GAHUNTER60
Senior Member
It seems to me that there are more gun-dog posts on this forum than the Gun Dogs, Pets, Horses, Etc. Forum. So I'm going to post this story here.
There is no argument that, at least here there's not, that the relationship between a hunter and his bird dog/retriever is one of the closest of any that exists on the planet. No writer in history captured the dynamics of that relationship better than the Late Gene Hill, Gun Dog editor for Outdoor Life, and later Field and Stream.
Below is one of Hill's shortest stories that describes those feelings, and one of his best. It's is from the book "Tears and Laughter." If you can read it without shedding a tear, then you are not a true "dog" person.
Old Tom
by
Gene Hill
from "Tears and Laughter"
“The vet told him that the old setter might live another day or so and that the humane thing to do would be to put him down. The old man brushed his mustache with the back of his hand so that his fingers would cover up his eyes and said he didn’t believe he was ready to do without Old Tom right now. Maybe in a day or so, but not right now.
So the two of them shuffled out to the car and drove off together. Now the old man had a problem. It was the middle of March and bird season was long since closed. But more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, he wanted the dog to hear one more shot and feel the whirr of one more flush.
March or no, the old man took a vigil near the swamp that night and marked down two or three birds (woodcock) as they came in to roost. And promptly at six the next morning, the two gentlemen marched down together through the morning mist, as they had done countless times before… and as one of them hoped they would do countless times again in some other fields.
The play was faultless. Old Tom drew himself up on point as proud as a puppy. The old man’s shot was as true as a youngster’s – and the deed was done!
At the vet’s a half-hour later, his last bird cradled between his front feet, his nostrils filled with the scent of what he had lived for, Old Tom went to sleep.
The old man lets him rest up on a hillside facing the western sun…old folks appreciated the late afternoon warmth. And on the slate that makes the spot he scratched “Old Tom: A Faithful Friend for 12 Fine Years.” On fair days when he thinks no one is watching, the old man goes up to the slate on the hillside and sits in the sun with a glass of whiskey and talks about times past with Tom
There is no argument that, at least here there's not, that the relationship between a hunter and his bird dog/retriever is one of the closest of any that exists on the planet. No writer in history captured the dynamics of that relationship better than the Late Gene Hill, Gun Dog editor for Outdoor Life, and later Field and Stream.
Below is one of Hill's shortest stories that describes those feelings, and one of his best. It's is from the book "Tears and Laughter." If you can read it without shedding a tear, then you are not a true "dog" person.
Old Tom
by
Gene Hill
from "Tears and Laughter"
“The vet told him that the old setter might live another day or so and that the humane thing to do would be to put him down. The old man brushed his mustache with the back of his hand so that his fingers would cover up his eyes and said he didn’t believe he was ready to do without Old Tom right now. Maybe in a day or so, but not right now.
So the two of them shuffled out to the car and drove off together. Now the old man had a problem. It was the middle of March and bird season was long since closed. But more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, he wanted the dog to hear one more shot and feel the whirr of one more flush.
March or no, the old man took a vigil near the swamp that night and marked down two or three birds (woodcock) as they came in to roost. And promptly at six the next morning, the two gentlemen marched down together through the morning mist, as they had done countless times before… and as one of them hoped they would do countless times again in some other fields.
The play was faultless. Old Tom drew himself up on point as proud as a puppy. The old man’s shot was as true as a youngster’s – and the deed was done!
At the vet’s a half-hour later, his last bird cradled between his front feet, his nostrils filled with the scent of what he had lived for, Old Tom went to sleep.
The old man lets him rest up on a hillside facing the western sun…old folks appreciated the late afternoon warmth. And on the slate that makes the spot he scratched “Old Tom: A Faithful Friend for 12 Fine Years.” On fair days when he thinks no one is watching, the old man goes up to the slate on the hillside and sits in the sun with a glass of whiskey and talks about times past with Tom
