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Have to say goodbye to TD tonight.
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<blockquote data-quote="campcook" data-source="post: 81477" data-attributes="member: 1196"><p></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Jessie,</span></span></strong></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">There’s a new grave in myyard today, down by the water, shaded by a grove of Russian olives. A peaceful, resting place for the remains ofmy faithful hunting partner, Jessie. She gave us almost 14 years. Mayshe rest in peace.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">She lost her appetite when Iwas fishing in Alaska. Her dog fooddidn’t appeal to her and Lisa fixed her scrambled eggs and crawled into herkennel and fed her. When she finished hereggs she reached up and licked the tears off Lisa’s face. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">She was an Englishsetter/pointer drop dog of boundless energy and focus. Always a lean hunting machine she nowresembled a thin skeleton of her old self. She rallied when I came home and she devoured a pair of pancakes butsoon after she retreated back to her listless ways. Occasionally she would lift her head off herpillow bed but, her tail always wagged. She didn’t whimper or appear to be in pain, just tired and used up. Her puppy like behavior appeared goneforever. However, when I opened the gateon her kennel run she would take 3 or 4 steps out and go on point, she knewthere was a bird out there somewhere and slowly her head would turn until shespotted a robin. She’d stalk on shakyback legs, intent on completing her last mission.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">I always thought the end wouldcome when the two of us would go on a hunt and only one of us would comeback. It really didn’t matter which ofus it was. We had a good life, chasingpheasants during the best of years in the Dakota’s. A man and dog can’t ask for much else. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">She came to us as afreebee. A Dr. who gained notoriety afew years ago with his “lead in venison” revelations gave her to me. She was the result of a hunting accident inNevada and was born on Christmas Day in 1996. We brought her home around Valentine’s Day. Cute, healthy and spry, she immediatelyingratiated herself with the lady of the household by crapping on the diningroom floor. The smell that permeated theclosed up house in the middle of winter sent everyone outdoors for cleanair. Everyone that is, except me. I wasin charge of clean up. That was a first inseries misadventures that would characterize her early life. Independent, free spirit, smart, call herwhat you will but, I’m sure for the first year or so she thought her name was“gawdamit“. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">She was, as a pup, the mostincorrigible little bitch you ever saw. She would defy all direction and command and do as she damn wellpleased. Always wanting to hunt theadjacent quarter, chase flying birds to hell and back and eat a dead bird ifgiven a chance. I had a bead on her more than once and the lord knows how much self-disciplineit took not to squeeze the trigger but, she had a nose. Her nose kept her alive and eventuallycreated the best “little white dog” many of us have ever hunted behind.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">The change came when we bothcame to the realization that she was the smartest of this pair. Once I accepted the fact that she could andshould be trusted to hunt and find the birds, life became easier. The issue however was control. What good is a dog who can find birds butthey happen to be a half mile away. She’s on point and I’m wondering if the hike is worth it. Heaven forbid if she’s on posted land.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Shock collars are a wonderfulinvention. They give new and immediatecredence to behavior modification. Inthis case it didn’t take much. One zapsent her cart wheeling and when she realized the unpleasantries associated withbad behavior she came around. Oh, herexuberance would take her out a little far at times but the beeper on hercollar brought her back and she’d keep her range respectable.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Life with “Jess” gave newmeaning to adventure. We hunted hard anddiscovered a lot about each other. Wecommunicated at times telepathically and that coupled with the trust factorenabled a bond to grow and solidify.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Once while hunting land nearLong Lake her point locked up an old rooster and my shot was relativelyeasy. However, the bird didn’t drop, nofeathers were ruffled and he soared over paralleling tree rows and out of sight. Jess took off across the stubble and while ashort blast from the whistle would have normally brought her back, she justkept going. Minutes passed and beforelong we saw her trotting back with the bird in her mouth. How she knew that was a dead bird flying I’llnever know but it was a sight to behold and a story worth telling.