jwatts
Well-known member
Monday was one of the hardest days in recent memory. I was tasked with making the choice to end the life of one of the best friends I have ever had the privilege to share the woods with. It wasn’t a decision taken lightly. Some may say I delayed the inevitable, but I wanted to be 100% sure. Nonetheless, it was tough.
Roughly 5 years after my son was born, we had all 3 of our dogs die within a 5 month period. They were all about the same age, and had their own ailments. It was a tough time, and we vowed to never have that many dogs at once, and to not have dogs so close to the same age. We were set on getting another dog and had certain criteria. A friend of mine had a GSP, and I loved the breed. He was starting it on birds, it would trail wounded deer, and had great house manners. Sure, she was goofy, but she seemed like something we would like. In the end though we settled on a German Shepherd.
The shepherd settled in nicely. Her training was coming along great. She was housebroken, started to bite on command, and had started scent work, We found ourselves wanting more though. That’s when an opportunity presented itself. A member from another forum I frequent offered up a year old GSP for adoption. The dog hadn’t had a rough life, but to no fault of her own, had been through 2 homes already in her young life. Divorce and moving had left her bouncing home to home. We made some arrangements, and within a few days we were off to meet the current owner halfway. He was headed over from Texas, us from Mississippi, so we met in Lake Charles, LA, and picked up our new GSP Maggie.
Maggie made herself at home. She had an energy that matched out GSD, Aubrey. That worked against in some instances, but mostly they kept each other occupied and sufficiently worn out to not get into too much trouble. Maggie picked up on all of Aubrey’s German commands, so I guess she was bilingual. She actually started bite work with Aubrey. Her training went well.
When deer season rolled around I took the first chance I had to put her on a wounded deer. She took me straight to it. After some work we started tracking for the public. I can’t tell you how many deer she helped hunters around Mississippi put on the tailgate. She even helped train my current dog, Boone.
She surprised me multiple times in the tracking woods. I have so many stories about her tracks, like the time she grabbed a live buck by the hindquarters as it turned to charge me, or the time she found a deer with standing water on the ground where all we had to go off of was a single drop of blood and a muddy print in a puddle. She took that track across a road and rolled up on point on a little girl’s first buck. She always left kids with a smile on their face, whether it was from finding their deer, or loving on them after the track.
She was also a bird dog. As I mentioned earlier my buddy was training a GSP when I got her. His church men’s group bought and set quail every year for a hunt. We don’t have a ton of wild birds, so it was a chance to get her some exposure. She picked it up like second nature, pointing, holding until told to flush (which took a few attempts to reign in), and retrieving downed birds. My favorite memory hunting birds with her was during this hunt. We were back at the truck skinning birds when she started to wind. Something had her attention. I grabbed my shotgun and followed. She zigged and zagged, and went on a solid point on a clump of grass. Just then a quail flushed. I pulled up, shot, dropped it, and she grabbed it as it hit the ground, bringing it to hand. It was textbook.
She was the typical goofy GSP. When I brought her in from a hunt I would always check her for briars. She learned this meant she got extra attention. She would sit while I checked her, then roll onto her back to get belly rubs. If she didn’t think she had been checked good enough she would nudge your hand to let you know. She would even go to the extreme of letting you know she needed to be checked any time she came inside the house and felt that she needed attention.
Over the past few years she started going downhill. She had a form of cancer that presented itself as sores, almost like blood blisters, on her skin. She had several removed, tore several open, but eventually the vet recommended that we let them stay unless they caused an issue. She never lost her drive, but her other senses did start to dull. She didn’t find a barbed wire fence that she didn’t get tangled in, and on the last track I took her on for the public we came aways with over 40 stitches from a downed fence. She tore her ACL, then, once it was all healed, tore it again. She never fully healed from the second surgery and compensated by putting weight on her other leg. This finally tore that ACL. The vet said she would never make it through surgery. We had her on pain pills to keep her comfortable. All of that compounded into hip dysplasia on her “good” leg. Among all of that she had developed anxiety pretty bad, and required anxiety meds any time she heard thunder.
Saturday I went to walk her and her back legs went out from under her. I was able to lift her up and get her walking. That day she wanted to make extra laps around the yard before going in. She knew. I should have known. She was fine the rest of the day. Sunday morning came and she had no control of her rear legs. She wouldn’t attempt to get up. I had to carry her out and hold her any time she needed to go outside. She stood up once that day to reposition herself. She fell, then refused to eat or drink afterwards.
Monday it was storming. We all got up and saw the situation wasn’t any better. We decided it was time. That was the longest drive to and from the vet ever. We knew it was coming but none of us were prepared. As a family we held her head as she took her last breath. She’s no longer hurting and will be living in an urn in our family room where she lived most of her life.
The last time I took her bird hunting, we hit a WMA near my home. As we walked down an old logging road headed to the truck, she locked on point. All of her muscles were tight and quivering. I knew there was something there. I got my gun ready and commanded her to flush. She crept up, and a woodcock flushed. Woodcock normally fly in erratic patterns and through the brush. This one popped up, leveled off at eye level, and slowly went directly away. Of course he was out of season so I held my fire. Maggie turned around and looked as if to ask why I didn’t shoot. She stood there a minute, then hunted back to the truck. I happened to draw a turkey hunt on that WMA. When we got home from the vet I piddled around in my shop a while then forced my self to eat some lunch. I saw that the rain was going to break. I fixed some coffee, put on my camo, and headed out to see if I could hear anything. My first stop found my meandering in a creek bottom near that last encounter with the woodcock. As I neared the end of the bottom I veered towards the road. I came out of the hardwoods and into the mixed pine timber. I paused, looked around, then took one more step. A woodock rose. He leveled off at eye level and slowly flew straight away. I know it was a chance encounter, but a part of me wants to believe it was her telling me I did the right thing and she’d be waiting on the other side to point us up another.
