Imagine a big, beautiful boy that encompasses everything we have in our minds of a male Vizsla, and you’ve got Patriot.

Patriot was the second-born of Buffy’s first litter; big boy. Blocky head, great structure, and a bird drive beyond anything we had ever seen in a puppy, up until that point OR since. He was – and is, he’s still with us at 15 – the Marlboro Man of Vizslas.

Despite his manly appearance, though, he was one of goofiest dogs we’ve had, as well as one of the softest. Sweet as can be. Always loves having his head petted – to the point that, if you start, you’re basically not allowed to stop. Ever.

While he was our pick of the litter, we were set on keeping a girl in order to continue our breeding program. That said – his looks and his bird drive were so out of this world, we knew we couldn’t place him with anyone that wasn’t planning on competing him. SO – we held him back, telling ourselves that we’d find a good performance home for him and then place him.

And we all know how that usually ends up.

And then he was gone…

I apologize for the jarring nature of that. I had written everything above a couple weeks ago. As it turned out, Patriot left me suddenly on September 12th.

I guess it’s odd to say that a 15 year old dog left me ‘suddenly’. It really was, though. When I took him out in the field to shoot a couple quick birds for him, I certainly wasn’t expecting to have to carry him out, or to lay him on the couch in my camper, hoping he would be OK, only to watch him slowly fade and pass on.

He lived the life, though. I can’t complain at all about 15. Sure, he was getting frail, as you would expect. I had those moments where he was snoozing so deeply that I’d watch, concerned, for just a moment, to make sure his chest was moving. His last year or two were good. He spent his days happy and mostly pain-free. He snoozed on the porch, or on his bed by the TV, or the couch. I worked from home for all of Covid, and when I could, I took him and TomBoy out for a short stroll around the property. He had some laryngeal paralysis, so I had to be careful to not let him get overexcited or overheated, but they both loved it, even if for just a few minutes.

When I could get them, I’d put a bird or two out for him or TomBoy. Old dogs, they couldn’t get around like they used to, and they tired easily, but they still loved their birds and enjoyed those brief spells when I’d let them retrieve a couple.

On that note – it’s important not to forget your old dogs. It’s easy to spend your time and money on training your younger dogs; to get them ready to hunt, or compete, or whatever. But I tell you this – you will not regret a single cent or second you spend going out of your way to give those old farts a nice moment.

In all honesty, he’d been at that age for a while where, every time he was sound asleep, you couldn’t help but look a little closer to make sure his chest was moving. He was happy, he was comfortable, but he was indeed getting frail. And he was 15. He had been in ‘bonus time’ for quite a while, and I just counted every extra day I had with him as a gift. Those days were. They really, really were.

I’ll have to come back to telling you more about Patriot’s exploits some other time. How he was worshipped by Jane, Ricky, and Eleanor, (TB worships no one; YOU worship HER). He loved the adulation. He reveled in it. He might not have been their sire, but they damn sure considered him their daddy!

How his bird drive was off the charts. He ran like the wind, retrieved anything he could, and if he went out on a retrieve – he was coming back with something.

How, when their was a girl in season in our house, he’d be a nutcase. And how he’d figured out how to, um … pleasure himself with a pillow to take the edge off, (it worked)

And how he always loved seeing the vet that did his semen collections. 🙂

Anyway I apologize for the somewhat disjointed post. It’s been a hard one to finish.

I miss seeing the old guy sleeping in the corner.

Until next time.