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Hunting along the Heart Rivernorth of Carson we watched a hawk knock a meadowlark out of the air. The stricken bird dropped into the water andafter several attempts the hawk was able snatch the bird from its waterygrave. Flying directly at us the raptorfinally saw us at a range of a few feet, so close we felt the wind from itswings as it changed course.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Our most mystifying adventurehappened along the Otter Creek north of Flasher. We were alone enjoying a beautiful fall dayand working hard for our birds. Jess washypoglycemic and I always carried dog biscuits and a bottle of honey to giveher an energy shock periodically through the day. Long towards late afternoon we stopped on ahillside to take a break. The vistabefore us was stunning. Rolling prairiewith coulees and wooded draws as far as the eye could see. It was a magnificent sight. Sitting on a flat rock I dug her treats outof my pack and started to prepare her snack. I’m not sure if it was twitch of her ears or the low whine in her throatthat interrupted my task and drew my attention to her. Sitting on her rump, as focused as if onpoint she stared across the rolling prairie. I followed her gaze and there, about a hundred yards out were 3 Indianson painted ponies. Not wanting tobelieve my eyes I looked away, and then looked back, they were stillthere. “You see them to don’t you girl”I whispered. Her eyes were locked on theapparition, both of us awed by the sight before us. I started to take notice of theirappearance. Dressed in hides of sortsthey carried primitive bows with few arrows and one had a lance. We were looking at a hunting party fromanother dimension, another time. Thetime passed much too quickly. The one Ipresumed to be the leader of the party looked at us, then as if on command theytrotted off and disappeared. Thereverence of the moment was not lost. Wesat there for a bit before Jess broke her concentration and started nosingaround for her treat. I looked for hoofprints or anything that might authenticate our sighting but found nothing andnow it’s only me who carries that memory. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Our last hunt took place onthe NTR ranch in central North Dakota. The bird population in that area had steadily been increasing and I feltsufficient enough to hunt a few of the old long tails. Todd was with me, Jessie was old and thesedays we only hunted her for an hour or two. Nothing strenuous, just an easy stroll. We decided to hunt a series of small cattail sloughs in an old naturaldrainage surrounded by corn and wheat stubble. We always found birds there.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">The first half acre sloughproduced a hen. While the prairie windwas blowing at about 25 to 35 mph straight in our face we headed towards thesecond slough. Forty yards out Jesswent on point. We knew birds were in theslough, Jess was in stealth mode, we kept walking. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">As we closed in, Jess pickedher way into the cattails, I followed while Todd skirted on the edge. Suddenly the slough erupted in a cacophony ofcackling and wing beats as a dozen birds rose, wings beating against the ripecattails sending a cloud of puff and seed straight into my face. I had cattail fuzz in my mouth, in my nose,in my eyes. I couldn’t see, I couldn’tshoot and the sight of my predicament must have been hilarious. Todd waited for my shot; he figured it wouldbe an easy double. When he saw mypredicament he scored a double of his own and Jess went about picking up thebirds. We continued our hunt to the thirdslough and filled out following the fence line back to the truck. At the truck we snacked on venison sticks anda cold beer. Jess drank her fill of coldwater and shared a venison stick or two then she was off, across the prairietrail looking for more birds. Todd and Isavored the moment sitting on the tail gate watching her work, not in any hurryto go anywhere or do anything. We talkedof life and things he wanted to do while he still had the strength andenergy. I think he looked at me and sawwhat happens to a man when Mother Nature runs her course. The spirit is willing but the body will failyou. But, I think deep down we bothrealized this could be the last time the three of us would hunt together.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">This story has been difficultto write. More often than not my screenhas been clouded by the tears that would well up in my eyes. Any man who has owned a good dog willidentify with my story. Those who grewup as I did reading “Big Red” will conjure up memories of their own and theirtears will also come freely. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="color: #000000">We had a heck of a life thatlittle white dog and me. She taught melessons no college degree would ever come close to. Now, I find myself walking out to her kennelto check on her. I save bones and hotdogs from the restaurant but she’ll never eat them. I hunted with a friend last fall behind hisdog and it wasn’t the same. God, I missthat bitch.