One day I looked at my old bird dog as I left to go on a business trip. She was there at the fence wagging her tail and looking at me to see if she could read what might come next. Her eyes seeking mine, her expression one of anticipation. They decipher our features better than any facial recognition technology available. When I got in my truck to leave her ears dropped, and her tail wagging slowed but she was still looking after me as I drove over the hill and out of sight. This wasn’t too long after 9/11 and I had to fly, making several layovers and connections. It was a tense time as those who lived through it know. As I drove along I had a thought that I’ve had several times over the years. “What will become of my dogs if I don’t come back?” But even deeper than that came the recognition that they’d never know why I did not come back. And for some reason that is the saddest thought I have ever conjured up with regards to my own demise. The older I get the easier it is for me to understand my own “departure.” It will happen…hopefully later than sooner, but as certain as water flows downhill. And though I have a daughter, and a wife and am still lucky enough to have a Mom and Dad, a sister, many friends, and on and on…nothing troubles me more about my own passing than the thought of my dogs at the fence waiting for me to come home and me never making it back.
That sounds stupid I’m sure, but if you think about it, all my human family and friends would know, or be able to have it explained to them, why I never made it home. But you could never explain that to the dogs. One day you were there, another day you were not, but they’d seen this before. You’d been gone before and you eventually came back. Maybe after two days, or two weeks, or in the case of some of our military service members maybe after a year…but you came back. (But, of course, not everyone came back). And it occurred to me, too, every time a vehicle’s tires crunched the gravels on my driveway from then on…they’d always believe it was me coming down the farm road. I will say this thought has helped me make some good decisions over the years, not always, but more often than not. And so it seems to me that is the truest definition of faith and hope that I can imagine. Their belief that we will come home, if not today, then next week, or next year…but we will come home. For those who say dogs don’t feel the things we feel, I disagree. And they’ll be there in my version of Heaven, along with all the faithful.
This happens in reverse sometimes, too. For any of you who have ever had a dog disappear…and after searching every back road, placing lost dog adds in every paper, on every telephone pole and in every country store for miles to no avail, that haunting, heaviness in your stomach of not knowing what happened never fully leaves. It wanes with time, but maybe on the prettiest day of the year, dropping out of the cobalt blue sky from somewhere beyond…a vision of them appears, time stops and for a second there is an understanding. None of us ever know for sure when we leave a friend, a family member or a pet whether it is the last time we’ll see them. Most likely it is not, but sometimes it is. And so the older I get the more I try to follow the best advice I have ever gotten about upland bird dog training in my life, “always end the session on a high note.” That little anecdote can be applied to pets, family members, friends, foes and the land itself. It’s not always an easy thing to do in these polarized times, but it’s worth trying. Life is short, be kind…and have faith…in whatever way that it means something to you.