My Buddy...

Originally posted on my old blog, on May 20 of 2012...

It is no secret that the bond between a man and his dog is a strong one.  Especially if that man is a bird hunter and his dog is a bird dog.  From the time that dog is brought home as a clumsy, curious and adorable pup, the man and his dog become not only pet and owner, but also hunting companions and best friends.  Such is the case with my black Labrador Retriever, Kody.

Don’t get me wrong, Kody is a knothead.  But he’s my knothead.  That big ox has had me smiling, swearing, laughing, frustrated and just plain old dumbfounded at times.  At times he’s made me proud and at other times he’s had me ready to leave him stranded in the woods while I pack up the truck and head home.  I’ve watched him do everything from eat goose poop to break ice just so he could swim during a terribly cold winter duck hunt.  He’s cuddled up with barn cats and scared Fed Ex drivers so badly that they won’t get out of the truck when they pull in the drive.  We’ve shared successful hunts together and non successful hunts.  He’s retrieved pheasants, grouse, woodcock, doves, ducks, geese and even a sparrow or two (or three, or four, or five).  I’ve watched him swim across a strong river’s current and find a dead mallard in the most impenetrable brush imaginable, yet I’ve also watched him walk right over a dead dove laying in plain sight that he couldn’t find.  Together we’ve shared everything from fajitas to cold beer, from campfires to ice cream.  He loves my family with a love so unconditional that if he were human, I would trust him with their lives.  Usually he loves to play, but once he sees me get out the shotgun, he goes into work mode.  When I’m shooting my bow in the backyard and in the few (okay, maybe more than I care to admit) instances that I miss the target and can’t find my arrow, I go get Kody out of the kennel.  I know he’ll come out there and when given the command “hunt it up”, he’ll rush out into the yard with his nose checking every square inch of ground until he suddenly stops, tail wagging rapidly.  It’s then that I know he’s found it and I had best get to it before he digs it up out of the grass and demolishes it.

When life, cars, teenage daughters, work or whatever it is has me frustrated, I know I can lean on him and vent without him telling me what a cry baby I am.  He’ll lay down at my feet while I smoke my pipe, give a large sigh because he would rather be out hunting, and fall asleep on the floor of my shop.  He’ll soon start snoring, no doubt dreaming of hunts gone by, until I get up out of my chair.  Then he suddenly is wide awake and following me every step.  His favorite place isn’t in his dog house, in a duck blind or even in the northwoods chasing grouse. Rather, it’s at my side.  I don’t know why and I can’t explain it.  But that’s where he wants to be 24/7 and I wish I could oblige him.

There is one emotion that Kody hasn’t caused me to feel quite yet and that’s sadness.  Someday he’ll take his last breath as I pet that head of his which is large enough to rest a small block V8 on, and I’ll cry like a baby as I feel the warmth steal away from him.  Then I’ll take him home and bury him out behind the barn where many days after I’ll walk out with a pipe in hand, sit down in the grass and talk to him.  I’ll miss him terribly.  But that’s the bittersweet price we pay for having a pet so wonderful and dear to our hearts.  Until that day comes, I can’t say whether or not I’ll get another dog after Kody’s gone.  I’ll deal with that decision when it comes.  However, I can say this…no dog will ever replace my buddy.  He’s one of a kind.

I know you will never read this Kody, but I love you buddy.  And I’m counting the days until hunting season, if for no other reason than to simply give you that which you deserve.  What’s that?  Yeah, I’ll quit with the mushy crap and get you a Milkbone now.  Knothead.

In the Beginning...

Originally posted on my old blog, on May 20 of 2012...

 

It was Christmas of 1981 when my dad gave me my first bow.  A small, red fiberglass bow from Bear Archery to be more precise.  It came with a black hip quiver made out of cheap plastic, but nonetheless I thought it was cool.  The quiver held three yellow shafted arrows and I still to this day remember the white rubber fletching.  Our parents were divorced and Dad was enlisted in the United States Army.  We didn’t see him much, but he sure left an impression this particular Christmas!  Dad gave both my brother and I matching bows that year.  I can still see the packaging that the bows came in.  Once we unwrapped the gifts, it wasn’t long before we were dressed and running out into the snow covered front yard at Grandma Olson’s house.  Dad leaned a small box against the big tree in the yard so that we had something to shoot at.  I didn’t know then that this was the birth of a lifelong passion of flinging arrows with a bow in my hand.

That same afternoon, Dad took us across the road from Grandma’s, into the large open field, to go on our first “hunt”.  Dad told us that we were going to try and flush some rabbits and we were pretty excited.  What an adventure for two boys, ages 11 and 9!  We walked that field, the three of us spread out and checking brush for bunnies, for a little bit when all of a sudden a rabbit flushed right at my little brother’s feet!  As if it were yesterday, I can hear Dad yelling for my brother to shoot.  But little bro was too awestruck to do anything more than stand in that wind swept field and watch the cottontail flee to freedom.  I don’t remember how much longer after that we stayed in the field, but I seem to recall the cold’s icy grasp took hold of us boys and we headed back to the warmth of Grandma’s little house.

There were more adventures with those little red bows, including the chasing of one devilish chipmunk and the near fatal experience of pissing off the neighbor kid’s mother when we made plans to run away from home.  But we survived and nobody was hurt in the making of our boyhood memories.  But then the world was a different, and much better, place for a boy to grow up.

Damn I wish I could re-live my boyhood.