Val was 85 pounds of solid muscle. Walking by, he could accidently beat you up with the friendly wagging of his tail. Just a few weeks ago I saw him retrieve his last duck on the opening day of the early teal season. Val took hand signals while swimming in the middle of a pond, being directed to a downed duck he could not see, but trusted would be there. Then he brought it back and delivered it gently to the left hand of his owner. Val was a 5-year old, chocolate Labrador retriever, and the finest hunting dog I have known. Val died last night, following a bout of uncontrollable seizures.
Val was the first truly trained dog I ever hunted with. I could not believe the difference it made. No running 100 yards ahead of the hunters, no ignoring commands, no birds flushed far out of range. He could also do all the fancy stuff. For example, his owner's favorite Val story involves a time they were hunting geese in Southern Illinois. A hunter in a neighboring pit knocked down a bird. The crippled goose fell in muddy field, then made a bee-line for the woods, where it would certainly be lost in the vegetation. Realizing the hunter would not reach the bird before it escaped into the woods, Val's master sent him on a line to a blind retrieve. Val got off the line a bit, so his owner whistled him to a stop, gave him a hand signal, and sent him on to the unseen bird. The dog saw the bird and caught it about ten feet from the woods, and returned it straight to his owner. The neighboring hunter, obviously thankful while picking up his bird, stated, "I never would have caught that goose myself." Amazed, he had never seen a dog that could do those things.
It took his owner a full year, including four and one half months of intensive training on the forced retrieve, to get Val to that point. Big Dog, as he was affectionately known, nearly outweighed his master, but loved to train, and could take three lessons per day without losing interest. He would not take commands from anyone else. Extremely tough and energetic, Val could hunt pheasants all day without tiring significantly. He once hunted all day with a cut foot pad, heedlessly leaving a small blood track wherever he went. A couple of times he got a nick in his tail and left blood marks on the walls of the house from his perpetual wagging.
Val was stricken with hip displasia just as he reached his prime. This affliction, which is impossible to predict, caused him to limp severely after a day's upland game hunting. The malady restricted him to waterfowl hunting ever after. A few months ago he began having seizures. Despite medication and frequent trips to the veterinarian, the disorder could not be completely controlled. A gentle giant, Val was never aggressive -- he would rather lick you to death. He was a hell of a dog, a dog that deserved an appropriate eulogy. It has been my privilege to write it. Val, rest in peace.
Copyright 2001 Joseph R. CoelhoAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.