HUNT GIVES OLD DOG NEW LIFE

                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: TUESDAY, January 26, 1993                   TAG: 9301260058
SECTION: SPORTS                    PAGE: B-4   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Bill Cochran
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium
HUNT GIVES OLD DOG NEW LIFE
He could tell the old dog was bad off. The man had been a bird hunter all his life, and he'd seen the same listless look of death in other dogs he'd loved. That didn't make it any easier this time. (The man asked that his name not be used.)
He gathered up the dog, feeling its weight in his arms, its ribs against his chest, its soft, curly hair pressed to his cheek. The trip to the vet's office always seems so long.
It could be kidney failure or a heart problem, said the vet. There was a 50 percent chance the dog wouldn't make it through the night, he said. Then he took another look and raised that to 60 percent.
"I'll keep him here overnight," the vet said.
"No," the man said. "I'm going to take him home."
The man couldn't bear the thought of the old setter wasting away among strangers, in a clinical setting, amid the smell of disinfectant. The dog wouldn't even spend the night in his own kennel, where in recent months he had shared a soft bed of straw with the new, young dog. He would stay in the man's house.
The next day the man watched a ball game on television, and the dog seemed to be improving by the hour, even getting a little restless. At halftime, the man got his rumpled hunting jacket, took his shotgun from the rack and squeezed his free hand around some shells. The dog watched with interest, then headed toward the door, as if purpose had returned to his life.
The man didn't load the dog into the pickup. This wouldn't be a real hunt, just a stroll through the woods and down by the creek in back of the house. It wasn't for the man, it was for a dog who merited all the living he could get.
The dog seemed to enjoy the outing, and the man's mind was flooded with memories of days when the dog's eyes sparkled and there was no silver on his muzzle.
They had made the turn back toward the house, and just before crossing the creek, the dog went on point. The man figured it was a false point. There wouldn't be a grouse here, not this close to the house. Maybe up on the ridge, not here.
But the aging setter continued to hold a classic, rock-solid point, no tail flagging, no grinning. The old flair, the magnetism, the joy was back.
"Easy, son," the man said, as he eased past the dog, learning years ago never to doubt him.
On the other side of the creek a grouse boiled up out of the cover. The afternoon light caught the spread of its tail, and its chestnut-colored wings pounded so rapidly the sound was like miniature explosions.
There is no such thing as an easy grouse shot. This one would be particularly tough. The bird was nearly out of range when it got up.
He brought the gun up more out of instinct than purpose, took a split-second look down the 20-gauge barrel and squeezed the trigger.
The grouse tumbled.
The dog had the bird in his mouth and was starting toward the man. But the man didn't wait for a retrieve. He rushed forward. He set aside his gun and embraced the dog's neck. He shouted. It was as if all the dog's life led only to this moment, and all the rest led nowhere.
The man and the dog headed back to the house. The ball game was about over. But the man really didn't care who won.

by Bhavesh Jinadra by CNB