I tried many times to have a dog, but for various reasons it
never worked out.
One failure that
still hurts over 40 years later was Hubie.
I had decided owning a dog was never going to work for me, and I would
never own another one.
Then a friend
moved away and left me his dog.
Hubie was a trained hunting dog. I know he was a mixed breed with both spaniel and German
shorthair, but in spite of having both flushing and pointer in his genealogy,
he was most at home retrieving waterfowl.
He and I were good friends almost immediately.
I had rarely hunted birds, and never before had I hunted
water birds, but that was about to change.
As soon as the season opened, he and I took the canoe out to the reeds
on a nearby lake and when the sun came up, the teal were flying. I took a teal about 30 yards out, and Hubie
climbed over the gunwales to bring it to me.
In about 2 hours I had my limit, and I knew we would be doing this
again.
The second and third hunts were about the same as the first
one, except that there were more ducks than teal, but all I could seem to score
on were the teal. Never the less, Hubie
was all I could hope for in a hunting dog.
He and I managed to get in some quail hunting, and he was good at it,
but the water was where he belonged.
We had time for one more duck hunt before the season closed,
and at sunup we were in place among the reeds.
It wasn’t the place we had been on previous hunts, but it was close
enough. The reeds provided a natural
blind with just enough space for me to watch the flyway over my half-dozen
decoys. It was a cold morning, but we
were as warm as we could get in a canoe.
I had spread out a number of blankets for Hubie to lie on, and I had
plenty of towels to dry off some of the excess water he would collect while
retrieving my birds.
The birds were there on time that morning. I sat and watched the first few fly by
without taking a shot, and Hubie let out a low growl of disapproval. I finally raised my twenty-gauge and fired
off a shot. As the bird hit the water,
Hubie jumped out of the canoe, and I heard the yelp. I looked at where Hubie entered the water, and I saw the stick
before I saw Hubie and the blood.
As quickly as I could, I moved the canoe a few feet so I
could grab onto the dog, but it was too late.
The stick had killed him almost instantly. Bringing him back into the canoe, I guess I flashed back on all
the dogs I had tried to own. I know I
cried. I think I screamed out my
anguish. Other hunters quickly motored
and paddled over to me thinking I was injured, but one look at my dog brought
tears to most of them. Apparently I
wasn’t the only one to loose a dog in a similar manner.