Companion dogs, herding dogs, guard dogs, rescue dogs, guide dogs, law-enforcement dogs, and, of course, hunting dogs. All these and more attest to a unique (and marvellous) inter-species partnership. Humans and dogs have clearly co-evolved for close and loving mutual assistance.

The partnership is not symmetrical, however. Does anyone doubt that dogs are better at “reading” us than we are at reading them?  I didn’t think so. On the other hand, the average life span of a dog is much shorter than ours, which has both a downside and an upside.

The downside of the lifespan asymmetry is the responsibility we have of eventually putting down our canine partners. So dreadful is this responsibility that a friend of mine, finding it more than he can bear, has decided never again to own a dog. Fair enough, that avoids the downside – but, of course, it also forecloses the upside, namely, the next pup and the next partnership. Inevitable endings open the door to new beginnings.

This reflection on the conjunction of endings and beginnings is prompted by how often my family has recently confronted its realities. The photo below, taken in May 2016, shows me with four Large Munsterlanders, three of them no longer with us.

From left to right:

• Hunt Mountain’s Doonerak (‘Drake’ – 2005-2019) lived with Kyle, Aliah, Wyatt, and Raina Knopff in Calgary.
• Snowy Oaks’ Fen (2006-2019) lived with Rainer and Robin Knopff in the Pincher/Crowsnest area of Alberta – where the photo was taken.
• Sunnynook’s Rook (2003-2016 – the February pinup in the 2019 LMAC Calendar) lived with Joel Knopff and Jodi Hawley in Kimberley B.C.
• Sunnynook’s Erro (2016-  ) lives with Rainer and Robin Knopff.

I’ve indicated the primary home of each dog, but they were often together (as in the photo). We care for and kennel each other’s dogs. We hunt each other’s dogs too, giving them more opportunities than they’d get with just their official owners. In addition, trusted friends sometimes borrow a member of the pack. The departures of the three old guys in the photo were thus widely mourned.

Those departures occurred in a 28-month period between late fall 2016 and mid-February 2019, making for a lot of concentrated mourning. All three dogs lived to around 13 years of age, with Rook and Drake exceeding that by several months, and Fen falling short by a couple. Erro, who was obviously a young pup at the time, is now an accomplished 3-year-old.

The decision to call an end was agonizing in each case, because each dog had a special and compelling individual story (as does every dog). For reasons of space, I’ll say a bit just about Fen, who shared most of his days with Robin and me.

Fen was known in our family as “Fendoodle,” or the “Doodle Dog.”  Joel came up with the nickname years ago to capture Fen’s doofus-like, galumphing approach to much of life. He could be intense when required — on point, for example, or chasing down a wounded goose in the lake, or (less admirably) pursuing his lifelong vendetta against porcupines. But much of the time he was content to “doodle” around with his humans, enjoying their company and always trying to please. “Doodle Dog” was an apt moniker, and it stuck.

Fen hunted for 13 seasons, beginning when he was 7 months old. Admittedly, he was mostly retired for the last couple of years, and managed only 2-3 hours of real hunting in 2018. But he relished those short hunts, and he continued to enjoy long offseason runs until near the end.

We knew the end was near when Fen became incontinent, lethargic, and anxious – and when he began to lose weight quickly and precipitously, dropping from his fighting trim of 70 pounds to 60 pounds of skin and bone on his last day.

On that last day we took him to the Vet, allegedly to have him “assessed,” but knowing inwardly that he was unlikely to return (which is why Robin insisted on coming with me). The Vet’s assessment matched our own best guess: Fen’s kidneys were failing. Did we want to do blood tests to confirm that, she asked? Would it make any difference, I asked in return. Well, she replied, there was no cure, but if we had diagnostic certainty we could consider treatments that would buy time. I could tell she was “covering the bases” rather than promoting this option. And she could tell I wasn’t going to “buy time” for an almost 13-year-old in a breed where it is rare to get much older.

Instead of blood tests and time-buying treatments, we took the decision advised by “The Last Battle,” a poem of uncertain authorship that can be found in several versions on the internet:

THE LAST BATTLE

If it should be that I grow frail and weak,
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done?
For the last battle can't be won.

You will be sad I understand,
But don't let grief then stay your hand.
For on this day, more than the rest,
Your love and friendship must stand the test.

We have had so many happy years,
You wouldn't want me to suffer, so
When the time comes, please let me go.

Take me to where my needs they'll tend,
Only, stay with me until the end.
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree,
It is a kindness you do for me.

Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I have been saved.
Don't grieve that it must be you,
Who has to decide the thing to do.

We've been so close--we two--these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears.

Good advice, that – except the last line about not letting “your heart hold any tears.” Impossible! There are always tears in my heart on these occasions, and plenty of them flowing down my cheeks too.

There’s an ongoing emptiness, as well. In the hours after Fen’s demise, I composed a bit of kitschy doggerel to express it. (What can be more appropriate in this context than some doggerel?):

THERE’S A HOLE IN MY WORLD

There’s a hole in my world.
Missing mat on the floor,
Unused dish by the door.
Where the dog lay curled,
There's a hole in my world.

We still have Erro, of course, which helps. She can’t fill the holes left by Rook, Drake and Fen, and someday she’ll leave a hole of her own, but she (and we) are unfolding yet another iteration of the partnership story. So too are Joel, Jodi and Sunnynook’s Fjord (2017 –   ), the successor to Rook in their world.

These two new stories – Erro’s and Fjord’s – recently intersected on a quail-hunting adventure in southern Arizona (perhaps the focus of a future piece in the LMAC News). The photo below shows Joel with both dogs and a Mearns Quail they collectively bagged.

Nor will Kyle, Aliah, Wyatt, and Raina go dogless for long. Their new pup was recently born at the Prairie Sky Kennel of Large Munsterlanders. Yet another partnership has been launched.

Painful endings followed by joyful new beginnings. The cycle repeats – as it must for those of us who cannot live without dogs.