Roughly 5 years after my son was born, we had all 3 of our dogs die within a 5 month period. They were all about the same age, and had their own ailments. It was a tough time, and we vowed to never have that many dogs at once, and to not have dogs so close to the same age. We were set on getting another dog and had certain criteria. A friend of mine had a GSP, and I loved the breed. He was starting it on birds, it would trail wounded deer, and had great house manners. Sure, she was goofy, but she seemed like something we would like. In the end though we settled on a German Shepherd.
The shepherd settled in nicely. Her training was coming along great. She was housebroken, started to bite on command, and had started scent work, We found ourselves wanting more though. That’s when an opportunity presented itself. A member from another forum I frequent offered up a year old GSP for adoption. The dog hadn’t had a rough life, but to no fault of her own, had been through 2 homes already in her young life. Divorce and moving had left her bouncing home to home. We made some arrangements, and within a few days we were off to meet the current owner halfway. He was headed over from Texas, us from Mississippi, so we met in Lake Charles, LA, and picked up our new GSP Maggie.
Maggie made herself at home. She had an energy that matched out GSD, Aubrey. That worked against in some instances, but mostly they kept each other occupied and sufficiently worn out to not get into too much trouble. Maggie picked up on all of Aubrey’s German commands, so I guess she was bilingual. She actually started bite work with Aubrey. Her training went well.
When deer season rolled around I took the first chance I had to put her on a wounded deer. She took me straight to it. After some work we started tracking for the public. I can’t tell you how many deer she helped hunters around Mississippi put on the tailgate. She even helped train my current dog, Boone.
She surprised me multiple times in the tracking woods. I have so many stories about her tracks, like the time she grabbed a live buck by the hindquarters as it turned to charge me, or the time she found a deer with standing water on the ground where all we had to go off of was a single drop of blood and a muddy print in a puddle. She took that track across a road and rolled up on point on a little girl’s first buck. She always left kids with a smile on their face, whether it was from finding their deer, or loving on them after the track.
She was also a bird dog. As I mentioned earlier my buddy was training a GSP when I got her. His church men’s group bought and set quail every year for a hunt. We don’t have a ton of wild birds, so it was a chance to get her some exposure. She picked it up like second nature, pointing, holding until told to flush (which took a few attempts to reign in), and retrieving downed birds. My favorite memory hunting birds with her was during this hunt. We were back at the truck skinning birds when she started to wind. Something had her attention. I grabbed my shotgun and followed. She zigged and zagged, and went on a solid point on a clump of grass. Just then a quail flushed. I pulled up, shot, dropped it, and she grabbed it as it hit the ground, bringing it to hand. It was textbook.
She was the typical goofy GSP. When I brought her in from a hunt I would always check her for briars. She learned this meant she got extra attention. She would sit while I checked her, then roll onto her back to get belly rubs. If she didn’t think she had been checked good enough she would nudge your hand to let you know. She would even go to the extreme of letting you know she needed to be checked any time she came inside the house and felt that she needed attention.
Over the past few years she started going downhill. She had a form of cancer that presented itself as sores, almost like blood blisters, on her skin. She had several removed, tore several open, but eventually the vet recommended that we let them stay unless they caused an issue. She never lost her drive, but her other senses did start to dull. She didn’t find a barbed wire fence that she didn’t get tangled in, and on the last track I took her on for the public we came aways with over 40 stitches from a downed fence. She tore her ACL, then, once it was all healed, tore it again. She never fully healed from the second surgery and compensated by putting weight on her other leg. This finally tore that ACL. The vet said she would never make it through surgery. We had her on pain pills to keep her comfortable. All of that compounded into hip dysplasia on her “good” leg. Among all of that she had developed anxiety pretty bad, and required anxiety meds any time she heard thunder.
Saturday I went to walk her and her back legs went out from under her. I was able to lift her up and get her walking. That day she wanted to make extra laps around the yard before going in. She knew. I should have known. She was fine the rest of the day. Sunday morning came and she had no control of her rear legs. She wouldn’t attempt to get up. I had to carry her out and hold her any time she needed to go outside. She stood up once that day to reposition herself. She fell, then refused to eat or drink afterwards.
Monday it was storming. We all got up and saw the situation wasn’t any better. We decided it was time. That was the longest drive to and from the vet ever. We knew it was coming but none of us were prepared. As a family we held her head as she took her last breath. She’s no longer hurting and will be living in an urn in our family room where she lived most of her life.
The last time I took her bird hunting, we hit a WMA near my home. As we walked down an old logging road headed to the truck, she locked on point. All of her muscles were tight and quivering. I knew there was something there. I got my gun ready and commanded her to flush. She crept up, and a woodcock flushed. Woodcock normally fly in erratic patterns and through the brush. This one popped up, leveled off at eye level, and slowly went directly away. Of course he was out of season so I held my fire. Maggie turned around and looked as if to ask why I didn’t shoot. She stood there a minute, then hunted back to the truck. I happened to draw a turkey hunt on that WMA. When we got home from the vet I piddled around in my shop a while then forced my self to eat some lunch. I saw that the rain was going to break. I fixed some coffee, put on my camo, and headed out to see if I could hear anything. My first stop found my meandering in a creek bottom near that last encounter with the woodcock. As I neared the end of the bottom I veered towards the road. I came out of the hardwoods and into the mixed pine timber. I paused, looked around, then took one more step. A woodock rose. He leveled off at eye level and slowly flew straight away. I know it was a chance encounter, but a part of me wants to believe it was her telling me I did the right thing and she’d be waiting on the other side to point us up another.
