I had occasion to look through some photo albums lately, and came across an old 8-1/2 x 11 sheet tucked away in the back of one of them. 

 It showcased my moment in the spotlight.  

My ten seconds of fame and glory.

From the back cover of the Canadian Kennel Club's monthly magazine "Dogs In Canada".

Now while it is not normally a feather in your cap to be on such a magazine (with Vogue or Playboy perhaps being more flattering)  it did chronicle the accomplishments I had with a Field Trail Labrador Retriever I registered as Tar'd N Feathered - by way of a dog food advertisement that I was asked to (woohoo) "star" in. 

I owned several labs before him and many after, but they never measured up in the field to this talented fellow.   He was my once in a lifetime pup.

The whole field trialling experience for me started innocently enough....buy a dog....buy a shotgun....shoot some birds.    But when I started hunting with some guys that were also involved in a local club training for competition - I found myself bit hard by the bug.

While Tar was my field star, the FIRST lab I owned was my soul mate.  Hours spent together learning the ropes of competition.   And while she was never a great competition dog, this long haired quirky old "B" that was often mistaken for a flat coat, probably spent more hours by my side than all the rest of them put together. 

She was a graduate scholar from the "School of Dumb Pet Tricks" from scent discrimination on any type of object, to finding a dime out in the grass in the backyard that she never saw thrown.   She was amazing.....and not beyond curling a lip or even biting someone if they were trying to roughhouse with me.

I would say the craziest thing she ever did was the one Saturday when her and I - alone - went to a duck blind out in the middle of some cattails about an hour from home.  I struggled for probably 45 minutes sloggy through musty smelly muck and stems to get to the spot.   "Cinder" normally bounded ahead scouting for any birds hunkered down hiding - but today - after about ten minutes of walking - she dropped in behind me, following close behind in my footsteps. 

Strange, I thought.   But with breath gasping and the sun starting to dip lower on the horizon, my attention was focused more on getting to the destination.

Finally there, I took the box of shells out of my pocket and bent some cattails down to keep them dry and out of the mud, loaded up and started searching the sky.  

Cinder - well she sat in front of me looking up - staring.   Not running around being silly.  Not barking in anticipation.  

Just............staring intently at my face.

I'll never forget how I snippily told her to "get over there and sit down".  But she wouldn't move.   So I set the shotgun down wondering "what the....." and gave her the once over with my hands.   Cause, I mean.....she was obviously trying to tell me something.  Nope.  No blood.  No pain.  No broken bones.

And still her steady gaze.....well by this time it was probably more a GLARE.

Then I had a lightbulb moment.

"Drop it", I said.

Whereupon she............................spit out my wet pay cheque that I had stuffed in my jacket pocket at home.

One can't help but wonder what rationale a dog uses in a situation like that.   Is it a matter of "here's my master's scent on something"  or "here is something in a stinky duck slough that doesn't belong". 

There was the surprise that she found it at all, but then more interesting - CARRIED it for more than a half hour waiting to give it to me.

* * * * *

Cinder has long since passed over the Rainbow Bridge.  At around twelve years of age, stiff with arthritis and pretty much deaf, my neighbor ran over her back end while we were involved in a joint fencing project at the rear of my farm. 

I rushed her to the vet - absolutely devastated.   "Dislocated hip" he said....and taped and bound the leg up so she couldn't walk on it for three weeks.

All seemed well - dog didn't appear to be in any pain and still followed me to the barn each day.  But then about 2-1/2 weeks into it, as she came out of her dog house - and I noticed a foul odor wafting in the air.

I got a sick feeling in my stomach - told her to lay down - and had a close look where her long hair hung over the sling the vet had applied......got the scissors and cut everything away. 

Only to find.............I can remember the moment clearly like it was yesterday........that the bandage sling been applied too tightly, cut off the circulation and killed her leg.  

The smell was her flesh rotting.  

God.

I sit here crying even all these years later thinking about how her eyes looked up at me........her tail thumping the ground.

I couldn't let her suffer any more.

I was sick and overwhelmed with guilt that I had let it go on THIS long.

I called a fellow hunting friend and - barely able to say the words - asked him to take her to the vet to be put down.  

* * * * * *

There have been a few - not many people I have met in my life that I consider to have been.....influential......noteworthy.    

There are but a few animals that ALSO fall in that category. 

I'll certainly remember Tar'd N Feathered for the applause and glory I received - and the large cheque I was paid when he sold to a Field Trialer in the U.S.A.

But I'll remember Cinder Dog too.   Woman's best companion.    May the ducks be a plenty up in heaven.

Wuf.