Originally posted on my old blog, on September 29 of 2012....Dear Kody,
Well buddy, it’s been a little over three weeks since you breathed your last breath. It’s been a rough three weeks for me, that’s for sure. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve pulled in the driveway, glanced at your empty kennel, and shed a tear. Ginger and the girls miss you too. As you can imagine, the girls took it pretty hard. You were a big part of this family and I hope you felt every bit of our love while you were here.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this letter, other than I think I need a little closure and feel the need to say good-bye properly. Somehow simply rubbing your ears and telling you you’re a good boy while you took your last breath doesn’t seem enough, although it’s all we had time for.
The leaves on the trees are beginning to change color and I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but hunting season. It’s a bittersweet feeling, since we won’t be sharing a duck blind or a walk in the grouse woods together this year. You know full well that I won’t hunt birds without a good bird dog, so it appears I’ll be focusing solely on bowhunting whitetails this fall. However, the memories of our too few hunts together will be at the forefront of my mind. Places with names such as Woodcock Haven, the Goose Pit, Mallard Hole, the Hot Spot, the Pulpit and Grouse Island will never be the same without you by my side. Our adventures in those places are cherished memories, and in my dreams we will hunt them again.
Like I told you as we lay beside each other on the floor of the vet’s office during your last few minutes, five and a half years was way too short, yet we had a hell of a good run. When I think back on our time together, a few special memories make me smile.
For example, do you remember our first grouse? I do. You were still but a pup at 8 months of age. I remember the smell of the Wisconsin northwoods that day. I remember the bird’s flush and my shot that just winged it. I remember seeing the bird, still very much alive but unable to fly, standing among the forest floor and my calling you over to it. I can vividly still see you approach the bird for the retrieve, only to have the bird flair up and charge you, and I can still hear the nervousness in your bark as you told that bird what you thought of it. I can still hear Ed laughing at the entire scene. I’m looking at that cocky grouse now, mounted on the wall, its wings spread as if in flight. It is a beautiful bird and that was a beautiful day. It wasn’t the perfect shot or the perfect retrieve, but together we were two very proud rookies. That day is, thankfully, etched in my mind.
How about our first mallard? Do you remember the sun glistening on the drops of water as the bird rose up off of the river and into the air? I do. I remember the wind blowing through the yellow leaves of the large maple tree on shore and I remember the sound of the 20 gauge as I squeezed the trigger. I remember the look of surprise on your face as that bird folded and dropped to the opposite shore, since you knew better than anyone else how poor of a shot I am. I remember you jumping into the water immediately, not needing any commands before doing your job. I remember you eagerly swimming back to me with that drake in your mouth, anxious to show me what you had found. I remember myself being overly picky about the photo of you and your first duck. You were such a handsome dog though, and nothing short of the perfect picture would do. I didn’t have that mallard mounted, but I wish now that I would have. We were, once again, two very proud rookies. That day also, thankfully, is etched in my mind.
Speaking of birds that I wish I had mounted, do you remember that Halloween day we walked along Pony Creek with Scott in an attempt to jump shoot wood ducks? I do. Do you remember how badly I wanted…and still want…a drake wood duck on my wall? I remember seeing those wood ducks down stream a short distance, making the stalk and flushing them off the water. I remember the sound of their wings flapping furiously in an attempt to escape danger and gain altitude. I remember the feel of the shotgun against my shoulder and the sight of the bead on a drake in full color. I remember the way he too, like the mallard, folded at the shot and the splash his limp body created as it hit the cold water. I remember the pride I felt as you brought the bird back to me and delivered it right to my waiting hand. I also remember the taxidermist telling me that he couldn’t repair the drake’s beak that had been blown off during the shot. I am still without a wood duck drake on my wall, but maybe the new pup and I will manage to accomplish that task next year.
What’s that? Yeah, I’m getting a new pup next spring. I hope you’re okay with that. No dog will ever replace you and I will forever miss you. However, I knew the day you died that I would have another bird dog. I always said you would be my one and only, but I never imagined you would leave us so soon. There are too many things that you and I were never able to do together. I hope you’ll help guide the new pup when he comes. Together you and I should be able to make a bird dog out of him. Oh, who am I kidding? You know as well as I do that the only reason you became such a good bird dog is because of your breeding and instinct, not because of the training I gave you. But I feel that I learned a lot with you. I know some things that I should have done, and other things that I shouldn’t, as a trainer. Funny, I never thought of it that way, but you trained me buddy. I learned more from you than you did from me, that’s for sure.
Since you passed away, I’ve had a lot of people express their sympathies. Many of them have said things such as how the loss of a good dog can be just like the loss of a child. Sorry buddy, I mean no disrespect, but it’s nothing like that. I have buried my own son and although I miss you terribly, it’s not the same. But damn it still hurts. However, it makes me smile knowing that you and that son of mine are probably chasing birds in fields and forests so beautiful that I can only imagine their glory. I bet Jacob is a good shot, and I bet he’s shooting the finest of side by side shotguns. I’m sure you two are getting along just fine and having a fantastic time doing so.
Kody, I feel the need to thank you before I let you go. There it is; the tears and the true reason behind this letter. I have never had a dog like you buddy. I had wanted a Labrador retriever since I was 19 years old, and you didn’t disappoint. You were well worth the wait and even if I had known you would only live such a short time, I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything. Your love for my family and I was truly unconditional. I knew you better than I know most people. Now, as your ashes rest on the shelf in our living room, all I have left are the cherished memories and the love you left in my heart. Yet, that’s an awful lot and I’m thankful for it all. So thanks buddy. Thanks for everything and I’ll see you soon enough. And yes, when I arrive at the gates to Heaven, I’ll be sure to have a Milkbone in my pocket.
I’ll let you go now. You have birds to chase and I have to write a letter to that new pup.
Now, hunt ‘em up Kody. Good boy.
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