I expect you are not a member here, but I want to apologize to you anyways, because I've been feeling bad about the way that I acted yesterday. Near the end of my hunt, as I rounded the stand of oaks by the river, I heard you shoot, and looked up just in time to see you knock down a fine rooster. I also saw him jump up and run over the bank, as you scattered another shot into the ground behind him.
I whistled my dog back to heel, so as not to interfere, and leaned on an oak tree and watched you run to the bank to join your yellow lab in the search for that bird. Looking back now, the urgency of your gait as you ran to the bank should have told me that your dog may not be up to the challenge. As I leaned there, I expect that you knew that you were being watched. I hope that you didn't feel uncomfortable, because that was not my intent. The third time that I saw you come up the bank, birdless, I broke open my shotgun, hooked it over my shoulder to be clear of my intentions, and walked toward you with a wave.
As I approached, I saw the heavy lumps on your dog's ribcage, and the slightly pained crinkle in her ears as she limped along, so I could tell that she was an old warrior. The bank that bird had jumped was no picnic, and even my 7-year old lab had to pick her way gingerly through the brush to get down. She descended the bank all the way to the river and then hooked downstream, hot on the scent. I walked the bank, watching her work the bird. By the time she caught it and came back up the bank I was 100 yards away from you. I took the bird from her - a fine one, and walked back. I know that I puffed my chest out, squared my shoulders, and swaggered all the way back to where you waited. I'm proud of my dog, as we all are, and nothing gives me more pleasure than for other hunters to see her work effectively. I make no apologies for that. But when I handed you the bird and you looked so uncomfortable, I realized that my immodest swagger was both unnecessary and unkind to a hunter enjoying one of his last hunts over an older dog. But it was too late. I could see then that the flush in your cheek was not only from exertion. But you thanked me so politely, and then mumbled a few things about her being past her prime, that she'd had her day, and that you guessed she'd not got too many hunts left in her. Well, my friend, that last one sure took the swagger out of my walk. If I could take it back, I'd have been a lot more modest about it. I wish now that I had thought to say something sympathetic about the unfairness of gun dogs' short lifespans, or asked you to recount some tales of her hunts during her glory days. I wish I had at least scratched her ears. I'm sorry. If you come upon Ruby and I walking the fields, sometime down the road when she's the one limping along on arthritic joints with failing senses, I hope that you and your new pup will be more gracious to us than we were to you yesterday. All the best to you and Jesse this season.
-Croc
I whistled my dog back to heel, so as not to interfere, and leaned on an oak tree and watched you run to the bank to join your yellow lab in the search for that bird. Looking back now, the urgency of your gait as you ran to the bank should have told me that your dog may not be up to the challenge. As I leaned there, I expect that you knew that you were being watched. I hope that you didn't feel uncomfortable, because that was not my intent. The third time that I saw you come up the bank, birdless, I broke open my shotgun, hooked it over my shoulder to be clear of my intentions, and walked toward you with a wave.
As I approached, I saw the heavy lumps on your dog's ribcage, and the slightly pained crinkle in her ears as she limped along, so I could tell that she was an old warrior. The bank that bird had jumped was no picnic, and even my 7-year old lab had to pick her way gingerly through the brush to get down. She descended the bank all the way to the river and then hooked downstream, hot on the scent. I walked the bank, watching her work the bird. By the time she caught it and came back up the bank I was 100 yards away from you. I took the bird from her - a fine one, and walked back. I know that I puffed my chest out, squared my shoulders, and swaggered all the way back to where you waited. I'm proud of my dog, as we all are, and nothing gives me more pleasure than for other hunters to see her work effectively. I make no apologies for that. But when I handed you the bird and you looked so uncomfortable, I realized that my immodest swagger was both unnecessary and unkind to a hunter enjoying one of his last hunts over an older dog. But it was too late. I could see then that the flush in your cheek was not only from exertion. But you thanked me so politely, and then mumbled a few things about her being past her prime, that she'd had her day, and that you guessed she'd not got too many hunts left in her. Well, my friend, that last one sure took the swagger out of my walk. If I could take it back, I'd have been a lot more modest about it. I wish now that I had thought to say something sympathetic about the unfairness of gun dogs' short lifespans, or asked you to recount some tales of her hunts during her glory days. I wish I had at least scratched her ears. I'm sorry. If you come upon Ruby and I walking the fields, sometime down the road when she's the one limping along on arthritic joints with failing senses, I hope that you and your new pup will be more gracious to us than we were to you yesterday. All the best to you and Jesse this season.
-Croc
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