A Year of Silence: The Rebirth of a Gundog

Written By: Zach Miller

“The job of a great trainer is not to only tackle the issues that present themselves in front of us, but to see the road ahead. The understanding that the hiccups suffered today will be ironed out in the sessions of tomorrow.”

Photo Courtesy Of: DuckDog Photography

As the sun set on the horizon, casting long shadows over the field, I watched my gundog, Fury, retrieve a fallen (duck) dummy, his tail wagging with unbridled enthusiasm. A year ago, he would have been chasing after a live duck, his eyes focused, his body taut with anticipation. But that was a year ago, before life took an unexpected turn, before our training sessions came to an abrupt halt.

Fury is not just a gundog; he is my partner, my confidant, my friend. We have spent countless hours together, training, learning, and growing. His keen senses, his unwavering loyalty, and his relentless drive to retrieve have always been a source of pride for me. However, the past year has been different. It has been a year of silence, a year of watching Fury’s skills slowly fade away, a year of longing for the days when we were a team.

The decision to stop training Fury was not an easy one. It was forced upon us by circumstances beyond our control with a training job and city that is unfortunately not friendly to gundogs. Taking a year to hone my skills within the obedience field prevented me from honing my gundog skills and as a result my gundog suffered. As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I watched helplessly as Fury’s once razor-sharp skills began to dull. His once precise retrieves became sloppy, his focus wavered, and his drive to retrieve seemed to diminish. A dog who was pushing 500+ yard retrieves was limited to a football field cut in half due to crowds and other dogs.

It was heartbreaking to watch. Every missed retrieve, every moment of confusion in Fury’s eyes, was a stark reminder of what we had lost. I felt a profound sense of guilt for letting Fury down by this move, for not being there for him when he needed me the most. However, life has a way of testing us, of pushing us to our limits, and then showing us that we are capable of so much more. As I watched Fury chase after the dummy, his tail wagging with joy, I realized that it was time. Time to pick up the pieces, time to start over, time to climb back up, the waiting had to end. The past year had been a year of silence, but it was also a year finding out where I did not want to be. A year of realizing where we belong and where we thrive in the dog community. More importantly, a year of realizing what good and bad humans are.

Fury may have lost some of his skills, but he has not lost his spirit. His eyes still sparkle with excitement when the local geese still fly over the house, his tail still wags with joy, and his heart still beats with the same relentless drive to retrieve. He is still the same Fury, the same loyal partner, the same eager learner, the same relentless retriever. As we embark on this journey of rediscovery this waterfowl season, I know that the road ahead will be challenging. There will be moments of frustration, moments of doubt, moments of despair. At the same time, there will also be moments of joy, moments of triumph, moments of sheer exhilaration. Through it all, Fury and I will be together, learning, growing, and climbing back up. It is simply what needs to be done.

The past year has taught me that life is unpredictable, that it can change in the blink of an eye and that we have to forge our own path. It has also taught me that it is not the fall that defines us, but how we choose to rise after the fall. As I watch Fury day by day with the season coming ever closer, he knows as well as I do that soon, it will be time to climb back in the saddle. The sun may have set on our past, but a new dawn awaits us. A dawn filled with hope, with promise, with the prospect of a new beginning. As we dive head first into this new dawn, Fury and I, we do so with determination in our hearts and a resolve in our spirits. For we are not just a gundog and his trainer; we are a team, a team that has weathered the storm, a team that has stood the test of time. 

As we begin our training anew, I see the spark in Fury’s eyes reignite. The familiar scent of the fowl-life, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of a successful retrieve - it's all coming back to him. Each successful retrieve is a small victory, a step towards reclaiming his former glory. There are days when the progress seems slow, when the old skills seem just out of reach. However, then there are days when Fury surprises me, when he retrieves with the precision of the finished gundog that he is, when his focus is unwavering, his drive to retrieve as strong as ever. These are the moments that give me hope, that reassure me that we are on the right path.

The job of a great trainer is not to only tackle the issues that present themselves in front of us, but to see the road ahead. The understanding that the hiccups suffered today will be ironed out in the sessions of tomorrow. The climb back up may be steep, the journey may be long, but we are ready. Ready to face the challenges, ready to embrace the victories, ready to reclaim our place as a team. As the sun sets on the horizon, casting long shadows over the field, I watch Fury chase after the dummy, his tail wagging with unbridled enthusiasm. And I know, in my heart of hearts, that we are on the right path. The path of rediscovery, the path of resilience, the path of resurgence.

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