A River to Goodbye

By TK Canyon

A River to Goodbye is the story of a young boy's yearning to own his own dog. After reading the book and watching the movie Big Red, he decides an Irish Setter is the dog for him. Once he raids his piggybank to purchase his first Irish Setter, it leads to a lifelong relationship with the breed. You will travel with the author along his life's river from childhood to manhood being introduced to generations of these special creatures. The setters will tug at your heartstrings as they reveal their distinct personalities while imprinting their souls on your heart. Immersed in the unfolding story of a richly blessed life with these delightful animals, your spirit will be touched. This true story about the author's life and the dogs who traveled the journey with him will evoke deep emotion. The reader's eyes will be opened to a special measure of each dog's matchless character, unique abilities, surprise antics, and devoted love. Unlock your heart and meet each dog as the river of life flows carrying you along its many twists and turns of real-life events. Be ready to smile, laugh, and maybe even shed a tear or two. If you are passionate about dogs, the great outdoors, hunting, and God's tapestry on earth, you will love this true story of a life shared with these beautiful companions. A River to Goodbye will give you plenty of reasons to thank God for his glorious creation, life, and His special gift to man, the wonder of dogs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098042967

Book preview

Chapter 1

How Is He?

How is he? That was my first thought as I woke up on that chilly March day. I got out of bed and walked to the stairs of our basement. I wondered, What will I find? As I reached the bottom step, I looked to the corner where our patient lay. I was relieved to see his head was up. I spoke his name and asked him how he was doing. He looked at me with sad brown eyes.

His name was Colton. He was my dog—a fine beautiful Irish Setter when he was in his prime. He was now old and gray, his body frail and tender. He was my long-time buddy. He had lived with our family for thirteen years. No one could ask for a more faithful companion. He gave his all and held nothing back. He made it no secret that he loved being close to me. When I filled his water, he would come and lean his full body weight against my leg. I’d stroke his head and have a nice conversation, telling him how great of a dog he was. Now here we were, and at this final stage of his life, he looked to me to do the right thing for him. It fell on me. It was my responsibility.

Colton had been ill on and off through the long Michigan winter. It got especially bad the past week. Under these special circumstances, I created a makeshift sick bay for him in the basement corner with soft blankets, water, and food. I could see he hadn’t touched any of the food or water. I put this sick bay together knowing dogs feel more secure in a quiet enclosed spot. Kind of like being in a dark, quiet den. This was true now as I realized how sick Colton had become. He didn’t feel well; you could see it in his eyes.

I petted his head and spoke to him softly. After a short time, I turned to go back up the stairs. Just as I did, he whimpered lightly. He was telling me he wasn’t ready for me to go, not quite yet. This time I got right in with him and sat down. He laid his head on my lap and was content as I stroked his head and body. I felt him quivering with each stroke. I spoke kind words to him and told him I couldn’t be prouder of him. He had been a wonderful pet, great hunting dog, and had been the stud dog for my girls. He closed his eyes and took it all in. Finally, I gently moved his head and went back up the stairs.

Sometimes I hated being a man, and this was one of those times. In this situation, I knew my wife, Donna, looked to me to do the right thing—to do what was difficult. Somebody had to do it, and I was the lead in this situation. I had done it with all of Colton’s predecessors, but it didn’t get any easier. Quietly, I wondered, What was the right thing to do at this season of Colton’s life? Could I somehow save him and have more time with him? That is always the question that needs to be answered when the end arrives.

Sadly, every pet owner eventually comes to that place. As I reached the top stair, Donna turned and looked at me. She asked, How is he?

Not good, I said, but deep down, I knew it was worse than that. Donna looked at me and didn’t say anything more. We both knew what needed to be done. I simply wasn’t ready to face it, but I knew it in my heart. I had to do it for him. It was time. He was suffering, and it wasn’t right for me to keep him that way because I couldn’t let go. I always had the belief to not be selfish when the end came for our pets. Whether I was ready or not, I had to think of Colton first and what was best for him.

I returned to the bedroom and started my day. When I got to the kitchen, Donna said, You need to make the call.

I said, I know. I couldn’t eat. My stomach turned and my heart ached with grief. I sighed under the strain of it all. Holding back tears, I picked up the phone and called the veterinarian clinic that had taken care of Colton’s health needs all his life. I said, Colton has taken a turn for the worse. I need to bring him in to be put down.

Sorry to hear that, Mr. Canyon, she replied. Can you have him here at 9:00 a.m.?

I said yes and hung up the phone. A few tears trickled down my cheeks. Donna would say her goodbyes at the house.

Colton met our son Ben when he was a small boy, but the years passed, and in the blink of an eye, Ben became a young man while Colton became an old dog. Ben would not have the opportunity to say goodbye to the dog he helped raise. Colton had been with Ben most of his life. Donna and I agreed we would call Ben later; right now, I had to help Colton. He was the priority.

