The First

How many seasons? Are there more ahead than behind. Can the seasons be counted in numbers?

I reckon many of us have had these same thoughts. Sort of inevitable, given the limited time both our dogs and us humans have in healthy bodies.

I have a great hope for what comes next, and yet I find myself thinking the same thoughts regarding spending time in the molding woods of autumn and the streams, that I love so much; places I’ve spent a great deal of time walking since a small boy…enjoying the stars above, the springs that run hidden under and everything in between. Things that still echo with the sound of their beginnings. Our hearing catches echoes soft and loud and our eyes remnants of light– always telling a story. I’ve learned a lot. Or maybe I should say a little. A little piece of a large whole.

I came to upland hunting and these four footed friends that are so perfectly suited–late in life. I was 43 twelve years ago for my first season and my first bird dog. Connor was a lab and taken from us far too soon. I’ll never forget our first grouse. Our first grouse. Its funny how some things surface as new, even though so many more layers are piled on. How can I forget how new and excited we both were that afternoon.

~ by John McGranaghan on August 29, 2011.