We put Smoke, our black lab, down this past January. He was just shy of his 14th birthday. He hunted 12 years with my son, Billy and I. On his last hunt, he retrieved 13 ducks, two geese and a swan! One of the geese was only winged. Smoke found it hiding in the cattails and salt grass. We would have never have found it without him.
He was a great hunting dog and companion. Billy came of age during Smoke's training. It was Billy's responsibility to feed, care and train Smoke. Billy ran him in the AKC Field Trials and AKC Hunt Test when Smoke competed. Those experiences brought Billy into his own. It enabled Billy to shed his shyness (with knees knocking occasionally) and learn to accept losing, along with winning. Smoke won his AKC Junior, Senior and Master Hunter titles.
We were better hunters because of Smoke. He often spotted the birds before we did. Smoke would raise his ears and cock his head skyward, as his eyes followed the ducks, geese or swans coming into the dekes. Smoke would swim tirelessly after the birds that we downed, occasionally breaking ice to do so. Smoke loved to hunt, lived to hunt.

When you train a retriever, you use certain specific commands, so that he knows what you want him to do. Labrador Retrievers are wonderful dogs who want to please. "Mark," is the command that alerts the dog to watch the birds, as you prepare to shoot. His job is to remember where birds fall and retrieve them when he is released to do so. You use the dog's call name, "Smoke," to signal him into action for the retrieve. He is not to leave your side until you release him by calling his name.
Dick Windward, my veterinarian buddy put Smoke down for us. Dick knew Smoke throughout his life, had treated him and hunted with him. Although, we didn't look forward to this experience, it was necessary, so that Smoke would not suffer from the cancer that had overtaken him. It was difficult for my young granddaughter, Payton to understand, when I answered her question, "why"?
Billy carried Smoke into Dick's operating room and gently laid him on the table. I had brought a wing from a Pintail drake that I had been saving to mount. It was a remarkably beautiful, fully plumaged, mature bird. Ironically, it was the last duck that Smoke had retrieved on his last hunt. This bird would serve a better purpose now. Dick prepared the syringe and explained to Billy, Payton, my daughter Maria and I the process. "Smoke will go to sleep peacefully", he finished. As Dick began to insert the syringe, I placed the Pintail wing over Smoke's nose and eyes. I bent down alongside Smoke's head and whispered, "Mark." Smoke's ears rose. He inhaled the Pintail's scent. Dick began the injection. "Smoke," I whispered, releasing him.
We buried Smoke, cradled in my old hunting parka. His Master Hunter Ribbon, training whistle, a decoy, duck call and a few shells were placed alongside of him, for future use . . . Geese fly over his grave in a V each spring and fall.
Bill Fenimore hails from Layton UT