No, more than that - "miss" is far too gentle a word. Ache? Yearn? Pine? How does one describe the feeling when a bond as rare as we had is suddenly seperated, never to be rejoined during this lifetime?

Only other dog people can truly understand the loss I am feeling now. They are the ones that understand that the dogs we build a life around are not just our pets; they are family. Even rarer are those times were a special bond is formed; a connection between one dog and one person. The same kind of connection that men who experience battle in war develop for each together. For in some very real ways, we went to 'war' together.

You were born in my living room - we were quite litterally together from your first moment. Neither of us were the best at what we did, but together we seemed to be better than either of us would be seperately. We taught each other that achieving greatness was within our grasp. It took us a while, but you were my first to earn passes in Master tests and my first to earn the title "Champion" when you earned your HRCH title. Before you, I had thought that those were impossible dreams. Even better, we both knew that if we wanted, we could have gone beyond even that; and for fun we proved it to ourselves when you ran every series of the 2004 Spring Grand as test dog - after being retired from any serious training for more than a year. When we decided to play a different game and run Upland tests, you pretty much trained yourself after only a single day of showing you what to do.

And even that doesn't describe our relationship. We didn't just 'play the games', we did it for real too. When we hunted in "difficult" places, you were the dog I took, because I trusted you. You proved herself to Larry (the goose hunting guide buddy of mine), by picking up every bird in the field on some phenominal hunts. And I swelled with pride when you made those two blind retrieves of over 1000 yards. In fact, only you know how far over 1000 yards you really went when you chased that wounded goose until you were out of sight - going so far you waiting for us back at the truck because you no longer knew where we were. With the still-alive bird of course. And you did this front of 15 of so clients. It got to the point where if I brought you, Larry would leave his own dogs at home.

But it wasn't just your performance that built that bond between us. It was the other little things. Like letting me use your tummy as a pillow in the goose spread - and you seemed to like it. Like greeting me at the fence when I drove home from work, bouncing at the gate until I let you out to chase some bumpers. Like playing with the puppy from our last litter just 2 weeks ago so the puppy's mom could get a "break". Like this past December when I took my brother and nephew on their first duck hunts; and you satting next to to my 7 year old nephew instead of me. As it turns out, that would be your last hunting trip.

You were taken from us before your time. Still full of energy and desire and playfulness and zest for life. I only pray that heaven has as many birds and puppies and children as you need to keep you happy until I get there.

Chris Barnes
April 3, 2006