Ode To A Canine Hunting Partner

By Diane Tipton, Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks Statewide Information Officer

This time of year many bird hunters have hunting dogs, present and past, on their minds. Montana’s upland game bird and waterfowl seasons are in full swing.

Though bird hunters cherish their canine hunting partners, few go so far as writing a poem honoring them. Those who do though undoubtedly express emotions that fellow hunters can appreciate.

Steve Dawson, a writer in Dillon, memorialized his hunting partner, Walter Widgeon, a chocolate lab, with a poem after Walter passed away in March 2000 at age 13. The poem and a photo were among the entries in Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks’ 2002 Hunting Dog Photo Contest.

Dawson has hunted since age 10 when his dad introduced him to ducks and chukar partridge. He began hunting with dogs in Alaska and has trained four: three Labs and a Chesapeake Bay retriever. Today he hits the fields with an eight-year old pointing chocolate lab named Bruno out of a Nevada litter.

Dawson spent 18 years in Alaska as a biologist and commercial fisherman before settling in Montana 22 years ago. Here is his poem titled "For My Old Pal."

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FOR MY OLD PAL

By Steve Dawson of Dillon To Honor His Chocolate Lab ’Walter Widgeon" His eyes are looking up at me the way they always did

I must confess, I’ll never guess the depth of love they hid

His place beside me worn and bare with dog hair on the rug

Whene’er I stirred, without a word, he’d follow with a shrug

And if I took my coat and hat or, God forbid, my gun

His tail would sway and seem to say: "Can I join in the fun?"

We’d go out to the pasture, through the creek and by the bog

Ever ready, always steady, most of all a hunting dog

When with his master in the field his eyes and ears alert

The hunt was on, his play face gone, his loins for battle girt

I’d never hear a whimper though the trail be long and rough

Like all his race, he loved the chase, his spirit leather tough

He ran afoul of barbwire twice, the kind you can’t ignore

We sewed him up and filled his cup and off he went once more

The jump shoot was his favorite game, all day at heel he’d walk

(Although from heel he’d sometimes steal to lead me on the stalk)

Sometimes we’d share a duck blind where the two of us would hide

He’d search the sky and whine if I should miss birds on my side

And if perchance a lucky shot should bring a mallard down

Then you could bet without regret you’d bring it back to town

For on the ice or in a tree whatever was demanded

A mallard duck was out of luck no matter where he landed

I’ve seen him chase them through the woods on ground scent hours old

Then crawl beneath a rosehip wreath though never was he told

He did it for our honor and the spirit of the chase

And maybe for just one pat more (then he would lick my face!)

For years I’ve had him for a friend, I raised him from a pup

He’d follow me through hell to see a flock of ducks get up

But now its time to say goodbye we knew this day was near

He’s passed his test and earned some rest, his job is over here

Tonight he’s gone to where dogs go to wait their master’s call

I’d give a deal to know if he’ll be watching me this fall

Until we meet on some broad marsh that’s in my memory

I’ll see those eyes and realize that my old pal’s with me.