Why does it feel like you've lost a mucker?

They come into your life and cause mayhem, up cryin all night destroyin your kit, become part of your life and constant companion They know when things are going bad and give you the look when you miss of complete contempt and are overjoyed when you connect and dissapear off the do the thing they enjoy.

Bloody Gun dogs they share our lives and when the time comes to saunter off its like loosing your best mucker. No shoot day is complete without them whether a rough day or a formal, duck flight or pidgeon roosting. And tear your heart out when they go.
sounds like you have, as you say, lost a mucker. I am sorry. It is a terrible time. I wept like a baby when I had my retriever put down.
I've seen the biggest, steely-eyed killing machine type blokes reduced to tears over loss of a dog. It really is like losing a damn good mate. Cried when it happened to me! Sorry. Beer?
I'm dreading my spaniel going, but have had to deal with three losses so far, good dogs all of them.
Had to have my Springer 'Ben' put down, I had to go in through the rear of the Vets 'cos I was blubbering so much.

Take an arm or a leg, even take the Wife but don't take my mate.

Hard to bear, very very Hard to bear.
I am a stoic believer in men not crying. I almost vom when hearing phrases such as 'bit dusty in here' in response to some giffer with a few bits of bling popping off, but crying for a dog is different, there are still rules. It must be done whilst drunk and clutching a bottle of single malt, alone, ........ VERY alone, preferably somewhere windswept and lightly heathered wearing a faded wax jacket, Craghopper shirt, denims and **** off big wellies.

Any other emotional outbursts are gay.
Been there myself, so very often. A house which has recently lost a dog is like one of those FIBUA training houses in Brecon, cold, damp, shot to **** and full of CS.

I'm lucky enough to be able to aim off.

The German hunters say a gun dog is:

4 years a young dog

4 years a good dog

4 years an old dog

All my dogs aquire a young sidekick at about the eight year point. The young dogs learn a great deal from their older compadres and are much less likely to make mistakes in the field. I find them much easier to train.
Funnily enough, the abysmal reaches of Facebook tore my heart strings yesterday when the Dogbook App (something my wife had added to my profile one day) reminded me that my last Lab Cross hadn't posted anything for a while.

Thanks, that's because he had to be destroyed, 2 years ago and I had got over it (I thought). Apparently not, as I sat on the train cursing modern BlackBerrys that can deliver emails to you anywhere and the fact that FB was emailing me (disabled that from my profile long ago). And yes, I got something in my eye too!

It wasn't made any easier by the fact that we rehomed a friends Choc lab recently and he has been brilliant.
My Afghan/GSD cross, Slim is 15+ and I'm dreading him going, he does this sort of forward roll dive when out running and every time he does it my hearts stops, thinking he has had a heart attack or something, but if he has to die that's probably the best way, doing what he loves, running like f@ck, chasing something, I think my life would be nowhere near as good as it is without my two four legged best mates, Slim and Misty
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie --
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find -- it's your own affair --
But . . . you've given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit hat answered your every mood
Is gone -- wherever it goes -- for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept'em, the more do we grieve;

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long --
So why in -- Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?


I hope no one pops into my office until I can get rid of the tears....
Beat me to it Higgs bosun!

Wise man Kipling.

A lot of bad things have happened to people who make some comment such as "only a dog" at the wrong time!
Lost our 7-year-old Rottweiler to cancer last week. Unhappy.
Sorry to hear that- I had to shoot my own Rotty a few months ago which ripped my heart out. They are so utterly devoted to one person that the loss is magnified I think.
if your going to get all cultural on me i'll have to counter with:

Boatswain by lord Byron

When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, the foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labors, lives, fights, breathes for him alone,
Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth.
While man, vain insect, hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole, exclusive heaven.
Ye! Who behold, perchance, this simple urn,
Pass on; it honours none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend's remains these stones rise,
I have never known but one - and here he lies.
Had one go at tender age of 17,broke my bastard heart that day,took us a year b4 getting another, but he died after a year and that hit me harder than first one!, but well got another one now.

Fecking dogs knew more bout me than my missus ever will. Funny that,they aint a poncing clue what your talking to them about,but least they appear they care.
Some quotes on dead dogs:

Old men miss many dogs.

Steve Allen

Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives.

John Galsworthy

The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.

Ben Hur Lampman

Don't cry because it's over, Smile because it happened.

Dr. Seuss
It's because you have, really. Mine's 13 this year, beyond the average for a Collie and showing it, but the dozy old bastard still thinks he's a pup and can jump six feet off the ground. He never did learn not to do that - 'til he caught a deadbolt in the nads. Made him think a bit, that...

Thing is, you get bloody attached to your mutt. It's not love that they have for you, but it is unspoken, absolute loyalty. They become your best mate because they'll stick by you to the bitter end. They'll get in scraps with you, they'll nick scraps from you, they'll have a stupid moment and inadvertently destroy some prized possession or other. They'll always be about to keep you company, and sit there uncomplaining while you hoist a few of a quiet night. They don't get embarrassed when you bawl drunkenly about some bird or whatnot, and they don't give a damn when you're being a daft cnut enough to wind up the most forbearing of saints. They'll stick around with you through the shittiest of shitty weather, flop down exhausted, and fifteen minutes later be up for it all over again, and you can't help but grin.

Honestly, I'm dreading mine going. I grew up with the silly bugger; we got him when I was 11 or so. He's old and wise, for a dog, which about sums me up. And when he's gone, I (who normally absolutely detest the open expression of emotion, other than drunken bezzering ("you're my best fcukin' mate, mate" etc) and grinning like a moron when I see summat I like) have no doubt I shall sit there and crack up completely.

If I can, though, I'll still bury him. He's my mate.

... bloody hell. Sorry. Anyone for beer?
I had my 13 year old Black Lab put down in February and I cried like a big girl.

We went for a check up, but the vets face almost told us what we needed to know as we walked in.

As we stood discussing the options, my 14 year old daughter stunned me by being the one to say "Dad, he can't carry on like this, it's just not fair. I think it's time for him to go..."

Bearing in mind her age, ie a hormone ridden teenager, and also that her and him had been brought up together almost as siblings, the maturity of her attitude stunned me. It really brought home to me how poorly the old boy was.

The house still seems empty without him.

Shit, has anyone got any Kleenex?
Great thread this. I bet pubs across the country are going to have a beer shortage tonight!

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