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Old Dogs Never Die

by Harvey Cain :: Featured: June, 2003

Old dogs never die. They just fade away. Our dogs find their way into our hearts and lives either by choice or by chance. Some only live for a short while but others are with us for years. Those that overcome the many obstacles to growing up and growing old will someday spend their last days with you waiting for the end. How they spend these final days will depend on you. You are the one who has filled the role of owner and master, but most of all you are their friend and companion. Their many years of service and devotion should be rewarded with the special care and attention that they will now need.

When I was just a boy, I remember a song that my dad sang. It was about an old hound named Blue. I know that there were a number of verses but I can only remember the last one.

Blue

Blue, Blue, you rascal you,
Come run them rabbits for me and you.

When old Blue died, we laid him in the shade.
We dug his grave with a silver spade.
We let him down with a golden chain.
Every link we called his name.

Blue, Blue, you rascal you,
Come run them rabbits for me and you.

This little song may have been what instilled within me the idea that old dogs should be respected and appreciated for the many years of service and devotion that they have provided. While they still live, you should work hard to provide them comfort and care.

When the time comes that they are suffering and are not going to recover, it is then that you must do what must be done. Put them down, put them to sleep or end their suffering. What ever this act of compassion is called it will be the last kind thing that you will get to do for your little four legged friend.

We two legged dogs get to spend a little more time on this earth. In our 60 to 70 or even 80 years we get to watch several generations of our little hounds as they live their entire life span from pups to an old age of up to 13 or 14 years. Fourteen years would be about as long as we could ever expect a hunting dog to last. The last few of those years would find these old hounds suffering from a number of ailments that may cause periods of pain and discomfort. Special diets and supplements and more frequent trips to the Vet may be needed. I have found that older dogs like to have a pen of their own. They should not have to compete for food or for that special place in the sun. Not only my old dogs, but all of my hounds are spoiled with heat lights and fresh hay in the winter and fans in the summer. These creature comforts are especially needed by the oldest members of our kennels.

Harvey with Duke. Duke was about 13 years old in this picture.

I will share the memories of one fine old hound that I had the privilege to know as a close friend and companion. Duke was a little 12 inch tri-colored hound that came to me late in his life. He was around nine years old when he came to see after me. Even at this mature age he was quite fit. He was very much in charge of the pack. Being the smallest dog in the pack, he had to work hard to maintain his position as the Alpha Dog. With him he brought two sons, one daughter and one granddaughter. All of these little hounds were straight rabbit dogs. I got this little pack right when I had retired from the service and before poverty forced me back to work. I had two full years that I took to hunt and fish. For two winters, I was able to hunt six and seven days each week. If when I next retire, I am to old and feeble to hunt, I can always remember the two years I got to spend hunting full time with Duke and his crew.

Duke performed well for the next few years. He had to be the best little hound to ever work a loose. He had lots of rabbit sense. His small frame allowed him to go any where a rabbit would dare to go. He always hunted close enough to here his name when called. If you kicked up a rabbit, you could call Duke’s name and say “Here He IS !” and Duke would appear ready to put the rabbit on the run.

Around 12 years old he started to slow down. He could no longer rule the pen. When he took a little whipping from one of the other males, he was moved into his semiretirement, private quarters. After this move, he started getting special treatment. He did not get to go on every hunt, but I did try to spend time with him. He and I would take private walks, at which time I would ask his advice on how I should manage problems with the younger dogs. Now understand, I did all the talking. I could talk for him, because I knew what he would say if he could talk.

Duke’s last hunt was soon after he had turned 14 years old. He did not get to do much hunting, but he did get to go. I had left Duke in the dog box, where he could hear the race that was in progress. I was standing near the truck and could hear him whimper a little as he heard the pack circle the rabbit close to the truck. I went over and opened the box and lifted Duke out. I sat him down next to me and told him that he would have to stay on the road with me. As I stood there I could see his ears were perked up so that he could hear ever bark. After a while he stood up and then hoped off the road and into the brush. I could hear him as he moved to a spot about 100 feet off the road. He must have calculated where the rabbit was going. The pack brought the rabbit around to pass just in front of Duke. As the rabbit passed he let out three or four nice barks. After the pack passed on by, I walked out to where Duke had sounded off. I found him laying there panting and in need of a lift back to the truck.

About a week later I went out to check on the old guy and found that he was all swollen up. I took him to the vet hoping for the best but fearing the worst. The vet said that he had congestive heart failure and that he would not last more than a day or so. The vet recommended that I let him put the old man down. Death is something that is part of life, but it is something that we are not always ready to except. I took Duke out to my truck where we could have one last private moment together. I opened a can of Vienna Sausages and fed them to him. As he ate them from my hand I talked to him about the many great times we had together. I took him back in to the vet’s office. The vet gave him a shot and I held him as he faded away. You know, “Old dogs don’t die, they just fade away”.