</span></span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: silver"><span style="font-size: 9px">- - - Updated - - -</span></span></p><p></p><p>Not sure why some of those word a conjoined but I hope you enjoy my story</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="campcook, post: 81477, member: 1196"] [B][FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000] [/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000] [/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]Jessie,[/COLOR][/FONT][/B] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]There’s a new grave in myyard today, down by the water, shaded by a grove of Russian olives. A peaceful, resting place for the remains ofmy faithful hunting partner, Jessie. She gave us almost 14 years. Mayshe rest in peace.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]She lost her appetite when Iwas fishing in Alaska. Her dog fooddidn’t appeal to her and Lisa fixed her scrambled eggs and crawled into herkennel and fed her. When she finished hereggs she reached up and licked the tears off Lisa’s face. [/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]She was an Englishsetter/pointer drop dog of boundless energy and focus. Always a lean hunting machine she nowresembled a thin skeleton of her old self. She rallied when I came home and she devoured a pair of pancakes butsoon after she retreated back to her listless ways. Occasionally she would lift her head off herpillow bed but, her tail always wagged. She didn’t whimper or appear to be in pain, just tired and used up. Her puppy like behavior appeared goneforever. However, when I opened the gateon her kennel run she would take 3 or 4 steps out and go on point, she knewthere was a bird out there somewhere and slowly her head would turn until shespotted a robin. She’d stalk on shakyback legs, intent on completing her last mission.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]I always thought the end wouldcome when the two of us would go on a hunt and only one of us would comeback. It really didn’t matter which ofus it was. We had a good life, chasingpheasants during the best of years in the Dakota’s. A man and dog can’t ask for much else. [/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]She came to us as afreebee. A Dr. who gained notoriety afew years ago with his “lead in venison” revelations gave her to me. She was the result of a hunting accident inNevada and was born on Christmas Day in 1996. We brought her home around Valentine’s Day. Cute, healthy and spry, she immediatelyingratiated herself with the lady of the household by crapping on the diningroom floor. The smell that permeated theclosed up house in the middle of winter sent everyone outdoors for cleanair. Everyone that is, except me. I wasin charge of clean up. That was a first inseries misadventures that would characterize her early life. Independent, free spirit, smart, call herwhat you will but, I’m sure for the first year or so she thought her name was“gawdamit“. [/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]She was, as a pup, the mostincorrigible little bitch you ever saw. She would defy all direction and command and do as she damn wellpleased. Always wanting to hunt theadjacent quarter, chase flying birds to hell and back and eat a dead bird ifgiven a chance. I had a bead on her more than once and the lord knows how much self-disciplineit took not to squeeze the trigger but, she had a nose. Her nose kept her alive and eventuallycreated the best “little white dog” many of us have ever hunted behind.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]The change came when we bothcame to the realization that she was the smartest of this pair. Once I accepted the fact that she could andshould be trusted to hunt and find the birds, life became easier. The issue however was control. What good is a dog who can find birds butthey happen to be a half mile away. She’s on point and I’m wondering if the hike is worth it. Heaven forbid if she’s on posted land.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]Shock collars are a wonderfulinvention. They give new and immediatecredence to behavior modification. Inthis case it didn’t take much. One zapsent her cart wheeling and when she realized the unpleasantries associated withbad behavior she came around. Oh, herexuberance would take her out a little far at times but the beeper on hercollar brought her back and she’d keep her range respectable.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]Life with “Jess” gave newmeaning to adventure. We hunted hard anddiscovered a lot about each other. Wecommunicated at times telepathically and that coupled with the trust factorenabled a bond to grow and solidify.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]Once while hunting land nearLong Lake her point locked up an old rooster and my shot was relativelyeasy. However, the bird didn’t drop, nofeathers were ruffled and he soared over paralleling tree rows and out of sight. Jess took off across the stubble and while ashort blast from the whistle would have normally brought her back, she justkept going. Minutes passed and beforelong we saw her trotting back with the bird in her mouth. How she knew that was a dead bird flying I’llnever know but it was a sight to behold and a story worth telling.