Big Red Setter

MEMORIES
By Kerrin Winter-Churchill
Text and photo ©Kerrin Winter aka DogPhoto.com

It was late November and the wind howled through the dark grey sky. The cornfield was frozen over and a sleeting snow pelted its way to the ground. On a hilltop an old abandoned barn stood lonely in its barren setting. It would make for good cover.

The old man and his German Shorthaired Pointer carefully made their way up the icy path to the barn's big open doorway. Once inside, they looked around for a comfortable place to rest.

Near a stairway, a window opened up a view of the weather that was churning outside. "Let's set ourselves down for a bit Gunner. Nothin' flying right now anyway. May as well have a little coffee and wait it out." Leaning his gun against the wall, he pulled his thermos from the pack he carried, poured a cup of coffee, and drank deeply as the wind outside rattled an open window in the loft.

With a startling flutter, pigeons flew from the rafters as a few of their feathers floated to the ground. Gunner sat close to his master's side, looking up at the birds as they resettled. His head came to rest on his friend's knee. Looking down, the man gazed into the rheumy eyes of his old dog. As he slowly stroked Gunner's head, he spoke to him, "You old dog you, we sure have had some times together." As he tugged on the old dog's ears, thought of days gone by when the two of them were younger.

Many years back, they were often joined by the old farmer who owned this land, accompanied by a white and lemon Pointer called Jeff. Together Jeff and Gunner worked as a brace, finding pheasants in the many Novembers of the past. The two men would wager friendly bets as to which dog would find the first bird, and then, which dog would find the most birds. It was all done in a sporting manner and in the end they were equally proud of their dogs.

"Man-oh-man, where does the time go?," he sighed, shaking his head. He smiled as he fondly remembered Gunner as a youngster - all ears and feet and full of energy. On a bright, summer morning so long ago, he had gone to pick up his new puppy. Gunner had come gamboling up to meet his master as if they had known each other for a thousand years. Even then, he had to admit that this dog was strangely familiar. Now, sitting in the breezy old barn, he chuckled to think what his pastor would say if he knew that one of his flock were pondering the past in such fashion. "Deja vu, they call it," he said, to no one in particular. He thought some more about the strange sense of having done it all before with this dog. That feeling never left him. Rubbing the old dog's chest he said, "Guess you and me was just meant to be old man...just meant to be."

They had been sharing time and hunting like this together for years. Each time out the dog never failed him. Oh, once and a while he might miss a bird or when he was younger, do a little self-hunting. But he was a great dog to have in the field, and good company for someone who liked the quiet solitude of the great outdoors.
Now, sitting there drinking coffee and stroking his dog, he remembered a time, long ago, when Gunner met his first racoon. Not knowing any better, Gunner had pointed, then crept until he was right in the old coon's face. A terrible squall set the man to running and soon there was battle evidence to last a lifetime. Two long, narrow scars ran the course of the dog's back. Touching them now, he thought about that feeling then, of having been there before when the racoon had attacked his dog. "Now why would I feel like that back then?," he wondered. "Damn, I'm gettin' old, all my memories are runnin' together." At the old man's touch, Gunner leaned his head back around and licked his friend's hand. He placed a paw up on his buddy's knee and looked up as if to say, "I know why, don't you remember?"

An explosion of thunder broke the silent spell. With a crack and a whine, an old dead tree that had been standing within their view, crashed to the ground. The dark grey sky had turned as black as a day sky could be.
The old dog whined as he looked out the window. Then he turned, walked to the open doorway and stood there watching the storm. The wind was still howling and a gust of it blew back the dog's ears. Standing there, with his back to the old man - his nose pointed into the wind - Gunner resembled a ship captain's dog, courageously standing at the bow, searching for new horizons.

