You can’t buy loyalty, they say
I bought it though, the other day;
You can’t buy friendship, tried and true,
Well just the same, I bought that too.
I made my bid, and on the spot
Bought love and faith and a whole job lot
Of happiness, so all in all
The purchase price was pretty small.
I bought a single trusting heart,
That gave devotion from the start.
If you think these things are not
for sale, Buy a brown-eyed puppy with
a stump for a tail.
 

— author unknown —

This poem about sums it up.

Sunday morning my puppy died in my arms. Lots of sorrow in my heart because for 15 years he was by my side. Snuggled up under the covers when the only heat we had was the wood stove which burned out half way through the night. We shared meals when I had no money for dog kibbel. Covered many miles of woods and fields chasing after birds. He was always forgiving yet disappointed when I missed one. He always spent his early years riding shotgun in my truck.

Butch entered my life when he was 6 months old. I was fresh out of Culinary School and looking for a bird dog. A Brittany…seemed like a perfect fit? A Chef with a French breed of bird dog. Not exactly Noble as the Brittany was the poachers dog in old France. To rough to be considered a hunting dog by Nobles, compact and friendly enough to live in a peasants home. But let me tell you…the breed is all heart…loving…and loyal.

Butch’s first months with me were perfect for a young bird dog. I had decided to take a job in Northern Michigan and was staying at our families Hunting camp on 40 acres. Slightly rough accomodation…but we had everything we needed. For that entire Fall hunting season Butch and I were able to go out every morning for at least an hour a day chasing Grouse and Woodcock, which at that time were pretty plentiful.

Time went on and we moved and I subjected him to apartments and girlfriends, but we always went North to the cabin. He had such a good nose he could smell a hamburger through the car winshield. Whenever we got close to the cabin he would go nuts jumping to and fro doing his Butchie dance. It must have been the smell or something but he knew were he was going.

Butch took classes with Preston Mann…and boy could he get Preston spitting mad! Driving him back to smoking every week (which was a vice that Preston was trying to quit) Preston being a true professional couldn’t stay mad…he was being challeneged…sure. Preston was going to win. Preston would tell me how the very traits that made Butch a headache were also a blessing! He would hunt all day and not stop. Hell I thought I was going to hunt him to death on couple occasions and had to kennel him mid hunt do to ear or tongue cuts. Which will never stop bleeding when they are running.

We never quite made it all over the country to hunt or to Quebec. We did cover a lot of Michigan with a trip or two to the UP. I had always intended to breed him and had an awesome female Brittany named Clare who was taken out way to early by a car. So that never came to pass.

All in all I was pretty lucky to purchase all that was promised in the poem above. Sure we had some close calls over the 15 years. A few bailouts from the pound and a few rewards paid. An expensive holiday at MSU vet hospital close to 2 grand….and yes I sold my truck to pay for it. A midnight ransom on the corner next to the projects in Inkster.

But hell no matter what I wanted my dog! I still want him here today.

I picked a hill that he would chase grouse over, a valley that was filled with woodcock. I dug a hole…under a Beech tree and rolled an old stump over it.

Sam and Clare were with me as I layed my best friend to rest at that ole camp.

It’s been a tough year…my Dad and my Butch two of my best friends :’(