Dashaway (1997 – 2010)
…Grieve not,
nor speak of me with tears,
but laugh and talk of me
as if I were beside you…
I loved you so —
‘twas Heaven here with you.
Isla Paschal Richardson
Most of the time, Jerry and I called him Dasher. Sometimes it was Dash or Our Dash or, if he did something particularly annoying or naughty, Jerry called him Your Dash.
Physically, Dasher was a specimen. He was liver-and-white with a gorgeous, square muzzle and an even mask. Dasher weighed a solid 58 pounds—the biggest of our bird dogs. He was beautiful in motion. He moved with the strength and power of a thoroughbred but was graceful and light on his feet. Dasher was enjoyable to watch run—not only for his style but because he always seemed to be having so much fun.
Dasher was intelligent, too, and intuitive and his large, expressive eyes seemed all-knowing. He had his quirks and oddities, like all dogs. We’ll always remember his jerky motion when he noisily lapped water from the water bucket.
Dasher was almost 14 years old and had lived a happy and productive life. For almost two months, he’d been ill with a failing kidney and a fist-sized tumor on his spleen. Like so many proud, strong and stoic dogs we’ve owned before, Dasher would rally from a couple of bad days to eat well, grab a chew toy and trot happily outside for his short walks.
An uncanny Christmas evening
Dasher had endured a tough Christmas day. Food didn’t appeal to him and I couldn’t tempt him with canned dog food, cooked meat or even holiday dog treats. It was difficult for him to get up and go outside, notwithstanding the cold weather. We stoked up the fire and left him to sleep on his thick bed in front of our wood-burning stove.
Not two hours later, Dasher had shuffled to our bedroom door—something he had never done—made enough noise to wake us up and then, because he was so weak, lay down in the hall.
Jerry and I leapt out of bed and carried him back to his bed in front of the fireplace. We brought blankets and pillows. I curled up with Dasher on his bed and Jerry slept beside us on the couch.
Dasher died peacefully the next day.
Dasher’s pedigree
Dasher was out of our first-ever grouse champion, Dance Smartly (Dancer), and a dog campaigned by Jim Tande, CH Brook’s Elhew Ranger. Among his littermates were CH Sidelock’s Rogue Trader, owned by Mitch Stapley from Michigan and RU-CH Dancing Queen, a female that produced Frank LaNasa’s CH Centerpiece, a six-time champion/two-time runner-up champion.
We kept Dasher because he was evenly marked like his dam and seemed most like her in temperament and ability. Just for fun, we continued the reindeer-naming theme.
My Memories
• When he was a puppy and being worked with the check cord, he’d pick up the end of it and run around with it in his mouth. It was “so cute” but was he really “so smart” because he knew that if he had the end I couldn’t grab it?
• Dasher had a superior nose. Jerry lost a glove one day while we were working dogs. The next day, just by chance, we worked eight-month-old Dasher on the same trail. He found that glove and proudly bounded by us with it in his mouth.
• He loved heat. On a hot summer day, he would lie in front of our south-facing glass door…utterly content.
• Dasher could leap. The fence around our pasture was 5’ high. Instead of waiting for me to open the gate, he raced around the corner of the garage and took that fence in full stride—gracefully launching himself off the ground and clearing the top by several inches.
• He was a morning dog and earned the name Mr. Perky. We never had to wake him up or prod him to go out. He was always sitting up straight with ears pricked and an eager expression in his eyes.
• Dasher chewed his way through hundreds of dollars of dog beds. I bought beds from L.L. Bean, Orvis, Cabela’s and Fleet Farm. Finally, last fall, I succumbed to the grandest of beds, a Mud River Homebase. This thing is gorgeous! It is made from 6”-high memory foam and is extremely comfortable. Plus, it’s a whopping 43” long x 30” wide. Dasher loved his bed, guarded it and rarely shared it. Forever it will be known as “Dasher’s bed.”
Jerry’s memories
• Dasher had an outstanding nose and was a natural at finding and pointing ruffed grouse, even at a young age. One day I was working him with two other year-old puppies. One by one, the other two came out to the logging trail and hunted on ahead of me. Dash was the last one to catch up. When he was about 75 yards ahead of me, on the same trail the other pups had just gone down, he stopped, turned his head slightly and pointed. I walked up and a grouse flushed noisily and Dash was off in hot pursuit!
• I remember well (so does Betsy) the day he beat his kennelmate, CH Blue Streak, in a spring grouse trial when he was three years old and Streak was in her prime.
• Dash had endless stamina and, amazingly, kept himself in excellent shape without any real conditioning.
• Dash was a member of the guiding team on the day I clocked the highest flush count of my life. I ran him in the middle of the day and he found as many grouse as those that were down during the prime morning and evening hours. When Dash pinned a grouse, we’d follow the beeper. The hunters likened him to a hound—follow the dog to the treed game!
Dasher’s legacy
Dasher was bred just handful of times but left outstanding progeny. Jason Gooding at Goodgoing Kennels bred his female, Moxie, to Dasher twice. Out of that came Goodgoing Hannah Montana, a field trial dog handled by Brett Edstrom, and fabulous hunting dogs owned by Todd Gatz of Ely and Wayne Grayson of Mississippi. Jerry and I have an attractive orange-and-white female, Prancer (remember the reindeer thing?), from a breeding to Fate, Mark Fouts’ extremely talented grouse dog. We plan to breed Prancer to CH Westfall’s Black Ice this year so we’ll have grand-Dashers. (How about a Vixen or a Blitzen?)
Finally…
Jane, my sister-in-law, sent a kind note with the perfect sentiment: kindred spirit. To some it might seem odd that a dog and a woman could be kindred spirits but that, in a nutshell, is how I feel about Dasher.
And I miss him.
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