As a gun dog, the name seemed to suit her well. To the hunter, when the wind blows in the fall it does more than just revive the senses after a hot summer. It whips the water and sets waterfowl in motion and it shakes the leaves from the alders allowing an additional peak at a fleeing woodcock. To the hunter with a dog, it brings a season of unique and meaningful experiences between a man and his loyal partner, both bringing birds to the bag and a bond of love to their hearts.

The name on her papers reads ‘Autumn’s Windy Day.’ We just called her ‘Windy.’ She didn’t win any field trials and there are no ribbons decorating the walls but she was more than anyone could ever ask for. She possessed incredible will and tenacity when afield, yet amazing grace when with the kids.

Whether ripping through briars to put a cock pheasant in flight, battling an ice filled moving river to retrieve a downed Bufflehead, or just shagging tennis balls off the back porch, Windy was in her element. She had a wonderful habit of rising to the occasion whether shivering in a duck blind or snoring under the coffee table.

Windy loved to hunt. I feel especially good that she was able to chase Sharptail Grouse in North Dakota, Woodcock in New Brunswick, and upland birds and waterfowl from Maine to Rhode Island. I am thankful now that I was able to give her those opportunities. And the memories she gave me in return are the fabric of silver linings.

Although her arthritis came much too early and epilepsy at age three was a surprise, through the proverbial miracle of modern veterinary medicine we were able to keep both in check. But the threat they posed was ever present and under those conditions some dogs would have opted for kitchen duty but Windy and I had a different agreement.

With discretion as our guide we would continue to play hard, to run, and to hunt because God only gives us one season and the sunrises and sunsets come and go much too quickly. The quality of life as the quality of the hunt was what was important to us. To me, shooting birds became secondary to watching Windy work. To her, even though she would hurt and I sometimes had to lift her back into the truck, the discomfort was secondary to having the chance to hunt again. Don’t doubt me on that.

We also had another agreement, she and I. When God decided she had chased enough roosters, retrieved enough ducks and played enough left field for the kids, we would be together at the end. She would be in my arms and she would not be afraid. But like the Woody that zips into your decoys and despite the empty shotshells flies away unscathed, we don’t always get it the way we want it.

The other night Windy went into the yard after supper as she had done for the past eleven years. But there was no woof at the door when she wanted to come back in and lie by the fire. The whistle went unanswered and my feeble attempts to find her in the dark went unfulfilled. Going to bed without her on the floor beside me made for a sleepless night but we left the door to her kennel open and clung to the hope that in the morning she would be there.  She wasn’t.

The kids, Ruth, and I went looking for our missing family member. We scoured the woods behind our house and all the streets within a couple of miles. Hope dwindled and frightening possibilities took control of our thoughts. Then about two in the afternoon, a neighbor called. Her son found a black dog in their yard. She thought it was dead.

It was Windy and she was gone. But it was not as horrible or violent as it might have been. She was not hit by a car or some other fearful fate like that. Actually, she just looked asleep and the sun shone on her ebony body, bright and warming despite the cold December day. It was but a few more threads of fabric for our silver lining. The vet figured that the strong heart that was her trademark simply stopped beating.

We have another Lab at home. Printer is three years old. She too has that special vitality for life that all good gun dogs have. And she has those engulfing big brown eyes that could swallow up even the most stringent non-believer. Having Printer right now is helping to ease the pain, but Windy was first ever dog and my special friend and although I was not able to hold her and be with her when she died like we had agreed, she will always be with me warming my heart and inspiring my soul. I love her and I will miss her sorely, especially on Windy Autumn Days.