My old bird dog

It's the first day of season,

He knows it for many reasons.

Up before first light,

He always begins to excite,

looking for clues,

he carefully studies what I do.

 

Is this a false alarm?  He watches my pick,

YES! It's the thunder stick!

 

Another year gone by,

he anxiously begins to cry.

 

A new year and the first day,

many birds to find, we pray.

 

I see his face so well,

as headlights reflect a guard rail.

In the truck while its dark,

I glance at his face, so gray mark'd.

His eyes wide,

fill'd with pride,

my old huntin' buddy by my side.

 

Ridin' with his master,

'can we get there any faster?'

 

Down the road we go,

memories, they begin to flow.

 

Cherishing hunts of the past,

thoughts of great times, forever last.

 

My buddy is old and his days are few,

my eyes water as I don't know what to do,

without my buddy, so loyal and true.

 

Though his body tires easily from years,

we will hunt with joy and shed no tears. 

 

We hunt as one,

'til life says, 'you're done'!

 

I'd like to think that the man upstairs,

has a bird huntin' place, the answer to our prayers...

There we hunt in perfect autumn weather,

so many birds, still together.

 

Author, Dave Jones, inspired by a seasons first hunt and my old dog 'Chief'.

 

Y'all take care and give your dog a fancy treat for me!

Chief's Brittanys All rights reserved

 

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