TheGreek
Well-known member
I leave tomorrow for a week long trip to ND to chase sharptails and ducks with some really good friends. I’ve been looking forward to this trip since I was in ND last September chasing sharpies. But first I need to cover some sad business.
After many years of wanting, I brought my first bird dog, a male Black lab, home in February of this year at 8 weeks old. I named him after one of my favorite sporting authors, Robert Ruark. I had thoughts of all the hunting adventures we would have together.
I decided I would train him myself cause I didn’t have the money for professional training. He did reasonably well. I got him out over released birds a few times this summer. He loved birds and had a huge prey drive.
I was counting down the days to sept 1 and opening day of grouse here in CO.
A few days before sept 1, something was wrong with the pup. He was lethargic, couldn’t catch his breath and it looked like he breathing from his stomach. I didn’t hunt him for the opener, Labor Day, which broke my heart. I felt like I had been waiting for opening day with my own dog for my whole life. But I figured we would have plenty more.
I took him to the vet sept 2. After a lot of expensive tests, the news was bad, congenital congestive heart failure. Vet told me do not hunt this dog. I was heart broken. The wife and kids were heart broken. All my plans for naught.
I called the breeder that I got the dog from, who is also a vet in the town about 40 miles west of where I live and explained what my vet told me. People in town had told me the this breeder/vet was a first class guy and that’s the reason I bought my pup from him. I explained how heart broken I was and he told me that he’d happily refund my money or give me another pup in the spring from his next litter. Then he made me an offer that proved how great a breeder he was. He said he’d offer me my pup’s father, his two year old stud dog, which he was hesitant to breed again after my pup’s heart issue. He said the dog had a ton of field trial training and he wanted someone who would hunt the dog. It was an offer I couldn’t turn down. So Ruark went back back to the breeder and I took his father, Creed, home on the same day. Taking Ruark’s collar off in the vet’s office that morning reduced me to tears. He was sick. He was bloated from fluid in his chest from the heart issue. The medicine he was taking for it was making him pee all over himself. It killed me. My 8 year old insisted he come with me. I was glad to have someone to share the sadness with. Some last pics with Ruark. He was such a good boy. Writing this and looking at these last phots has reduced me to tears all over again.
We were supposed to have so much more time together. I knew when I brought this pup home that the inevitable would come some day and I’d be heartbroken. But I figured that would be in 10 years, not six months.
He was such a good boy. Looking at these last photos of him on our last night and last morning still really hurts.
We never got to hunt together the way I had planned but it didn’t diminish how much he meant to me. He’ll always be my first dog.
After many years of wanting, I brought my first bird dog, a male Black lab, home in February of this year at 8 weeks old. I named him after one of my favorite sporting authors, Robert Ruark. I had thoughts of all the hunting adventures we would have together.
I decided I would train him myself cause I didn’t have the money for professional training. He did reasonably well. I got him out over released birds a few times this summer. He loved birds and had a huge prey drive.
I was counting down the days to sept 1 and opening day of grouse here in CO.
A few days before sept 1, something was wrong with the pup. He was lethargic, couldn’t catch his breath and it looked like he breathing from his stomach. I didn’t hunt him for the opener, Labor Day, which broke my heart. I felt like I had been waiting for opening day with my own dog for my whole life. But I figured we would have plenty more.
I took him to the vet sept 2. After a lot of expensive tests, the news was bad, congenital congestive heart failure. Vet told me do not hunt this dog. I was heart broken. The wife and kids were heart broken. All my plans for naught.
I called the breeder that I got the dog from, who is also a vet in the town about 40 miles west of where I live and explained what my vet told me. People in town had told me the this breeder/vet was a first class guy and that’s the reason I bought my pup from him. I explained how heart broken I was and he told me that he’d happily refund my money or give me another pup in the spring from his next litter. Then he made me an offer that proved how great a breeder he was. He said he’d offer me my pup’s father, his two year old stud dog, which he was hesitant to breed again after my pup’s heart issue. He said the dog had a ton of field trial training and he wanted someone who would hunt the dog. It was an offer I couldn’t turn down. So Ruark went back back to the breeder and I took his father, Creed, home on the same day. Taking Ruark’s collar off in the vet’s office that morning reduced me to tears. He was sick. He was bloated from fluid in his chest from the heart issue. The medicine he was taking for it was making him pee all over himself. It killed me. My 8 year old insisted he come with me. I was glad to have someone to share the sadness with. Some last pics with Ruark. He was such a good boy. Writing this and looking at these last phots has reduced me to tears all over again.
We were supposed to have so much more time together. I knew when I brought this pup home that the inevitable would come some day and I’d be heartbroken. But I figured that would be in 10 years, not six months.
He was such a good boy. Looking at these last photos of him on our last night and last morning still really hurts.
We never got to hunt together the way I had planned but it didn’t diminish how much he meant to me. He’ll always be my first dog.