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]Hunting along the Heart Rivernorth of Carson we watched a hawk knock a meadowlark out of the air. The stricken bird dropped into the water andafter several attempts the hawk was able snatch the bird from its waterygrave. Flying directly at us the raptorfinally saw us at a range of a few feet, so close we felt the wind from itswings as it changed course.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]Our most mystifying adventurehappened along the Otter Creek north of Flasher. We were alone enjoying a beautiful fall dayand working hard for our birds. Jess washypoglycemic and I always carried dog biscuits and a bottle of honey to giveher an energy shock periodically through the day. Long towards late afternoon we stopped on ahillside to take a break. The vistabefore us was stunning. Rolling prairiewith coulees and wooded draws as far as the eye could see. It was a magnificent sight. Sitting on a flat rock I dug her treats outof my pack and started to prepare her snack. I’m not sure if it was twitch of her ears or the low whine in her throatthat interrupted my task and drew my attention to her. Sitting on her rump, as focused as if onpoint she stared across the rolling prairie. I followed her gaze and there, about a hundred yards out were 3 Indianson painted ponies. Not wanting tobelieve my eyes I looked away, and then looked back, they were stillthere. “You see them to don’t you girl”I whispered. Her eyes were locked on theapparition, both of us awed by the sight before us. I started to take notice of theirappearance. Dressed in hides of sortsthey carried primitive bows with few arrows and one had a lance. We were looking at a hunting party fromanother dimension, another time. Thetime passed much too quickly. The one Ipresumed to be the leader of the party looked at us, then as if on command theytrotted off and disappeared. Thereverence of the moment was not lost. Wesat there for a bit before Jess broke her concentration and started nosingaround for her treat. I looked for hoofprints or anything that might authenticate our sighting but found nothing andnow it’s only me who carries that memory. [/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]Our last hunt took place onthe NTR ranch in central North Dakota. The bird population in that area had steadily been increasing and I feltsufficient enough to hunt a few of the old long tails. Todd was with me, Jessie was old and thesedays we only hunted her for an hour or two. Nothing strenuous, just an easy stroll. We decided to hunt a series of small cattail sloughs in an old naturaldrainage surrounded by corn and wheat stubble. We always found birds there.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]The first half acre sloughproduced a hen. While the prairie windwas blowing at about 25 to 35 mph straight in our face we headed towards thesecond slough. Forty yards out Jesswent on point. We knew birds were in theslough, Jess was in stealth mode, we kept walking. [/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]As we closed in, Jess pickedher way into the cattails, I followed while Todd skirted on the edge. Suddenly the slough erupted in a cacophony ofcackling and wing beats as a dozen birds rose, wings beating against the ripecattails sending a cloud of puff and seed straight into my face. I had cattail fuzz in my mouth, in my nose,in my eyes. I couldn’t see, I couldn’tshoot and the sight of my predicament must have been hilarious. Todd waited for my shot; he figured it wouldbe an easy double. When he saw mypredicament he scored a double of his own and Jess went about picking up thebirds. We continued our hunt to the thirdslough and filled out following the fence line back to the truck. At the truck we snacked on venison sticks anda cold beer. Jess drank her fill of coldwater and shared a venison stick or two then she was off, across the prairietrail looking for more birds. Todd and Isavored the moment sitting on the tail gate watching her work, not in any hurryto go anywhere or do anything. We talkedof life and things he wanted to do while he still had the strength andenergy. I think he looked at me and sawwhat happens to a man when Mother Nature runs her course. The spirit is willing but the body will failyou. But, I think deep down we bothrealized this could be the last time the three of us would hunt together.[/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]This story has been difficultto write. More often than not my screenhas been clouded by the tears that would well up in my eyes. Any man who has owned a good dog willidentify with my story. Those who grewup as I did reading “Big Red” will conjure up memories of their own and theirtears will also come freely. [/COLOR][/FONT] [FONT=Times New Roman][COLOR=#000000]We had a heck of a life thatlittle white dog and me. She taught melessons no college degree would ever come close to. Now, I find myself walking out to her kennelto check on her. I save bones and hotdogs from the restaurant but she’ll never eat them. I hunted with a friend last fall behind hisdog and it wasn’t the same. God, I missthat bitch.[/COLOR][/FONT] [COLOR="silver"][SIZE=1]- - - Updated - - -[/SIZE][/COLOR] Not sure why some of those word a conjoined but I hope you enjoy my story [/QUOTE]
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