I placed a dog bed in the pickup cab like I had done so many times before. Colton always jumped in with enthusiasm, knowing he was headed for another hunting adventure, but this trip was different. I headed for the door of our walkout basement.

As I stepped in, Colton looked at me. His head trembled as he struggled to keep it lifted. I was going to carry him, but he let out a groan in protest, so I simply helped him to his feet. He moved painfully slow, but being obedient, out the basement door he went for the last time, staggering as he walked. I steadied him as we moved up the hill toward the truck. I lifted him as gently as I could into the cab and onto the bed. I looked at him as he sat there. I reflected on how he ran through fields of autumn grass with such grace and beauty. He would rule the field, and we were in awe of him as he effortlessly worked the cover in search of birds. Now, he sat wobbling, unsteady, old, and in pain. I wondered to myself, where did the time go? How did we get to this place so fast? I moved my hand slowly down his head and onto his body, taking my time as I said goodbye. His gray muzzle sniffed me as my hands began to tremble. He knew and trusted me. He depended on me to help as I had done many times before. With one last stroke, I promised him I would take care of him this one last time.

I knew how important it was for me to remain calm. Dogs are keenly aware of their human owner’s emotional state. They recognize body language, feel negative energy, voice fluctuation, excitement, anxiety, nervousness, and grief. It was important I not upset him with my emotions and feelings. I needed to move and speak calmly. I had to suppress my grief and tears. If I didn’t, I would add to the drama of it all and upset him. Keeping him calm, letting the end come gently was the last gift I could give him. I intended to keep my promise.

We pulled up in front of the clinic he knew so well. Opening the truck door, I gently lifted him out. He knew the way. He worked his way towards the door. I wondered, how much did he know? Even now, did he sense my heart was completely breaking?

My thoughts drifted from the beginning of Colton’s life until now—how his life had wrapped itself around our own little family and how he represented a part of our lives. He probably didn’t realize how big of a part he played. Much of it was everyday living, but other parts were unforeseen, life-changing with the full measure of drama that comes with living and time. In this moment, it seemed to me life was a river to goodbye. It starts with the rush of birth—from there it flows with twists and turns nobody could predict. As it travels, you are forcefully shaped with the experiences of life. Some slow and mellow, other parts with rapids and rushing waters, carving out new paths deep within your heart and soul. The river of life shapes and changes you. It can’t be helped. Quicker than you know, you are at the end, and it’s the final goodbye. That is where I was at this moment with Colton, desperately trying to grasp the passing of time. As I sat in the clinic waiting room, with Colton in my arms, my thoughts drifted back to how it all began.

Chapter 2

The Beginning

My parents first met in a small farming community located in the thumb of Michigan. My dad returned from overseas after World War II ended. He was in the Philippines when the end of the war came. While in college, I did a short paper on his return home and the story from Dad went something like this.

Getting off the bus in a nearby town, he had his army duffle bag in one hand and rifle in the other. It was a time when nobody thought it was strange to see a soldier walking up the road with his battle gear in hand. The nation had great respect for what their soldiers had fought and died for. If I remember it right, Dad was dropped off in a town twelve miles or so from the family farm. Generally, our soldiers didn’t have to walk long before being picked up by a passing car. Dad was no exception. He was picked up by a car heading his way.

Dad now carried the experience of serving in the army and shared stories as they drove toward home. Dropped off at the end of the driveway, he wondered if the family dog would remember him. The driveway was long, and he soon got his answer. As he began walking up the driveway, he could see the family dog spot him. Dad scarcely had time to drop his army gear before the dog leaped into his arms! The dog wriggled all over, his tail wagged as he licked dad’s face. Barks of excitement continued up the driveway all the way to the house. He hadn’t forgotten him and was the first family member to greet him! One can only imagine what was going through that dog’s mind as each of the brothers returned from war. Could he sense the change in the boys he had loved on the farm? Perhaps, but one thing is for sure, this dog’s love was a good start in the healing process and confirmed why God gave us dogs as companions. Dogs are the best, and no, they don’t forget!

Not too far from there, a farmgirl had grown into a young woman during the years of World War II. She was now seventeen years old and looked to her own future. She wondered, what was next for her? With the war over and worldwide peace restored, there was a renewed excitement in the local communities. It was time to move on with life. My mom and dad’s parents attended the same country church and it was there they first met. As the saying goes, the rest is history. They married on the thirteenth of September 1952. That was the beginning of our family. My mom was eighteen years old and my dad twenty-six. Children soon followed, with me being child number five and the first boy. Three more came after me with child number eight being another boy. Six girls and two boys was the final count.

We children all had our unique personalities, and Mom knew mine. She shared the story of when she and Dad first introduced me to a new country property they had purchased. Mom said the minute they stood me outside the car, she knew I was a little outdoorsman. She watched as I looked in awe at the nature in front of me. I just stared, taking in the sights and smells of the country. My mom was right about me, and that love for God’s creation has never left me.

