Todd Duncan Tennyson
Well-known member
Old dogs are funny.
Ol’ Alex is no exception.
I guess we can get set in our ways.
We can be stubborn,
cantankerous.
Dogs his age should flat out retire.
Ol Alex refuses.
I suppose that they are a lot like people in that regard.
Say a guy works for full career at his craft.
He is proficient and proud in what he does.
He should lay at home in front of the fire and wait for breakfast and fetch the paper,
like other dogs his age.
Alex knew we crossed the threshold last night when he saw my pile of gear by the front door.
He sniffed the vest and knew that it was time.
He went straight to bed (in front of the door)
To block my exit should I try to leave without him.
But I never will.
Because it is just too important.
It is what he does,
His craft,
His pride.
And my joy to watch him work.
Rain fell in pre dawn up through fog and hills and old logging roads.
Up past places that were sacred ground to the natives.
Past alder groves,
washouts and downfall.
back to where it all began for my black birdhound and me in about 1997.
High in the hills and far out.
No one was around.
It was our day.
Ridges and rims and ancient paths
Dog knows why
and how
& pretty much where.
All I do is let him go and read the way he moves.
It is easy now
At last.
I see him working the brush and berries,
Ol boy sounds like a steam engine chugging along.
Rest a minute buddy.
He does for about a minute,
then he gets up,
opens his mouth and breathes through the top of his palate (he always does this when he questions what is on the wind).
I follow his lead and soon he’s nose down and tail up and on fire with scent.
A bird is up and a straight and away into thick cover,
I fire in a parting gesture
and figure It flew off and was “educated”.
Alex took off and into the brush.
I figured he was just being stubborn.
Ol black bastage brought me a bird!
Good boy Alex !
He said, “I figured that you’d try pretty hard on the first shot of the season, so I decided to plow a bit of brush and give you the benefit of the doubt”
“Thanks for your hard work buddy” I replied.
(Me and my birdhound can communicate, it is quite common with birdhounds and their men.)
There was celebration,
Even fireworks
Nice Vine maple and My old boy.
I sat with him on the edge and we listened to the camp robbers down the hillside a few hundred feet.
He said, “you know,
I wanted to say thanks for bailing me out of dog jail,
I didn’t think I’d ever get out of that place.
Cats were right across the hallway.
It was hell in there”
I said, “no sweat Alex, we like having you around,
you are a good dog.
We’ve been through thick and thin together.
I am a lucky man to have you at my side”.
“Lets go then, I remember a spot” He offered.
“Ok, lead on hound dog” I answered .
We trudged through brush and up slope for about 2 hours.
Belts of fog would settle in and we’d wait to get a better view of the space we were angling for.
Finally,
We broke free of the mist and were on top again.
I forced Ol’ Alex into a break.
It is easy to see,
He hates the whole process.
The hiking,
the brush crashing,
The scree scrambling.
His sullen expression:
We were able to bust a few more groups of birds,
but they must have been late hatches.
They were tiny.
we held our fire.
A poult now will be an eater in 6 weeks.
A few good ones mixed in.
Me and my boy
And although it is not possible to obtain a corn dog up in the hills,
We were able to split a pretty good sandwich and talk about the day we’d had.
“you know how old I am in dog years?” Alex asked.
“I don’t reckon I know for sure buddy” I said.
“hell, I am pushing 80 years old” his said.
I took a bite out of the middle of the sandwich
(where all of the meat and cheese and mayo lives)
and put it in my hand for Ol’ Alex.
“You earned the good part then” I said.
Good boy
We were able to scratch down a few, have a good talk,
And walk in the woods.
Which brings us back to where we started long ago.
When me and Ol Alex were younger dogs.
Ol’ Alex is no exception.
I guess we can get set in our ways.
We can be stubborn,
cantankerous.
Dogs his age should flat out retire.
Ol Alex refuses.
I suppose that they are a lot like people in that regard.
Say a guy works for full career at his craft.
He is proficient and proud in what he does.
He should lay at home in front of the fire and wait for breakfast and fetch the paper,
like other dogs his age.
Alex knew we crossed the threshold last night when he saw my pile of gear by the front door.
He sniffed the vest and knew that it was time.
He went straight to bed (in front of the door)
To block my exit should I try to leave without him.
But I never will.
Because it is just too important.
It is what he does,
His craft,
His pride.
And my joy to watch him work.
Rain fell in pre dawn up through fog and hills and old logging roads.
Up past places that were sacred ground to the natives.
Past alder groves,
washouts and downfall.
back to where it all began for my black birdhound and me in about 1997.
High in the hills and far out.
No one was around.
It was our day.
Ridges and rims and ancient paths
Dog knows why
and how
& pretty much where.
All I do is let him go and read the way he moves.
It is easy now
At last.
I see him working the brush and berries,
Ol boy sounds like a steam engine chugging along.
Rest a minute buddy.
He does for about a minute,
then he gets up,
opens his mouth and breathes through the top of his palate (he always does this when he questions what is on the wind).
I follow his lead and soon he’s nose down and tail up and on fire with scent.
A bird is up and a straight and away into thick cover,
I fire in a parting gesture
and figure It flew off and was “educated”.
Alex took off and into the brush.
I figured he was just being stubborn.
Ol black bastage brought me a bird!
Good boy Alex !
He said, “I figured that you’d try pretty hard on the first shot of the season, so I decided to plow a bit of brush and give you the benefit of the doubt”
“Thanks for your hard work buddy” I replied.
(Me and my birdhound can communicate, it is quite common with birdhounds and their men.)
There was celebration,
Even fireworks
Nice Vine maple and My old boy.
I sat with him on the edge and we listened to the camp robbers down the hillside a few hundred feet.
He said, “you know,
I wanted to say thanks for bailing me out of dog jail,
I didn’t think I’d ever get out of that place.
Cats were right across the hallway.
It was hell in there”
I said, “no sweat Alex, we like having you around,
you are a good dog.
We’ve been through thick and thin together.
I am a lucky man to have you at my side”.
“Lets go then, I remember a spot” He offered.
“Ok, lead on hound dog” I answered .
We trudged through brush and up slope for about 2 hours.
Belts of fog would settle in and we’d wait to get a better view of the space we were angling for.
Finally,
We broke free of the mist and were on top again.
I forced Ol’ Alex into a break.
It is easy to see,
He hates the whole process.
The hiking,
the brush crashing,
The scree scrambling.
His sullen expression:
We were able to bust a few more groups of birds,
but they must have been late hatches.
They were tiny.
we held our fire.
A poult now will be an eater in 6 weeks.
A few good ones mixed in.
Me and my boy
And although it is not possible to obtain a corn dog up in the hills,
We were able to split a pretty good sandwich and talk about the day we’d had.
“you know how old I am in dog years?” Alex asked.
“I don’t reckon I know for sure buddy” I said.
“hell, I am pushing 80 years old” his said.
I took a bite out of the middle of the sandwich
(where all of the meat and cheese and mayo lives)
and put it in my hand for Ol’ Alex.
“You earned the good part then” I said.
Good boy
We were able to scratch down a few, have a good talk,
And walk in the woods.
Which brings us back to where we started long ago.
When me and Ol Alex were younger dogs.
