And today I'm grateful to have known and hunted with Nash and Ned; to have been there to see both my boys kill their first grouse behind Nash, and to have shared a 'splash of Famous Grouse' in honor of that day and everything it represents.

Thanks, Nash.

I’ve been fortunate to have both good dogs and good horses in my life. Urbanites and women can’t conceive what a good horse and dog means in a man’s life. We train and learn together, eat together, hunt and compete together, and if the occasion arises….fight and die together.

Yup. Dog is indeed man’s best friend and “The horse is what got us out of the cave.” To paraphrase Charlie Russell.

I’ve been fortunate to have had all my bird dogs and riding horses pass on to their Elysian Fields by old age. Their passing has always been brought mourning, but their passing isn’t tragic just an expected learning experience. We’re all mortal.

This is one of those adjunct issues that non-hunters rarely understand...the passing of our gun dogs, who own us. And, who leave us.

Our investment in their well-being was a mere inconvenience compared to their total investment in us.

I have buried two Brittanies and one Setter...have a Yellow Lab now. The Good Book says, 'The Good Man regards the life of his beast'. Men I have hunted with are uncommonly good men, who would fight a buzz-saw for their hunting dog. There are exceptions, but I will not hunt with them.

Kindest regards for the life of Nash...my greatest loss was Abby--the most unique Brittany I ever knew. I did not count the woodcock she pointed and retrieved, but it was in the hundreds...all legally taken.

This was a good topic, in my humble opinion.

Blueridge

Friend, I'm sorry for your loss. It's hurts when a sportsman/woman loses a hunting buddy like that, almost like you lost an appendage. You tell yourself you don't want to go through something like that again, to hard on the heart, but then you see a pup and think of all the good memories.... and do it all over again, good for the soul. Great tribute

As I watch my 10-year-old Golden rolling on the floor with a chew toy this morning, I wonder how I will deal with her passing. I would guess not well considering what occurred after reading your post. I offer condolences in memory of Nash. What an excellent burial. Mine will have a place among the others I have buried on our property. Events like these are never happy, only bittersweet in the acknowledgment of the end of suffering and acquisition of the happy hunting ground for which we all long. Get back in the saddle as soon as practical.

My Lab gets away with stuff the kids would never have gotten away with! You can always tell the character of a man by the way he treats his dog.

Our last Lab passed away almost 2 years ago. He was never much of a hunter since he spent most of his early years with the wife while I was deployed in the Navy. He was still the best dog we ever had, even if he was sort of a mama's boy. He was fiercely protective of the wife and son. But he lies under the willow down by the pond where he liked to stand guard over his pond.

Mr. Petzal

A good topic for a blog might be to post your dog's favorite and funny antics..

Dr. Ralph...
Someday, most likely, your son will find the way that it really feels, and will remember how you felt about your dog.

Ahh, Youth...so heartless, so often...the way we were, once. But, with a little guidance, they will be the dog lovers we are now.

Blue

There are dogs...and there are those dogs that become valued companions and family members. We had one we adopted from a shelter for abused animals, and it promptly became part of the family. My children grew up with that dog, and she remained with us until she was 15. I had to call the vet, who made a housecall to put her down. I discussed it with my children and told them I could not permit our dog to be in pain like that. Needless to say, they were convinced I was the most cold-hearted S.O. B. in creation. That mutt was a tough act to follow. There was a void in the house without a good dog, so we got another, but I still have a photo on my desk of "my" dog, and I still have her collar in the den.

So many great posts, I'm choking on some of them. Labhtr-thanks for the poem Rainbow Bridge-first I've heard of it and I pasted it immediately into a note to a couple of friends who just lost their pals.
My first "own" dog was a lab and a friend and I were on our way home from collegefor the summer. We had to cross back into Canada from the US (Detroit) and while I had all my papers, as did my buddy, the agent somehow didn't like my dog and I had to return to the breeder, who was also my boarder and friend, and leave her there. This was several hours drive and then we drove home to Toronto...a real pain. I called and got the papers in order with the expectation to pick up Gretchen the following Friday-a week away. When the Fri. rolled around and I was just about to leave, my dad summoned me to the phone. It was the breeder...she had run out of the yard, onto the street and been killed by a car that very morning. I made the trip anyway...what a lousey day!
I hope she's there with a few of my other pals at the bridge.
Thanks!

I wrote this little notice about Nash’s passing for friends and relatives that knew him or had hunted with him. Thanks to Nate this has gone farther and touched more people than I could have imagined. I am overwhelmed by all of the comments. Through teary eyes I read them. I guess I am reminded that Nash and I are not different from many others.
This has caused me to reflect on life. Life we measure in years, in people, in places and yes, in dogs. Life is perhaps like chocolate – the best is bittersweet. So happy for all the years, more than I expected, the people it has been my privilege to know and hunt with, all the places l have been able to go and explore, and I have been blessed with far more than my share of good dogs. Life has been oh so sweet. Then there is the more than 2 score years I have hunted – all gone, spent. There are the people that I will never hunt with again. Then there are the dogs that marked the decades of my life, Nash being the latest. The bitter part in that it is spent, past and gone. The memories are locked in and that is my story, the horizon is ever closer as the plains of memory become broader.
So, at the end of a fine day afield with the day draining west, I almost always pause with companions to relax and reflect with a ceremonial while sitting on the tailgate. Perhaps it is my Scot-Irish background, but the pause for reflection takes a wee dram. More than a decade ago I started looking for the right kind of memory cup. At first I thought silver but then I found a good bronze cup. On this cup I had the names and years of the dogs of my life engraved. The cup will soon be engraved again for Nash and his years. He becomes the 7th bird dog on this cup. I remember them well for they gave me their all. And I can do no more. A wee dram but barely covers the bottom, yet the cup is full of life and good wishes in a toast to the dogs, the people, the birds, the shotguns and the wild places that are a way of life. Here’s to all that have loved and been loved by a good dog.
Cheers!

Sorry - I meant Nate, but my eyes are bleary for some reason ... if you know what I mean. Thanks friend.

I've only cryed once in atleast the last ten year and that was when I had to dig the hole to bury Yassi, the best lab ever. I did everything in the outdoor back then but hunt, and she was always with me. She was with me from when I was 5 and she lived for 16 years. She came from a great hunting line, and loved the field. When I pick up the shovel I knew that this was the point where all I had was memories. It took me 8 year to get over it and try again, and now I have Addision. She is spoiled and can do want she wants, and I wouldn't have it any other way. A drink goes out to all the one's in our memories. Friends come and go, but mans best friend will always be there.