Dogs have Always Had a Special Place in My Heart
By Larry Lee, BraceBeagling Editor
January 12, 2004

I always loved dogs. They were a part of my life right from the beginning. Before I knew the sport of brace beagling existed I knew in the back of my mind that someday I would own a female beagle and raise a litter of those cute little hound puppies. You might say it was in the cards that were dealt to me.

Long before beagles became a main fixture in my life another dog reigned supreme. He was what my father called a Water Spaniel. But in reality he was just some sort of mixed Spaniel. Right from the start Blackie (that was his name) and I had one thing in common—we loved to hunt pheasants.

My father picked Blackie up one night after work from the dog pound in Flint, Michigan. The pound was on his way home from work. A neighbor had recently shot our collie named Lloydy. It seems Lloydy was chasing cattle and so the neighbor quickly put an end to that problem and also to my constant companion. My parents didn’t tell me the real story of Blackie’s demise until years later. I guess they didn’t what my reaction would be to the real truth.

Anyway, Blackie quickly won his way into the family heart. My mother loved him the same way that I did. Blackie became my constant companion. We lived on a farm far from town. My brother and sister were much older then I and had left home to start their own lives. There also weren’t many neighbor kids my age. So Blackie became a major player in my life.

Probably his most embarrassing moment was when I dressed him in an old pair of underpants and he became my wrestling opponent. My father always loved to take me to the wrestling matches in the old arena in Flint and I quickly became enamored with the sport. I had no one to wrestle with so Blackie became a wrestler. I don’t think he appreciated that role at all.

Hunting was his forte. That was what he loved to do and he was good at it. He was a master at pheasant hunting. Mostly he was just a flush dog. He would strike a hot pheasant track and off he would go with me right behind him. Staying with him was a challenge even for a young man like me. But I knew if I followed him closely the reward would be a good shot at a pheasant. If I were lucky it would be a beautiful cock rooster. Of course about fifty per cent of the time it would be a hen. But I was in fine shape and could run at a fast trot for what seemed like hours so pursuit was no problem for me whatsoever.

Occasionally to my delight Blackie would change pace and go on point instead of just flushing the bird. This was a rare treat for me. I would have a moment to catch my breath before I ordered him to flush the bird. Sometimes he would even retrieve the pheasant after I had shot it.

One time I shot a double over him. He went on point on a stump fence row on the west side of our 41-acre farm. Two beautiful roosters rose into the sky at the same time. I bagged both of them. In my mind’s eye I can still see both of them raising into the afternoon sky and then just as quickly falling out of it after I squeezed the trigger twice on my Model 97 Winchester hammer pump gun. Before the sun set in the western sky that afternoon I shot two more singles and gleefully carried the four roosters back to the farmhouse that evening. This was one of my finest after school hunting experiences and Blackie had made it possible.

Another time we traveled to the thumb of Michigan where we hunted pheasants on state land near Lake Huron. Blackie struck a trail and minutes later went on point. Low and behold when the birds flushed it was two mallard ducks that rose into the air. It was another double and I claimed both of them.

Blackie’s greatest fear in life was the feared German Shepard that lived a couple of farms east of us. Blackie learned early on not to travel east of our farm. He had the remarkable ability to know the difference in direction. If I traveled to the west he was right behind me. However, if I traveled east it just took one word and he headed back up the driveway into the yard and stayed at home.

Apparently there was one time he didn’t stay home. I arrived home from school one afternoon and there was no Blackie to be found. Much to my surprise I looked up and there he was setting on the upper most part of the house. We lived in a two-peaked farm- house that was popular during that time period. We had built a stairway to an apartment in the second level. The stairway led to a platform that ran the length of the roofline on the lower story. However, it was about three feet from the peak of the lower level to the edge of the roof on the second level. I found Blackie setting on the edge of the roof on that second level. Apparently Blackie had traveled east that afteroon against his better judgment into the territory of his feared enemy, the German Shepard. In order to get away from his foe Blackie must have run up those stairs to the platform. He must have run up the roof on the lower level and then jumped from that peak to the edge of the roof on the second level. Of course we never did know the true story. Blackie was smart but he couldn’t talk Anyway, I had to help him get down off the roof.

I first hunted with Blackie when I was 12 years old. I shot my first pheasant with him that fall using a very old single shot twenty gauge shot gun. It was a long shot and I killed the bird with just one or two pellets that I found when I cleaned it. Blackie had flushed that bird for me. It was the first of many that I shot over him. It was the fifties and pheasants were plentiful in Michigan.

Blackie died when I was about 23 years old. I have to tell you about the events concerning his death. He was getting old and arthritis was taking its toll on him. At times he could barely move. It would take him several minutes to get limbered up. It was near dusk when we headed out into that stubble field that afternoon. Blackie searched close to me as he usually did. I always admired this feature in him. He could kick pheasants out of a field that high-bred bird dogs had walked right by. He struck a line toward the back of the field. It didn’t take much effort to keep up with him now. He was hobbling at less than half his normal pace. About five minutes later he went on point. I ordered the old fellow to flush the bird. Blackie quickly flushed the beautiful cock rooster and I shot it in mid-air. He hobbled over, mouthed the bird gently and then retrieved it for me. It was a fitting end to a fine hunting career.

It was very soon after that last hunting experience when I asked by brother’s wife June if she would take Blackie to the veterinarian. I had a good excuse not to go as I was scheduled to work that day. Besides, I had a good idea in advance what the Vet was going to recommend. I just didn’t want to be there to hear the bad news. I had instructed my sister-in-law what to do if the news was grim. The vet sent Blackie to doggie heaven that very same day. June came home empty handed.

I was sad and the thoughts of that fine little bird dog still have a special place in my memory. He was a good one. The good ones are not easy to forget. There is nothing like the love between a man and his dog.

I now have another Blackie. Her name is Cinderella. If you have been following the feature articles you have probably read about her before on this web page. Cinderella, even though she is still alive, now shares that little niche in my heart along with Blackie.. Hopefully Cinderella will be with me many more years, as she is just six years old now. Who knows, Cinderella may even outlast me.

I have hopes of being re-united with both Blackie and Cinderella again some day in the after life. In the well respected J. B. Phillip’s translation of the New Testament The Apostle Paul writes to the Romans in the 8th chapter, “And the hope is that in the end the whole of created life will be rescued from the tyranny of change and decay, and have its share in that magnificent liberty which can only belong to the children of God.” This gives me some assurance that animals such as dogs will have a place in the after life.

My hope is that someday in heaven both Blackie and Cinderella will be at my side. Blackie will still have a jest for hunting pheasants and of course Cinderella will still be winning field trials and training puppies like she does today.