Preparing for the inevitable last hunt with your gun dog

Mally’s last hunt. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

THE LAST HUNT

By Scott Haugen

As I write these words, there are two days left in duck season. I was going to invite friends along, but I just want to hunt alone with my two dogs, Echo and Kona. Selfish? Maybe, but I don’t think so. A dog lover understands why.

TWO WEEKS AGO I got a message from a stranger in my area, asking if I knew of any easy-to-navigate private land where they could take their nearly 14-year-old black Lab on her last hunt. I didn’t reply right away, but I immediately knew my answer. That night I got three hours of sleep, as it was all I could think about: a dog’s last hunt. The next morning I replied, and said I had a place for them to hunt.

I had no idea who the person was, as their social handle didn’t have a name. I didn’t background check them, as I probably should have, or ask any questions about their personal life, hunting experience, or what they wanted out of the hunt. Three days later we set a time to meet the following morning. The last note from them said, “Oh, by the way, my name is such and such, and my husband’s name is so and so.” I already knew their dog’s name – that’s all that really mattered.

We met early the next morning, walked to the blind, tidied up the decoys and made sure the situation was good for their aging Lab. Then the couple walked back to the truck to get their dog. I didn’t follow them, but went in another direction to hunt with my dog. Kona and I had a great morning, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my guests and their dog.

A FEW HOURS LATER I put Kona in the truck and went to check on them. They had ducks and were happy, but solemn. I wanted to chat but

respected their precious time. I petted their dog, watched her hunting instincts override her aging body, and looked into her eyes, with little conversation.

The dog was lying outside the blind, in some mud and rocks; she didn’t care that it was cold and uncomfortable, for this spot was easier for her to spot birds from than the dog blind I’d constructed. Her eyes grew big and her tail wagged when she saw ducks, or thought she saw ducks. One of my favorite things when duck hunting with dogs is watching their eyes and body language as they spot ducks. They spot way more than we do, and get more excited and tense with anticipation. They also scold us when we miss.

Our dogs risk everything to appease their innate drive, and please us, something we strive to reward until

the very end. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

We never forget those extra special retrieves. Here, the author’s dog, Kona, a pudelpointer, brings in a prized Eurasian wigeon following an impressive mark and water retrieve. (SCOTT HAUGEN)

The aged dog had a retrieve while I was there and I was honored to see it. She moved slow and steady, but with purpose. Her long slow-wagging tail quickened as she approached the wigeon in chest-deep water. Water didn’t fly from her tail in tiny droplets, as I’m sure it once did.

The old girl ended up having a good day, and her eyes and body language confirmed it. She was in her happy place. Her owners were so appreciative, but quiet, and rightly so.

WHEN IT COMES TIME for my dogs’ last hunt, I want to be with them, just me. I want no one else around to think about or have to talk to because every precious second with them is valuable and passes all too swiftly.

Pause. Tears are now slipping down my face as I write these words, because I dread the last hunts with my dogs, even though it’s years away. Then, suddenly, Kona is at my side, looking up at me with his big dark eyes, resting his heavy head on my leg and wagging his tail. I bend down to kiss his big juicy nose and he licks my face. He never licks my face. He’s not a licker. He licked every tear, even as they flowed faster, now. He awoke from a sleep in the other room to

come console me, something dogs do, something we can’t explain, that sixth sense. But it’s these moments that are so special and build an even deeper bond, which makes parting with them even more painful.

A few weeks ago I was hunting in Texas. A 19-year-old young man had one of the best performing Labs I’d ever seen.

“When he dies I won’t get another dog,” he shared, as he took a goose from the dog’s mouth. He’d trained the dog himself, didn’t think he’d ever develop a bond as strong as this with any other dog, and just plain dreaded the end, though the dog was only 2 years old. I understood exactly what he meant.

No matter how much we prepare for the end, it’s never going to ease the pain. We don’t know if it’s going to be sudden or drawn out, if it’s going to entail a final drive to the vet or if it will happen in their sleep. All we can do is make the most of every moment we have with our hunting companions and make their lives as enjoyable and rewarding as possible, for we all know a good hunting dog consistently risks their life to not only do what they’re programmed to do, but to please us, and such a genuinely powerful relationship is deeply painful when it comes to an end. CS

Editor’s note: Scott Haugen is a full-time writer. See his puppy training videos and learn more about his many books at scotthaugen.com and follow him on Instagram and Facebook.