In this life of dogs and birds and the march of boots across the uplands, we are often struck by the unfortunate irony of losing a good dog after only a dozen years. It is unfair, we dog lovers think, that we humans are awarded with such long lives and such a wonderful animal as the canine is cheated with a short one. This past April, I put another good dog into the soil after a baker’s dozen years on this blue marble and I thought to myself, “that was the dog.” One good dog, one good woman, one good horse, one man once said.
Twenty years ago, on a hot June day, I put a good dog into the sand at the base of a chukar cliff in the middle of nowhere and as the sweat ran into my eyes and the tears ran out, I thought to myself, “that was the dog.”
And while it is true there will never be another Hank or another Sage, that old maxim of “one good and that’s all you get” is as false as the twinkle of pyrite in a prospector’s pan. The truth of this comes home to me this season as I try to rein in another amazing soul that has come into my life. She is fire and charge and zip and zing. She is faster than I can remember any of the others before her. She is smarter than them too. Or at least as I remember them. And therein is the secret: memory is a trickster. And another truth: there will be another one; it won’t be the same, but it will be different in some ways, better in some ways, and a gift. A true gift.
From the dog’s perspective, perhaps a dozen years is a cheat. But on this day in deep autumn in the full throat of another season of following the perfume of the uplands, I vow to myself to make her years varied and spectacular. I promise to grind the tires off my pickup and the soles from my boots in pursuit of her ultimate joy. And mine. There will be more moments of spectacular glory and pure puppy chaos and I will walk on, shotgun in hand, thinking about what a fortunate man I am, have been, and will be.
—TR
Mouthful of Feathers 
Well said Tom. There’s real truth to “memory is the trickster”
Well said. I hate to see them go.
Another fine one. Thank you, Tom.
And we, also, are fortunate to be able to read your deep and wonderful writing. Thank you for the memories, which bring happy tears.
It’s no accident, Tom, that you’ve been blessed with now three “the dog”s. God willing, I am certain you’ll have a fourth, a fifth, and probably share your twilight days’ porch with a sixth. For there’s more than the dog that makes the dog. It’s a master that’s wise and kind and firm and who, most importantly, loves them beyond all reason. Yes, you’ll have more. I have no doubt.
A timely post as I lay here on the floor seeing if the old yellow Lab (Taku aka the Big Bamboo) will make it through the night. If he does, the vet will be here in the morning. Drove all day from northern MT after a week of joyful hunting – how can a dog go from full bore chasing phez to a volleyball size tumor in one day? He was the one, but the four year old laying on the other side of me will soon be the one too. Thanks for your post Tom.
Reblogged this on British Country Sports and commented:
A nice article sent through by Helen Thomas. Most of us that have lived long enough to have had several dogs can relate to the theme of the story.
Excellent piece mate
Well said and felt. If our lives were measured in dogs, it would be rare not to have a good one.
Timely post. I thought the one I lost 2012 was the one dog. Two weeks ago the current girl proved the truth of your post. Excellent writing.
Thank you.
I caught this by accident looking for one of your novels . Thanks for the mild nuge and wakeup , I’ve been in a trance thinking about my 2nd once in lifetime setter she’s 11 heading to 12 and I haven’t been able to realy see beyond her ,thankyou I guess this is the emotional price we all have to pay for 12 years of devoted friendship.