When is the right time to restrict your aging hunting dog from the field?

With shaking hands and nervous anticipation, I slipped the GPS collar around Winchester’s neck and felt the subtle trembling always present prior to launch. For a moment, I considered leaving the collar in the truck, knowing my big running partner wouldn’t be running strong enough for me to fear him going over the edge of nowhere, one of the defining characteristics of our 12-year relationship.

He sat quietly, except for the gentle thumping of his tail on the seat, while I assembled the Winchester 101, 12-gauge, I had also considered leaving in the truck. But, Winchester knew that the gun and the collar meant a hunt, and their absence meant the outing was only a walk.

The March morning had dawned clear and cold, suggesting the snow cover in the mountains would present a crust that would support Winchester’s weight. Opportunities for the perfect conditions that once were a luxury had become a necessity for Winchester’s creaky old body.

The anthracite orbs staring back at me as I scratched his ears still sparkled, and with some reservation, I nuzzled his ear and whispered, “Find the birds.”

The command no longer produced the cannon-shot launch effect that would find him, in brief moments, hundreds of feet up the nearest mountain slope, the passion that would set his “papa’s” heart on fire and drive the day’s hunt. He somewhat gingerly climbed down, made a short jump to the snowbank next to the truck, and with a sort of shuffle, made his way toward the mountain that he knows well.

The question, “When is it right to stop taking your old hunting dog, or other old outdoor active dog, to the field,” has been a source of anxiety for Christine and me for years. With so many hunting dogs in our family, that question has been a part of our lives for a long time. It hasn’t gotten easier.

It isn’t debatable when they clearly do not want to go. The gun dogs I’ve had and been around for most of my life will key on something that tells them it’s time to go hunting. Maybe it’s pulling the shotgun out of the gun safe or putting on an article of clothing the dog associates with hunting.

Gunner, one of our beloved chocolate Labrador retrievers who had to leave early, would get excited by a shotgun or an old upland vest I wore for grouse hunting. Gunner loved grouse hunting, and his level of excitement reflected that when I donned that old vest.

Winchester never needed anything but for me to think that we were going. That may sound ridiculous, but it is true and a characteristic shared by two of his offspring, Hugo and Boss. If Christine and I talk about taking either of them, out of their earshot, they get amped up the next time we see them.

Jack, another chocolate Lab, injured himself early in life and he couldn’t negotiate the rigors of the hunting dog life without significant pain, so we restricted his activities to “puppy walks” his entire life. Even when he became severely crippled and virtually unable to leave the house, he would whine and cry to go when he knew what was up. Saying no for their own good in such cases always makes me wonder.

It seems safe to say most folks don’t like to be told no, especially if it involves an activity they love. It’s human nature, I suppose. Perhaps a lesser percent will grudgingly accept it as reasonable given the circumstances. And there are those who won’t, and are willing to injure themselves, or their life to pursue their passion.

I have always fallen in the latter category. Following doctor’s orders are among the most difficult things for me to do if the order restricts my physical activity. It might set back your recovery, they will say. Yeah, even so. In truth, who could blame Christine if she locked me and Winchester in the house the next time we refused to follow orders.

But, that’s why it is so hard to tell a dog, whose only means of communication evidences overwhelming joy at the prospect of going with you, no. It’s been a bit of a dance with Winchester for the past two seasons, and his 12th birthday loomed near.

Parker, the mother of all of our setter pups, and Winchester’s mate, who went from seeming good health to lost to us in just a few brief days, helps me make these decisions.

The year she became suddenly ill came along when the pups were just starting to get their legs under them. Thus, we were hunting them and Winchester as much as possible. Parker had a good nose and could find birds, but she never hunted well when there were other dogs. So, that season she hadn’t been going.

One morning she came to me and sat down at my feet, staring at me. It about broke my heart — she was saying she wanted to go. So, off we went, just the two of us, and we had a wonderful day of grouse hunting. She found birds, and she strutted back into the house when we got home like the princess she was. Two weeks later, we held her in our arms as she left us. Had I not taken her that day, it would have haunted me forever. You never know.

That’s why my thoughts had briefly considered no collar and no gun, when Winchester and I started our day in March. For Winchester, finding birds completed him. He never cared if we missed every shot, as long as he could find them, he was happy.

I didn’t want to shoot a bird and take the chance of him having to run down a wounded bird, which could set him back and cause him pain for days.

We spent half a day covering country that would have taken him maybe 30 minutes only a few years ago. He did find birds, and when he got on their scent, his helicopter tail, just before he locked on point, told me all I needed to know about the decision I made.