Beneath the Cherry Trees

Just a dog… I hate that phrase.

Image by @jackandtom__ on Instagram

We’ve been here so many times, you and I. That stroll we took down here the other day had taken me days to build up to, and it had been at the back of my mind for months. As the day crept closer I was gripped by palpable angst. I wasn’t sure if it was selfishness that was making it hard to pull the trigger or something else.

I didn’t always appreciate how carefree we were in the beginning. You were always bustling with exuberance, living in the moment. I loved every minute of it, don’t get me wrong. But there were times when I took myself too seriously. It wasn’t until later on that I started to appreciate the hunt as much as - if not more than - the bounty.

I remember our last hunt so vividly. We had so many better days than that one. Days that are memorable for the right reasons. But it is that final hunt that I keep replaying over and over in my mind. Was it just bad luck? One of those things? Should you have been out there at all? I knew you were after slowing down a good bit. But the tablets seemed to have steadied you some, and with your gait that bit wider from the anti-inflammatories, you seemed more confident in yourself. I thought that by keeping you in the thick of it that maybe we could have slowed the clock down a little. But time is relentless. We are all running out of it, and none of us know exactly how much we have left to spend. So spend it wisely we must. If we are not growing then all we are doing is dying.

When you crashed through the ice with a frail whimper my heart was in my throat. I’d nearly swear I could hear it beating. You weren’t as fast off of the mark as you once were, but you went after that rooster as gamely as ever. I shouldn’t have trusted the ice. When I went in after you and couldn’t find you immediately I thought you were gone. Once I located you I had to smash away at the hardened white mass of ice that you were trapped under with the butt of my shotgun. I ended up in the hospital with pneumonia and endured several lectures from friends and family about how I nearly died over a dog, that you are “just a dog". I hate that phrase. They don’t understand the strength of the bond we’ve shared. A bond as strong as the ties of this earth can ever be. You were the best hunting partner I could have hoped for. The thrill of getting a pheasant or a duck just isn’t the same when you’re not there.

Truth be told I’ve enjoyed our meandering walks through the woods these last few years as much as any hunt. With every passing season, the walks became shorter and shorter. Slower too. But through those walks I’ve learned to take things in, to stop and smell the roses every now and then. You don’t necessarily have to go to the top of a hill when the view is just as good two-thirds of the way up. I trained you to hunt, but sometimes I think you were sent to teach me.

I especially enjoyed our night time strolls. You seldom ventured too far but even when you did your yellow coat was never too hard to pick out against the dark. You seemed to enjoy yourself too. I would often wonder if life was a little duller without the thrill of the hunt but you took it in your stride as usual. Out of the blackness, you would come, tongue dangling, your breath warm and white and you would leap at me and we’d wrestle amongst the dirt and the leaves as the stars came out above us.

What would Father think if he saw me now? He hunted and trained dogs his whole life. He always maintained a coldness towards them though. He was typical of that generation in that he didn’t really show his emotions. Not even to his kids. He was a good Dad, don’t get me wrong, but he was a matter of fact. You did what needed to be done and that was all there was to it. Sometimes you had to do things that were unpleasant or hard. That was just the way of it.

Old man Riley up the hill used to shoot his old dogs with a .308 while they were running in a field. Father used to take them behind the shed and do it at point-blank range with a pistol. He had the courtesy to let them have it in the back of the head but there were some that turned around to look. I always thought that was the way it would end between you and I. Albeit the former way rather than the latter. But when it came to it I just didn’t have the gravel in my guts to pull the trigger. It wasn’t the killing that was the problem, I am a hunter. What if my shot wasn’t true? You gave me loyalty for over a decade and you deserved better. The vet was a good friend of Father. I could tell he was surprised to see me bring you in.

I’m not at all religious. I don’t even know if I believe in an afterlife but last night I dreamt that we were reunited on another plane. It was as if time had not passed. We met in a grassy meadow where you had been waiting for me on the outskirts of wherever it is that we all end up. You were young again.

It would be nice if that dream come true someday. Until then I’ll stroll through the woods on my own. I’ll see you but you won’t be there. At the base of a tree, eagerly sniffing and procuring information about things I cannot see nor comprehend. I’ll see you swimming in the creek, happy as Larry retrieving a large stick. But most of all I’ll miss you. I’ll miss the sound of your tail lashing the side of my bed every morning. I’ll miss stretching my hand out into the cold from beneath a warm blanket to find that sweet spot behind your ear. I’ll miss the way you’d disappear out of reach so I’d have to begrudgingly open one eye to spy you on your back looking up at me expectantly in anticipation of a belly rub.

I’ll bury you beneath the black cherry trees at the end of the yard so I can visit you. I’ll be able to see your resting place from the porch and I’ll toast you while I sip on my ale. I’ll train more dogs for sure. I should have started years ago and let them learn from you. But maybe the break in between will do me good, or at least allow me to heal. Maybe I’ll get to the point where I’ll long for another hunting partner. It won’t be replacing. Just, well, I don’t have the words to describe what it will be. But there’ll be no replacing you. Maybe I should get a different breed. Labs were always my favorite but if I got another Lab that looked like you I’d have too many unfair expectations of him.


I hope you had a good life boy. I think you did. I enjoyed every minute. Know that.