By Bret Amundson
The pain of losing a dog can be immense. There are few words that haven’t been written about the experience. More accomplished scribes than myself have detailed the heartache with more eloquence. For as many dogs that roam the earth, there are are many personal stories.
This is one of mine.
The Downward Spiral
I’m now in Ontario, laying in an old log cabin. A modest structure built over a hundred years ago. Half of our group had stayed in the neighboring cabin. Pouring rain cut short our last day of fishing. Bags are packed for an early morning departure. A smattering of raindrops pound the roof like thousands of tiny hammers. While my young lab Tiny, dozes at my side, my old lab Mika, is struggling.
This trip is an annual family tradition. Some of my best memories are from this annual adventure. My journey into photography began here. I caught one of my biggest walleyes and won our annual tourney this year. As I’ve celebrated my time with the guys, I’ve watched the life drain from my dog.
Many people shared quotes on my social media posts about Mika and I wanted to share them here. I’ll add a few throughout this article. Thanks to everyone who reached out and shared their thoughts.
“It’s not my place to question the Creator, but the greatest disservice to mankind is the lifespan of a dog.” – Black Oak Retrievers
14.5 Years In 3 Paragraphs
My brother and I had gotten sisters back in 2011. “Mika” and “Echo” would go on to have many adventures together, usually in western Minnesota. Echo succumbed to Cushing’s Disease at age 8. I felt guilty for each additional year that Mika lived.
She would go on to hunt pheasants and sharptails among the tall buttes of western North Dakota. Long days were spent in the short wheat stubble of the Saskatchewan prairie for waterfowl. We followed the snow goose migration together as guides from Missouri to North Dakota. If there was a bird that could be retrieved, she wanted to find it.
She suffered a major injury that sidelined her at age 10 on opening day. I wasn’t sure if she’d get to hunt again. Two months later, she was back in the grass with her nose to the ground. She sniffed out a limit of pheasants and finished the season strong. Her time in the field slowed in the following years. We filmed an episode of Prairie Sportsman featuring some old bird dogs on a special game farm hunt last fall. During that episode, I wondered if it would be her last hunt.
It was.
“I can’t think of anything that brings me closer to tears than when my old dog – completely exhausted after a hard day in the field – limps away from her nice spot in front of the fire and comes over to where I’m sitting and puts her head in my lap, a paw over my knee, and closes her eyes, and goes back to sleep. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that kind of friend.” – Gene Hill
Decision Time
I’ve been dreading the day when I will have to make the final decision that haunts all dog owners. Mika has been declining for the last couple years, but her spirit remained strong. Her eyes were lively, she ate excitedly and still tried to sniff out critters in the yard.
Age, injuries and lots of time in the field had worn her down. Her hearing was long gone. Three legs didn’t work much anymore and that strained the fourth. But, each morning she’d slowly welcome the world and her ears would perk up at meal time.
I had her at my parents not long ago. My mom is the only person I allow to hand feed her. She’d sneak Cheerios within Mika’s reach. The two are inseparable when I’m there.
A Violent Seizure
The week before our Ontario trip, I woke up with Mika having a violent seizure. Many lab owners deal with seizures, some more than others. She came out of it woozy but stable. A few messages from my vet Rachel, warned of follow up episodes.
Her normal demeanor returned and she seemed healthy enough for travel. This would involve a long backseat ride and then a week on a remote Canadian island. I worried about how she would do, but wondered if the tranquility would be beneficial.
The first few days went well. She’d lay under the table waiting for scraps to fall. She stumbled over the rock and root-covered terrain, but seemed to be just nimble enough to handle it.
Then it happened.
Seizure number two woke me from a deep sleep. I walked across the cold floor to see her writhing, half on and half off the dog bed I’d brought. I sat next to her, doing what I could to let her know that I was there.
“The perfection of life with a gun dog like the perfection of an autumn is disturbing because you know, even as it begins, it must end. Time bestows a gift and then steals it in the process.” George Bird Evans
A Change For The Worse
I watched the night sky transition to day as she recovered. She finally slept and so did I. The morning brought a change in her attitude. There was no tail wag that greeted me. No rigid ears and no effort to stand. I lifted her up and helped her outside.
