Scout , RIP

Patrick Porter  (the best  writer you have never read)  on “The best bird dog east of the Mississippi”, Scout,  from Berwick, Maine.

  It didn’t go unnoticed that all the orange maple leaves had fallen on our lush green grass.  Above us….above my entire family after the sun had set, a million stars showed their way through a clear autumn evening towards the new winter and a spring yet to come.

     Upon those colorful leaves and under that sky, Scout Harriett Porter, wrapped in her favorite puffy quilt……said good bye to us…..for now.  Our hands held her body and we felt the peaceful passage because we are that kind of people.  My wonderful vet came over so she wouldn’t be frightened.

  She’s been deaf and blind for 8 months, following old paths and maneuvering her way through our unchanged house using just her nose.  If one of my boys walked in, she’d light up with barks and whines until they knelt against her for hugs and kisses.

  Eventually she grew very tired and could do no more.

 As Scout’s body failed, my own spirits seeped down towards a deep ancient stream fed by 35,000  year old glaciers from back when dogs joined man because man needed dogs.

     It will be a week or two before I climb from this primitive hole.

     Her sight went first, as did my ability to discern or care about the incandescent trees swaying beneath black October clouds, though I always look forward to this time of year. 

     When her hearing gave out, I quit listening to the unimportant things that didn’t include roaring fires or beautiful hunting dogs.

   Finally, Scout couldn’t use her back legs and began to soil herself, so I laid my dirty stripped body against hers, trying hard to up the memories of camps and beat up oiled shotguns and dead grouse and dominion over the land we hunted together when the feathered, hooved and clawed beasts fell before us.

    We’ve been inseparable  for 16 years and it shows.

   I have nothing in my ledger….no credibility in the Vermont woods as of today.  I’m outranked and outflanked by our former prey and the forest that keeps them, tired and old and slack jawed, drinking whiskey not wine because half of everything beneath my rib cage went with her.

Thank you, Scout Harriett Porter from Berwick, Maine….the best damn bird dog east of the Mississippi.