My son-in-law, Dave Faught, wrote a great tribute about a dog they called Dixie, that they lost this last week. I asked his permission to share it. Our pets are like family!
She was a 26th birthday present from Emily. I can't begin to count the miles or the hours we spent together. Just me and her. Blazing heat, blizzards, subzero temperatures, rain storms. Nothing stopped us. She was never late getting in the truck. She never suggested we leave early. At the end of the day she always looked at me as if to say "one more fence row?" When we got home, she would crash out, sore and exhausted, grinning ear to ear.
There wasn't a bird she didn't love to hunt, but her favorite days were spent tearing through the marshes after downed teal and busting coveys of quail because she knew she had a full day of pointing and retrieving singles. In the pre-dawn light, she would start to vibrate when she heard the flutter of dove wings overhead. Aching for the chance to do a job. She wasn't very big, so carrying roosters was tough, but she loved trying. By the time she retired, she was as sure-footed and wily as anything we hunted. No matter what we were after, I didn't even have to talk or gesture. We could read each others' minds. She knew how I hunted and I knew how she hunted. If you have ever looked in the eyes of a bird dog when it's working, you have seen the expression that defines purpose.
It really is a privilege to watch a creature fulfill its destiny. Brittanies don't usually make it to 16 years old, but Dixie did. Because she was unstoppable. She has her legs back under her now, and I guarantee she is going off like a bottle rocket in the most perfect CRP patch she can imagine.
~David Faught
