This is one of the hardest columns I will ever write and if you are a dog person, you will understand why. There is not much we won’t do for our four-legged, fur-shedding, better than a vacuum when food hits the floor, slobber- jawwed creature(s) that cohabitate with our families. As puppies, their cuteness gets them out of trouble and it’s easier to forgive them when they chew up a shoe or two. Even when they are naughty at two, three or twelve years old, just like any other family member, forgiveness happens. Dog people love their dogs so much, that many have multiple dogs. We would be one of those multiple dog families… well, we were.

Our first dog was Sammie; a Yellow Labrador Retriever out of incredible hunting lines and through her years, she proved those lines ran through her veins. Sam had three litters of pups with numerous offspring going on to be fine family and hunting partners. We decided to keep a male (Jack) from her first litter: creating a two-dog household. If that wasn’t crazy enough, we kept a spunky female from her last litter that we named Piper. This created a three-dog household and for music folks, we regularly had a “Three Dog Night” at our house. (Sorry… way too easy). This lasted until May of 2016.

Sadly, and all too often pet owners are forced to make very difficult end of life decisions for their “fur babies.” At 12+ years old, Sam’s health deteriorated to the point she couldn’t keep weight on despite eating like crazy and, other daily functions were failing quickly. The once fierce hunter and loyal family companion who never missed a retrieve until she was 10 years old was now a crippled old girl who could hardly move, unless you said the word “treat.” The decision was hard of course, but the time was right. Unfortunately, Piper was also having some quality of life issues.

“Pipe” had an extra gear and just when you thought she was going top-speed, overdrive would kick in and all that was left was a cloud of dust. That overdrive led to a severe injury of her back-right leg. We tried several medicinal and therapeutic remedies to no avail. Surgery for the seven-year old would be required ($3,000) and we were told that during recovery, the other leg had a high potential of giving away due to overcompensation which would create the need for yet another surgery. “What would the chances be for her continuing to hunt,” I asked the Vet? He replied, “Even with one surgery, hunting would not be advised.” Agree or disagree with our decision; the call to have them cross the Rainbow Bridge together; Mom and Daughter on the same day was made. Making this decision was excruciating and given the fact it came just two weeks after we buried my mom, to say May of 2016 sucked for our family is an understatement.

We went from three to one in a blink of an eye… but we still had Jack, aka “Fluffers.” Our daughter Marisa was in the whelping box with Sam when she had her first litter (11 puppies). The bond between Sam, the pups and Marisa was something special; especially with Fluffers. Marisa called him this until we decided that our house would be his forever home and there was no way in hell I would be yelling for “Fluffers” out pheasant or duck hunting. The name Jack became one we all could live with. As a companion dog, he was by far the most loveable big oaf ever and as loyal as loyal could be. As a hunter… not so much. In the field, Sammie and Piper were the hunters (I know, typical male letting the girls do all the work). Jack liked to run around and do his thing, which often meant hanging out by my side. His best retrieve was of a skunk, not once but a couple times (same skunk) in South Dakota. He was acting “birdie” and I shouted “get ready” to alert my hunting partners of the potential for a rooster or two to flush from the tall grass. As I moved in, I saw a black and white striped tail in the ready to spray position. “Jack, no…” I yelled, as he failed to escape the blast. He yipped, began to roll in the dirt and as he moved out of the way, I did what any reasonable person with a 12-Gauge would do; I eliminated the threat. Turns out that wasn’t so reasonable as the skunk let one more “here ya go” loose as I squeezed the trigger and the little bugger got me a bit too. It would be great if that was the end of the story, but to Jack it was game time!!! Jack’s mind said… “Jack find animal… Human friend shoot animal… Animal dead… Jack Retrieve.” Yes, he proudly ran to the skunk and despite several orders of “JACK NO…” with additional emphasis in my voice and more than a few expletives, picked up the skunk and began to deliver it to me. “Drop… Jack Drop…” I yelled but that isn’t what he was taught to do. He did as trained, brought it to me and THEN dropped it. Gagging, I tossed the skunk behind me (why not, I already was covered with the essence of Old Pepe le Pew) and thought that was it. Nope. Jack saw me toss the skunk and went back into retriever mode. I wanted to shoot Jack by then but now, I just wish we could do it one more time. The last three years, it has been Jack and Sadie who I’ve written about in other columns and you are sure to read plenty more about her in the upcoming weeks. Sadie is my only fourlegged hunting partner and she’s a good one. I just hope I can keep her busy with ducks and pheasants… and she stays away from skunks.

If something bad is going to happen, 2020 seems to be the year. Jack’s health had been in decline to the point we didn’t know if he would make it to 13 years old which he did in February. It’s so hard seeing a once agile and energetic pal unable to stand up, walk in obvious pain and like his mom, lose control of bodily functions. I want to tip my cap to Dr. Diane Brown of Hastings Veterinary Clinic and her husband Jim who came to our home as again we had to make a difficult decision. Jack was born in our garage… he lived his entire life with us… it was only fitting that he would cross the Rainbow Bridge in surroundings that he knew. With his head on Marisa’s lap, he slowly and peacefully faded away and was no longer in pain. It hit all of us a bit different and not going to lie, I needed 9-holes of therapy at the Hastings Golf Club a couple days later. We miss Jack but know he is at peace. I also believe Sammie and Piper were right there waiting for him. Maybe he will do some of the work now, but I doubt it. Stay away from the skunk’s dear friend and run free you big oaf. We will think of you when we are enjoying the great outdoors.