A Tail Told by Judy Kay

There's a place a ways from here called the Big Kennel. Don't bother trying to find it on a map, cause you won't find it. The Big Kennel is also called the Rainbow Bridge at times, but most humans simply refer to it as Heaven. Anyhow, the Big Kennel is run by the Creator that we also call The Head Trainer. In case you haven't guessed it yet, the Big Kennel is where us dogs go when our time on Earth is done. It's a great place where old dogs are young once again, sick dogs are healthy and there's no need for leashes, fences and the such. Everyone gets along just fine up here.

By now you've probably figured out that I'm a dog, an English Setter to be exact. Yep, my name is Judy Kay and I've been up here in the Big Kennel for quite a while now--longer, in fact, than many of you have been down there on Earth. Now most of the time, it's the humans who like to write up our stories and pay a nice tribute to us, but I sat down with the Head Trainer one day and told Him I'd like to return the favor to the man for whom I was his Best Friend.

So here goes. . .

I was born--we call it "whelped"--in a beautiful part of eastern North Carolina where tall, long-leaf pine trees, azaleas, dogwoods and sweet gum trees abound. It's a stone's throw from the Outer Banks and old tobacco farms. It's rich with history and tradition and the people are amongst the finest you'll find anywhere.

Well, the fellow that had my mama and daddy loved hunting same as he loved life. And people like that love their dogs as much as they love the open fields on a brisk fall morning as the mist settles in and the sun begins to burn through and the thought of bringing home some birds makes life all the more worth living. This was gonna be a great life.

My first owner took me when I was still a pup, but he was quite old and couldn't see well enough to really do much with me. Thinking he was doing the right thing for me, he gave me to his grandson. Bad for me since the grandson was having a tough time of things himself and really wasn't able to take care of me. One day, he loaded me up in the car and we drove out to my beloved fields. "This is it!" I thought. "My first hunt!" Boy was I excited.

Only, we didn't go hunting.

Instead, the grandson put a piece of paper under my collar and let me out to go running through the fields. After a bit, I was tired and thirsty and ran back to the road where the car was.

But the car--and the grandson--were gone.

I scratched and sniffed around. Then I wandered down the road a bit. But I couldn't find the car or the grandson who was supposed to be taking care of me.

I spent the rest of the day looking all over for the car. Then it got dark. Scared, hungry and suddenly all alone, I spent the first night of my life away from any human out in that lonely field. I knew that I had to keep trying, though, I had to keep trying to find a human scent.

The next morning, I was really hungry and scared, but I didn't give up. I kept looking, kept sniffing, kept listening and then I smelled it. A human scent! Like rocket, I took off following the scent until I saw him. It was a young man who was out hunting for birds, but he had no dog to help him.

This was my big chance!

Instinctively, I eased around the field until I found a covey of birds. I kept creeping closer and closer then I put on my prettiest pointing stance and held it like a statue until the kid finally saw me. And then, at just that moment, I jumped and flushed those birds right out. "Shoot!" I was shouting in my mind. "Go ahead, shoot!"

But the kid just stood there with his mouth open staring at me. "Boy, this kid needs some help," I thought.

Finally, the kid looked around and seeing no one, he leaned down and called me over to him in his quiet, gentle Southern drawl. It was the nicest thing I'd heard in quite a while and I walked right over to him with my tail a-wagging. He pulled that piece of paper out of my collar, read it, then sat down and got real quiet. Then he read it to me, and suddenly, it all made sense.

That note was from the grandson who tried to explain that his grandaddy was going blind, and that they didn't have much at all and had trouble taking care of things, let alone also trying to care for a dog. But, the grandson knew how much Southern hunters love their bird dogs, so he'd decided to leave me in a bird field hoping such a hunter would find me and take care of me.

There weren't such things as "animal shelters" in those days, so the grandson was doing what he thought was right, and fortunately the Head Trainer was keeping an eye out for me as well.

Well this tall, lanky kid took me home with him--talking to me, petting me and everything the entire way home. I was thinking that this could turn out pretty good. And when we got home, he told my story to everyone and anyone who would listen. He fed me a good meal--my first in several days, mind you--and then made me a bed out in the barn (that's where we dogs stayed on those days). Then, he called the grandson and told him he'd found me, and as long as he was alive, I'd always have a home with him.

At that point, we knew we were made for each other. My, but the Head Trainer does work in mysterious ways, doesn't he?

Seems this tall, lanky kid with a heart of gold was named A.J. We all lived on a farm, and A.J. and his family didn't have a lot of money or material things, but we didn't need 'em--we were rich in love and spirit. A.J.'s young new wife loved me too as did the rest of the family. A.J. was a farmer, and whenever he took a break from the fields, he and I would go out hunting for birds We roamed the fields together, sharing secrets and just enjoying each other's company and love, and we always managed to bring home some fine birds for the dinner table. Life was good--and this was only the beginning.

