The Unexpected Loss of Man’s Best Friend

Brandon Butler is back on CITNB to share another story – this one on how hunting dogs have a sneaky way of becoming family. Read his first post here.

Brandon Butler and Junior

Junior was born the son of Bocephus. He was destined for greatness. Having a renowned retriever for a father sets expectations high. Junior may have never won a world title, but he was a champion. The tears of two little girls prove it.

From the first time I read Where the Red Fern Grows over 20 years ago, I dreamt of owning a well-trained, highly-functional hunting dog. Time and attention kept that dream from becoming a reality for too long. Opportunity struck when I was presented the chance to buy Junior as a three-year-old field trial washout.

Finished retrievers aren’t cheap. Paying $3,000 for a dog wasn’t a decision I took lightly. But the first time I walked up to Junior’s kennel and saw him standing there smiling his big goofy smile, with eyes so full of life and muscles rippling under his shiny black coat, there was no doubt he was going to be mine.

My daughters had no idea I was bringing home a dog. When I asked them to come outside to meet someone, I’m sure they figured it was just another fishing buddy. Instead, they saw Junior. They looked up at me for a tell tale sign he was ours. My smile gave it away. Hugs, shrieks, giggles and face licks lasted a good half-hour, then I ran him through a series of retrieves to show his new family how special Junior truly was.

It took him awhile to figure out how to be a family dog. Junior’s life had been a series of trainers and kennels. He had lived like an Olympic athlete. Now, he could lie on a couch, have his belly rubbed, swim in our pool and every so often enjoy a piece of bacon. His new life must have felt surreal.

Junior and I worked on his retrieves in the fields surrounding our home. At first, he had to put up with with my novice handling abilities, but it didn’t take long for us to click. Watching him zigzag through a field searching for scent from a dummy I’d hid was amazing. I’d blow my whistle and he’d stop and sit facing me. With hand signals, I’d send him in direction he needed to go. He always found the dummy.

We only had one duck hunt together, but it was a hunt for the ages. A friend drew the first pill at Grand Pass during the peak migration. Three of us killed our limits of mallards and then rounded out the morning other bird limits of teal. Junior retrieved every bird we dropped. He was a machine. I was so proud, and so full of excitement for the future. I had a mallard from that hunt mounted. It hangs in my office. I’m so thankful I made that decision.

When Junior was a puppy he had Leptospirosis. He almost died. The disease degraded his kidney function. This caused him to drink and urinate more often than most dogs, but he otherwise seemed perfectly healthy. Still, he somehow caught an infection. When we took him to the vet, they discovered water in his lungs and around his heart. The vet tested his vitals and discovered his kidneys were only functioning at an estimated 25 percent. She suggested putting him out of his pain. A second vet I enlisted concurred. But I couldn’t do it.

The vet said she could preform an expensive surgery to drain the fluid and remove bacteria from Junior’s lungs, but with his severely damaged kidneys, he would likely only live 4-10 more months. I didn’t believe it. Or at least I wouldn’t accept it. He’d had bad kidneys for a long time. I thought maybe he had learned to live with them that way. I told her to perform the surgery. I wholeheartedly believed Junior would come out of surgery and live at least a few more years. We’d kill a bunch of ducks and I’d breed him, with a strong female, so my future dogs would carry on his bloodline.

Junior died September 18. We had him for one year and one day. His kidneys just couldn’t handle the surgery and he never recovered. I’m still at a loss. My wife and I sat with our young daughters and we all cried as we recalled the best dog we’ve ever known.

I miss him. For brief moments, I forget he’s gone and catch myself looking for him. First thing in the morning, I’ll think of letting him out and then realize he’s not here. It is so hard to look at the empty space on the couch in my office where he’d lie all day while I worked. Dumping his half-full dog bowl, taking down his kennel and putting his leash in a drawer were all heartbreaking, but the worst was setting his hunting vest on a shelf knowing it won’t be used this fall.

Junior and I gave each other incredible gifts. He taught me what it means to truly love a dog. He solidified my understanding of “man’s best friend.” What I gave him was the best year of his life. I gave him the love of little girls, the comfort of couch cushions, the taste of bacon and the admiration of a man whose dream came true.

See you down the trail, Jun-Bug…