Thank you for eleven years of wonderment and adventure. Without you, I wouldn’t have gone so many of the places we’ve hunted. You were the original star of our TV show, and are still going strong on the small screen and in the field.
Age has slowed your body but not your spirit. You are a true hunter and that spirit has become mine. Seventy-seven human years … wow. I hope to be as optimistic, energetic and wide-eyed at your age!
We’ve seen dozens of states, joined hundreds of dogs and people in the field, but none have touched my soul like you have. Tolerant of children, strangers, your grand nephew and your running mate Corgi, you are a fine representative of your breed.
You politely endure the poking of vet techs, prodding of doctors, and the aches and pains of “senior dogness.” Your beard is thinner, your gait more deliberate. You’re happy with an hour in the field and a soft bed after.
A late morning, a couch-potato evening, plenty of sunbathing in between … you deserve the life usually reserved for vacationers.
You’ve earned it.