October 2013: I was invited to observe a pheasant hunt in the English countryside. I’d never seen retrievers do their thing. I quite enjoyed their enthusiasm and the tradition of the day.
October 2013: This gamekeeper had several dogs working. When the pheasants began raining into the pond they all splashed in, swam better than some people I know, and recovered every single bird.
October 2013: One of the shooters had trained his own gun dog, Chalky. So gentle with the birds, he was a little aggro with some of the other dogs. That’s the way of the pack, I guess.
Orthopedic issues keep Slim from sprinting and retrieving these days. Happily, I managed to capture him in a moment of hopeful, taut readiness a couple of years ago.
August 2015: The tradition of moving sheep to high pasture in the summer lives on in Colorado. As well as the tradition of an autonomous Kuvasz to look after them.
May 2004: Stella who was adopted by Michael Makely (or vice-versa) at the old GNA office. She loved that cow.
Late-90s: I missed the focus on Zuma but caught a glimpse of her spirit. She wasn’t one to beg but she loved to high-five for a treat. She was the first dog I ever really knew. My dad didn’t let us have pets growing up because when he was young his dog died and broke his heart. Trying to save us from that pain, he also “saved us” from some valuable lessons.
Late-90s: Zuma would sit calmly and let the world of sights and smells come to her as we paddled. Flathead Lake, Montana.
October 2016: I always knew I would one day push the plunger. That the grief would be suffocating. And that the pain would be over-balanced by the love I felt and learned to give while she was alive. I would not be who I am or able to love as I do if Echo had not been in my life. Easing her pain was my next-to-last expression of love for her. My last will be to never, ever forget.