A strange sensation crept over the hunter. "There it is again", he thought, "Feeling memories...I haven't been on a ship since the war. Why in the hell does this all seem so familiar? Gunner, com'ere son," the man said and he clapped his hand on his thigh. The dog turned around, gazed at his friend and with a grumble, sat down by the doorway. Putting down his coffee, the man slowly rose and walked over to the dog. When he was within reach of Gunner, the old dog stood and then all at once jumped up so that his front paws were soundly in place on his master's chest. He chortled a joyful howl and then jumped down, turning in circles around the man. In a puppy-like display of affection, Gunner trotted back and forth between the doorway and his master. "Come-on," he seemed to say, "there's a whole world out there for us to explore, let's get going."

The old man peered from the door at the steady flow of sleet falling from the sky. He felt old and tired and cold. The prospects of walking the two miles back to the truck, didn't appeal to him just then. Instead, he slowly made his way back to the seat of the stairs.

He called out again to his dog and this time Gunner came to him. The tired old hunter stretched out on the base of the stairs, covering himself with his old canvas coat. "Old man, we're just going to have to wait awhile", he said. "Let's just wait this one out. I think I'll just shut my eyes for a minute or two... we'll get back to it soon...don't you worry son...we'll get back to it...back to it...soon." Gunner laid close to his master's side. This time he rested his head on the old man's lap. He waited and sighed deeply, as the life force passed through his friend - sweeping away with the howling wind.

On a bitterly cold December morning, a driver out plowing roads spotted an old bird dog traveling east in the Ohio farmland. He was cold and thin, but his collar was made of good stout leather and its tag was his ticket home.

With great joy, his elderly mistress hugged him. Tears streaming down her face she said, "Oh, Gunner, dear God, thank you for bringing him back." She had wanted to look for the dog, but there were so many arrangements to be made, and it seemed like the time to search never came about. Seeing him now rushed her memories and although she was comforted by his presence, having him back made her feel the hollow emptiness again. He felt it, too. His purpose seemed lost. The rooms were empty and the halls, silent and dark.
The yard, too, had a disturbing stillness and so, when the weather turned warmer, he took to lying on the front porch all through the spring and summer. Day after day, he would lie there looking into the distance. He was watching for someone...waiting for something that he seemed to know would come again.

Late in the fall, on a cool October morning, she found him there asleep in his usual position. He was facing east, his head stretched out on his paws. His eyes were closed and his dewlaps were drawn back in a way that only dogs can smile. Sitting down beside him, she stroked his old ticked hide for one last time while she hummed an old hymn she had learned as a child in Ireland. It was a tune worthy of his leaving. She hummed it through again and again until its notes drifted away with the gentle wind.

Far over a hill, a young man watches. The sky is blue and the sun, blindingly bright. A cool breeze is playfully drifting in and out of the fragrant pine forest and on the wind music can be faintly heard. Suddenly, on the western horizon something makes him smile and shout. Waving his arms, he runs toward the hill as a magnificent liver and ticked shorthair, splashes his way through a creek to meet him. When the dog is within ten feet he jumps, landing his big paws squarely on the man's chest. With a howl he belts out his greeting. The man laughs as he grabs the dog by its chest and shoulders, swaying him back and forth with sheer joy. "How ya doing old man? Gosh it's good to see you. Wait till you see this land...miles and miles of pastures, pines, hardwoods, and birds. Birds everywhere! The air and water, it's so clean...come-on let's go, lemme show you around!"
Together, they run down the hill to the edge of the clearing. As they enter the forest, the scent of pine sweeps their senses and fills them with the very essence of life. They stop long enough to look at each other and without a word Gunner says, "So, have you decided?" With a smile, the young man kneels down facing the dog, he puts a hand on each side of Gunner's shoulders and says, "I've got some interesting assignments this time around son, and the location's gotta be just right. So, when it's time, I think I'll have a patch of ground in Ireland". Tugging on the big dog's ears, he continues, "I know I'm asking a lot, but what I really will need is a strong and patient friend with a hearty sense of humor to see me through the roughest patch of it."

The big dog looks into the young man's eyes and places a thick paw onto his arm. "Well, then it's settled," he says, "you'll know me, as a big red setter."