Before you knew it, there was a new baby in the house for me to look after. She'd be outside and start squalling and I'd stick my nose in her face and ask "What's wrong?" She'd just grab a handful of my ear and then quiet down. It seemed like it was always the same ear she'd grab, and to this day I'd swear one ear is longer than the other. But one day, something different happened. The little one--as I always called her--grabbed a handful of fur, hung on tight, and began pulling as hard as she could. Next thing I knew, she had pulled herself up onto two legs for the first time in her young life!

The first time we tried to walk--PLOP! She went right down on her bottom. We tried it again. . . PLOP! But the next time, she actually took a step, then another, all the while holding on tight. Pretty soon, we were able to move around together. When the family saw this they didn't know whether to laugh or cry--I think they did both, but I really can't remember. Oh, what a hero I was in their eyes.

Now, the little one and myself always had a special relationship and she was always jabbering at me in some language I never did completely understand, but I nodded my head and wagged my tail anyhow. And then came the day she said her first words: Judy Kay. The entire household went nuts since it was the first thing she said that they could understand. Then her mama cried a little because she said "Judy Kay" before she said "Mama." I knew I was special at that point. Me and the little one grew up together and to this day she's still a devout dog person and loves them all.

Sometime later I was out roaming the fields of Drake Farm by myself when this stranger drove up in a pickup and offered me a ride. Not knowing any better--and being the friendly dog I was--I wagged my tail and jumped in. But this stranger didn't take me back to the house or to A.J. Instead, he took me to some strange place and sold me for ten dollars.

I knew in my heart that A.J. would find me, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and pretty soon I was almost all out of hope. But one day A.J. DID find me. He gave me a great big hug, a lot of petting and took me back home to the farm where I was met by the rest of the family. It wasn't until later that I found out how determined A.J. was to find me. He tracked down every lead, checked with every neighbor and all the town's people looking for me. He even went to a palm reader-- even though A.J. will tell you himself that he don't believe in such nonsense--to try and help him find me.

That night, I whispered a heartfelt prayer of thanks to the Head Trainer. I think A.J. and the family did too.

Well, time kept moving on and before I knew it, I had a family of my own. I had a litter of puppies and the whole family helped me take care of them until we could find them good homes. A.J. helped their new owners teach the pups how to be great bird dogs and always bragged how good a dog "their mama is." We did keep one pup with us--Major--as I was starting to slow down a bit in the fields and Major was young and full of energy and could handle the long runs better than I could. I was sticking closer to A.J. on these hunts and he and I would talk and marvel at how good Major was doing.

Then on one day A.J. and Major went out to hunt and I stayed home. Truth is, I wasn't feeling so well and didn't think I could keep up at all. This had the family worried and they tried to figure out what was wrong. A.J.'s wife was a nurse and cared for me. Seems I'd developed cancer of the mammary glands--whatever those things were. My little one was always close by and urging me to get better. In those days, nobody knew much about cancer in people, let alone in dogs, but they did the best they could for me and I stayed as comfortable as could be expected.

One night, they had to put in a drainage tube in me to relieve some pressure. They worked at night by the light of a lantern and A.J.'s wife gave me some medicine to help me stop hurting. It made me sleepy and I was afraid that I might go to sleep and not wake back up. . . I was scared that night.

But the Head Trainer said it wasn't time, and when I DID wake up, the whole family was there with me, smiling and crying. I wagged my tail a little bit to let 'em know I was feeling a bit better.

A year later, I was ten years old. Major was handling the hunting chores and I was getting more and more tired every day. Finally, one night, the Head Trainer called me Home after ten of the most wonderful years any dog could spend on this Earth.

So why after all this time did I want to share this story? Because it is an example that there are great, wonderful and compassionate people on this earth. I was put out into a field all alone, at a young age. I was scared, lonely and hungry. A.J. never thought twice about taking me in and loving me unconditionally. When I was stolen, A.J. never even entertained the thought that he might not ever see me again--his faith was strong, and so was mine.

They still talk about me on the Drake Farm, and I tell all the dogs up here at the Big Kennel about the love and memories I have of my family. A.J. raised an entire family of caring individuals who value and respect the gift of life and how precious it is. He instilled in them a legacy of caring and unconditional love that is the biggest monument to his character and faith one could ever imagine.

So, to you A.J., my beloved master and Best Friend, I'm letting you know that I'll always continue to look over the farm and all it's family and animals. And when one of my legacy takes to the field on a bird hunt, I'm here watching, pointing and flushing with them. I rejoice in your good times and mourn with you in the bad times. You, A.J., gave me my life back when I was but a young pup, and for that, I'll always, always love you and be your Best Friend.

A.J., we will hunt again together someday.

--Judy Kay

Copyright © 1999, 2001 by J.D. Kinman. Reprinted with permission of the author.