I’m thinking about getting a dog for my dying days.

They are wonderful creatures.

I had two Brittany Spaniels earlier on, father and son.

Father was an s.o.b.–would always run out ahead and flush the pheasants out of range.

Son was perfect, don’t know where he got it. Never did try to train him. Could make a little motion with the barrel of my shotgun, he’d go over there, check it out.

A little motion with my fingers would bring him back right in range, where I wanted him.

Perfect dog.

With the son, I think there was real bonding. He was a puppy and slept with me, growing up

A boy and his dog.