This thread has been interesting to me since we at Needlepoint Kennels bred our Emma to Jack 14+ years ago. The resulting litter had really good bird dogs. Those pups are reaching the end of their time on this earth. I decided to share an email re: Sonny, one of those pups, from his owner, my friend Jeff.

I, many years ago, nicknamed Jeff "The Dog Thief." The Thief has bought dogs from me over the years, but, has yet to pay the original asking price on any of them. Things like "I only have $$$$$ to spend on a dog, etc. The bottom line is that Jeff is the kind oF owner we all want to OWN OUR PUP.

EMAIL:


Dick, I spread Emerson's ashes last week...as noted below.

I might as well admit that I left the Upper Peninsula feeling as though I was doing something wrong.
The hard-to-shake feeling arriving from leaving my setter Emerson up there....I turned, walked and then drove away from a dog dear to me.
Which was a first....I never have done that before.

Last season, he pointed his last grouse, a grey phase which I was able to right barrel for him and then, he got his mouth on it....a sweet old song last sung.
His hearing as much as his health determined the use of the word "last" and I was resigned to that reality.

Nearing 14, he passed away a couple months ago and I had him cremated...as I never will dig another grave...just can't do it.
Which left the decision of what to do with his ashes.....home, hearth or any choice is never wrong, I just had to determine what was my own right choice.

I decided the covert of his last bird was to be the location for his ashes and under a tall fir overlooking where his bell last went quiet next to the swamp was to be the spot.
He & I went out the old haul road last Wednesday and I was carrying my Fox 16, as on that October day last season.
I had started off from the truck with only one #8 but a friend noted "better take a couple" and I thought...yes, it is Emerson after all...and I took two, out of believing in the power of bird dogs.

I reached the spot I had in mind under rising wind and lowering skies....rain was a-comin'. Emerson was placed in a pattern hard into that wonderful wind where he was want to be and a part of him was blessedly carried downhill to the remembered silent bell.
A single right barrel from the Fox was fired and I left a bit of my DNA behind Emerson, to ever be united in my proper place in the partnership.
I thought of Emerson's natural ups and downs over the years, smiled and shook my head both and then, turned to go....the walk back alone was more difficult than I thought.

Next season I will likely walk again to the big fir.....and once again, I will take more than a single shell.
As noted before, it is Emerson after all.