# Le Grande Dame



## Dak (Feb 28, 2005)

Paige with what will be her last limit of birds a couple weeks ago. Not too bad for a 14.5 year old with terminal cancer. Her last retrieve was one she can be proud of ... Wounded bird in cattails. Enjoying a last couple of days hanging out with her.


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## Dick Monson (Aug 12, 2002)

Oh man. I am so sorry. God speed.


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## Dak (Feb 28, 2005)

Thanks Dick. It's all good. She has had a long healthy life. Went through my journals, I have shot well over a thousand birds over her.


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## Dak (Feb 28, 2005)

We had Paige put down this morning.

On the way to the vet she even got a final rooster fly-by as we passed her favorite hunting spot...the Fichter Crick.

When we went feed the neighbor's animals yesterday morning, Mo and I took her out for maybe a block walk by their place. Easy work along some trees in a cut alfalfa field. No birds but she seemed to enjoy it. At the end, Mo walked back to get the truck...to save some energy for Paige. I took Paige across the road to the neighbor's yard to get out of the wind behind a clump of trees. I didn't follow Paige around the far side of trees...I should have. She pointed a rooster which quickly flushed and gave me no shot. Paige trotted back looking smug and seemed to be thinking..."Why do you ever doubt me?"

Here are a couple pics from yesterday and a little something Paige left with us. She will be missed.

(With apologies for the plagiarism to Eugene O'Neill and his dog Blemie)

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF AN EXTREMELY DISTINGUISHED DOG

I, Le Grande Dame Paige Webster (familiarly known to my family, friends, and acquaintances as Paige), because the burden of my years and infirmities weighing heavy upon me, realize the end of my life is near and do hereby enshroud my last will and testament in the mind of my Dad. He will not know it is there until after I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him then to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their days hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain the objects they have not. There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my faith. These I leave to all those who have loved me, to my Dad and Mom, who I know will mourn me most, to Autumn who has been like an annoying little sister to me, to Shaman, Coalie and Marco and even the Big Galoot Scout. But if I should list all those who have loved me, it would force Dad to write a book. Perhaps it is vain of me to boast when I am so near death, which returns all beasts and vanities to dust, but I have always been an extremely lovable dog.

I ask my Dad and Mom to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their affection and care for me), now that I have grown blind and deaf and lame, and even my sense of smell fails me so that a big stinkin' rooster could be right under my nose or like the other day, under my foot and I might not know, my pride has sunk to a bewildered embarrassment. I feel life is taunting me with having over-lingered my welcome. It is time I said good-bye, before I become too burdensome on myself and on those who love me.

It will be a sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die. Dogs do not fear death as humans do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible, which destroys life. What may come after death, who knows? I would like to believe that there is a paradise where one is always young; where all the day one rides in the truck; where roosters that run fast but not too fast are as the sands of the desert; where each blissful hour is mealtime; where in long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning, and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth, 
and the love of one's Dad and Mom.

I am afraid this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and long rest for a weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleep on the prairie I have loved so well. Perhaps, after all, this is best.

One last request I earnestly make. I have heard, "Perfect Paiger can never be replaced." Now I would ask, for love of me, to try. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to try. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, now you cannot live without a great dog! I have never had a narrow jealous spirit. I have always held that most dogs are good (and one cat, that Siamese one I have permitted to share the living room rug during the evenings, whose affection I have tolerated in a kindly spirit, and in rare sentimental moods, even reciprocated a trifle). Some dogs, of course, are better than others. While I too doubt you'll ever find another hunter whom adds over a thousand birds to your freezer, you should try. Even though Awesome Auts will never do that, she does possess the heart of a hunter. French Brits naturally, as everyone knows, are best. So I suggest a French Brit as my successor.

Another French Brit can hardly be as well-bred or as well-mannered or as distinguished and pretty as I was in my prime. My Mom and Dad must not ask the impossible. But she will do her best, I am sure, and even her inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green. To her I bequeath my collar and check cord and a spot on the truck's bench seat. She can never wear them with the distinction I did; but again I am sure she will do her utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. Here on the ranch, she may prove herself quite worthy of comparison, in some respects. She will, I presume, come closer to roosters than I have been able to in the last few days. And for all her faults, I hereby wish her the happiness I know will be hers in my old home.

One last word of farewell, dear Mom and Dad. Whenever you think of me say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long happy life with you: "Paige was one who loved us and whom we loved". No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you, and not even the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.

Paige


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## JBB (Feb 9, 2005)

Had wet eyes reading that, thinking about yours and mine own.


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## Dak (Feb 28, 2005)

Thanks


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## Bobm (Aug 26, 2003)

this stuff really tears me up...I am very sorry shes gone


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## Dak (Feb 28, 2005)

Thanks Bob. We sure miss her.


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