She walked about ten steps and laid down. I found her there a short time later. She’d eventually make her way to the cabin where we normally ate and curled up beside the door. She didn’t realize the rest of the family had gone home and the cabin was empty.
I carried her back to our cabin and she slept through the night. The next day was the first time I’ve had to think realistically about her future.
The Signs I Watched For
She couldn’t stand up on her own and when I’d help, she’d flop down head first. Were her legs finally giving up? There were signs that she was not the same dog who’d arrived a few days earlier.
I’d wondered about her mental state as well as her physical. Eating was minimal. She turned her nose up at a bowl of food. It used to be a race to the dish as it filled with Pro Plan. She barely drank.
For the next couple days, she just laid there. I’d pick her up and she’d rag doll to the ground.
I lost it.
All the moments that stand out from pick up day until now were running through my mind. The advice from longtime owners about how their dogs are shorted the many years they deserve rang in my ears. They warn of the day where a difficult decision needs to be made.
Was it time?
Week 731: Fall Fishing in Northern Minnesota – Fish Hunt Forever
Coming Home
I felt bad that we were in such a remote location. It meant that I couldn’t get her in to see Rachel sooner. I tried to keep her updated as Mika’s condition worsened.
The long travel home was mostly uneventful. Both dogs slept peacefully on their dog bed in the back seat. They’ve become accustomed to this sort of travel. I’d hoped that with the extra rest, Mika’s strength would return. I wished to see the light in her eyes once more.
We arrived home and I lifted her from the truck. She instantly laid down where I set her. Her ears perked up, but she made no effort to move.
Once inside, I offered some food and a pain pill wrapped in cheese. It sat uneaten. I tried just the cheese and she declined that too.
Heartbreak
My heart was breaking. This was my first gun dog, besides those we had growing up. Mika was my “ride or die” who was with me through new addresses, new girlfriends and a major career change.
A dog whose nose resulted in hundreds of wild game meals. The two of us teamed up to learn how to hunt pheasants together. She made mistakes. I made mistakes. But, as many hunters and their dogs do, we figured it out. Together.
She hunted with senators and a future Vice Presidential candidate. She peered out of float plane windows. She made impossible retrieves. She lived to hunt. She was my best friend.
The Last Night
As I lay beside her on the kitchen floor, I feel her breathing becoming increasingly labored. Morning will come soon and with it, a visit to see Rachel. I wanted the night to last forever.
I fear my decision has been made, but I’ve been telling myself all night that it hasn’t. In a short time, her pain will be over. Then I’ll have a story like many of you who’ve been through this.
I’m fortunate to get 14 good years with her, when many others have been cut short. So while I type this through tears, I will take a moment to remember the good times that were had. I drifted off to sleep with memories of past hunts running through my mind.
“There is a cycle of love and death that shapes the lives of those who choose to travel in the company of animals. It is a cycle unlike any other. To those who have never lived through its turnings and walked its rocky path, our willingness to give our hearts with full knowledge that they will be broken seems incomprehensible. Only we know how small a price we pay for what we receive; our grief, no matter how powerful it may be, is an insufficient measure of the joy we have been given.”
― Suzanne Clothier
The End
I woke up before my alarm. I carried Mika outside and set her in the grass. Then she got a few more pets before we left and I thanked her for the years. I picked her up and we lingered in the yard. Her ears straightened as she searched for one last rooster from my arms.
Poor eyesight was never an issue for her. Her nose as sharp as ever. But her body and mind had betrayed her. Her head started to sink lower into my arms and I knew it was time. I loaded her into the truck for one last ride.
I walked into to see my vet Rachel a mess and left even worse. Afterward a friend sent a relatable message:
“No one on this earth has seen me cry as much as my vet.”
I drove away with an unbearably empty truck. I headed for one of my most memorable fields that we’d hunted together. As I started walking the grasses where I’d spread her ashes, two roosters flushed. They cackled loudly and flew out of sight. A fitting goodbye to one of their biggest nemesis and a tribute to my first bird dog.
Here is a collection of Mika photos:
Even if she looks more like a ninja now.
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