"Here is your breakfast, you'd better eat it and then we'll go try to get you a goose."
Jasmine (known as Jaz by most of us), made her way into the kitchen, walked right past the food bowl, and parked herself in front of the garage door. I could read her so well. She was saying, "You're not going hunting without me. I'll even give up my breakfast to make sure I get to go along."
Jaz is nearing 11 or 12 years old. ( I can't keep up as the years fly by for me as well). Her once beautiful yellow fur is almost completely white in her face and ears.
This winter hunting season has been tough on her. She can make one hunt with mild retrieves but suffers joint pain for a day or so after. I will not let her suffer, so I hunt her one day and then give her a day or two off... not her idea at all.
The final week of the snow goose season seems to be realized by this little yellow dog. She is now refusing to eat in hopes of going on one more hunt.
I grab a bowl out of the cupboard and take her breakfast with us. I know she will wolf it down once we get settled in the blind.
In the garage, I open the truck door. The little yellow lab slowly makes her way to the truck and then manages to get her front feet up on the running boards. She looks at me asking for help getting into the front seat.
I have to laugh. As a young pup, and into her first seven or eight years, this same dog could seemingly leap tall buildings. I would open the tail gate of the truck, and even with monster tires, would see a yellow flash whiz past me and into the back.
"Ok, I'll "helpie" you up," I say to her while lifting her into the truck. She proudly takes her place on the front seat and lays down.
The young dog who used to spring into the back of the truck would pace and whine for hours as we drove to our hunting destination. I tried for years to break her of the hyper habit. I even had to use a big kennel in the back of the truck to keep her in a more calm state of mind.
This old girl has earned her way into the front seat of the truck. I wouldn't have it any other way.
As we drive to our hunting field nearly and hour away the old lab lays on the seat with her head near me. I reach over and stroke her soft fur. "We've had a great time hunting together, haven't we?" I say to her. She wags her tail.
Each ten miles, or so, Jaz will get up and place her nose on the side window. She is wanting me to let it down a bit so she can smell the air. It is her way of reading where we are along the way.
Sniff, sniff, sniff... and then back to laying down on the seat.
Each time I let the window down I can see the excitement level increase, as I make the final turn into the farm driveway, Jaz is up and shaking with excitement, nose sniffing huge gulps of air from the open window. She knows exactly where we are, even in the pitch dark of the morning.
I think back of all the mornings we have watched the sunrise over water, fields, mountain lakes, and rivers. We listen to the honk of geese, the quack of thousands of ducks, the hoot of owls, the howls of coyotes. Sounds most people never get to listen to. We watch as the Eastern sky pushes the darkness of the night slowly to the West, until the winter sun breaks above the horizon.
I think of all the guys who have hunted with us. Laughter has filled our blinds. We have solved world problems, ousted most politicians, remembered friends who are no longer with us, and most times have been able to shoot a few birds for Jaz to show off her skills in retrieving.
I think of the dogs who have shared our blinds. All of them are gone now. Dad's dog, Reba, was on almost every hunt with Jaz for ten years. The two yellow labs were retrieving machines. Reba was stronger than Jaz, but Jaz had learned hand signals. Reba would get to the obvious birds first, but I would direct Jaz to the hard to find ones. Each dog would get a good work out on a hunt.
Reba's health broke down last year and she is no longer with us.
Tubby, Remington, Bo, and Bart, just to name a few of the dogs who have shared blinds with us, no longer alive.
"This will probably be your last hunt," I say to Jaz, as we park the truck. It is pouring rain, but she doesn't care. She is quivering with excitement and ready to go.
Jimmy and Don meet at the field for the final day's hunt. Rain or no rain, we are hunting.
We shoot a few geese in the steady rain and Jaz proudly makes one retrieve after another. All are close to the blind and out in the field. I am trying not to let her swim as that seems to aggravate her hip and joint problems.
We shoot a goose that sails quite a distance away. I head after it with Jaz leading the way. I see the goose, but it is in a huge pond, and I will not send Jaz for that long of a swim. We will let the wind blow it to shore and get it later. On the long walk back to the blind I see Jaz limping.
I know this will be her final hunt. I fight the lump in my throat.
We shoot a few more geese and I make sure to meet Jaz very close to where she picks up the bird.
"Let me help you carry it back," I say to her. I take the bird from her and head back to the blind. She grabs the back of the goose and "helps" me carry it. She refuses to give up on her duties. There is no give up in her, no quit.
Wet, muddy, but happy we call it a day. I lift a spent dog into the truck and we head home. She sleeps all the way home.
At home she is given a warm bath and a good supper. She quickly falls asleep on her little bed by the fire place. She twitches and whines dreaming about the duck or goose just out of reach. She is still working in her sleep.
Jaz has earned a place on the bed beside my wife.
At bed time I tell her it is time to go outside and then off to bed. She cannot get up by herself. I gently lift her to her feet and give her time for the sore muscles to support her. She limps outside for her nightly potty break, then back in. At the foot of the stairs she tries one stair and her front leg gives out.
"Wait Jaz, I'll help you," I say. I reach down and pick her up and give her a ride to the bed. Her tail is wagging thanks all the way.
I gently massage her sore legs as I tell her what a good girl she is. She lovingly licks my hands in thanks.
"Dream of ducks, geese, and bowls full of dog food," I tell her.
Jaz softly groans and lets out a big sigh as she drops off to sleep. She has probably finished her final hunt of her life.
What an incredible little yellow Labrador.
Jasmine with what will probably be her last retrieve
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