At some point, it occurred to me, an outdoorsman, I needed a dog by my side. For now, any stray would do. Neighborhood dogs wandered into our yard and soon got my full attention. I’d play with them while I could, but eventually they’d leave, and there I was again with no dog. I laugh now at the time a neighbor saw me with his dog. Politely, he told me his dog needed to come home. Of course, I relented and let him go. He simply wasn’t my dog to keep. I thought to myself, Enough is enough, I wanted my own dog!

So what was the problem with our family having a dog? Well, our family had not done well with our past dogs. I was too young to remember our first dog named Happy. He died young of distemper. Then came our second attempt.

My dad was a local businessman and had his own insurance agency. One of his customers had a beautiful litter of mixed breed puppies. He convinced my dad he needed one. We went out and picked up a little freckled face puppy with a white tip on her tail. The whole family immediately fell in love with our new little furry friend. In memory of our first dog, we named her Happy Two. She was part Brittney Spaniel and a wonderful medium-sized dog. She had free run of our yard and town. That may seem strange now, but in that period of time, it was not uncommon to see the local pets wandering town. I remember the store owners downtown commenting on our Happy Two. However, I soon learned that this much freedom could be hazardous to a dog’s survival. At just two years of age, Happy Two was run over by a truck on main street. She was brought home with the hope she’d survive, but in the morning, we found Happy Two had passed away. We cried and cried at the loss. Being a business owner, my dad had to open his office for the day’s business. He delegated the task of burying Happy Two to a couple of my older sisters and me. The way I remember it, my eldest sister was the muscle and did all the digging. My third eldest sister and I adopted the role of official mourners. We cried our eyes out. Our country property was special to not only us but to Happy Two. We knew this was the right place to bury her. Forever, she’d be in a place where she ran, swam, and played. We put the final markers on the grave and headed back home.

We called this country property The Pond. This was the very same country property where I first stood in awe of God’s creation. After a fire on the property, my parents decided to have a pond dug. With the project completed, The Pond became our family’s getaway and was just a few miles from our home in town. All eight of us kids learned to swim in that pond. Happy Two did too. Her burial spot was on top of a hill where she could look down over the pond and the acreage she played in, at least that is how we viewed it. It would be some time before our parents were willing to consider another family dog. Grieving children have that effect on parents, but I have come to realize we all must learn how to grieve loss. Pets are often the first grief experience for children, and in fact, this process prepares them for the realities of life. I still remember the loss of our Happy Two and learned from that experience. We as a family grieved and worked through that loss. Like it or not, it is necessary to learn how to grieve because there is no way in this earthly life, we won’t experience it.

The saying goes, Time heals all wounds. I now know this is not entirely true. Some losses you simply learn to live with and will always be with you to the end of your final goodbye. However, the point is people eventually get to a place where they are ready to try again.

After our loss of Happy Two, I eventually reached the point that I was ready for a new puppy. I began a We need a puppy campaign and pestered my parents with a request for another dog. I had become more advanced in my knowledge of dog breeds and at age twelve knew what kind of dog I wanted. One requirement was it had to be a hunting dog. The hunting dog part had become especially important because in Michigan, you see, you could begin hunting small game with an adult at age twelve. You had to first attend hunter safety courses. At the end of the courses, you had an exam. If you passed, you had the right to purchase a small game license for the first time in your life with a parent or guardian by your side. This coming of age was so exciting for my friends and me! I passed the exam and was now legally able to hunt small game. My dad had already given me a .410 shotgun for my birthday. Now, all I needed was the dog!

My parents had a set of encyclopedias, and I looked up sporting breeds. There was a beautiful dog that caught my eye. The Irish Setter to be exact. I studied up on the breed, and it seemed to fit the kind of dog I was looking for—a happy-go-lucky personality, a beautiful red coat, bred to hunt game birds, and a good family pet. Upon further study, I discovered the hunting qualities of the breed had been neglected due to their show qualities. Sounded like a challenge to me. I would hunt with them and bring back a quality hunting-line. I then read a book titled Big Red written by Jim Kjelgaard. Walt Disney made the movie Big Red based on that book. That settled the breed choice in my mind, and I now began my official campaign for an Irish Setter puppy.

Wanting a dog was one thing, getting permission from my parents was another. Then I thought, Why let a small thing like that stop me? So I began to search my small world for Irish Setter puppies. I would work on my parents as I searched. Every week I looked in the Pets ad section of our local county newspaper. I soon discovered Irish Setters were hard to find in our neck of the woods. I had been saving my money for some time now and had been working on my parents for a while too. I told them I wanted an Irish Setter and even made a sign saying so. I marched around my parents with my sign in the air. I was relentless. I had a goal and was not easily deterred. Of course, with our past experience and living in town, my parents resisted. They had already watched the family have two bad experiences with dogs, and they did have a point when they said a dog in town may not be the best living arrangements for a dog. Nonetheless, trying to persuade a young boy who loved dogs that this wasn’t something to do was useless. I persisted in my promise to take full responsibility and train the dog to stay in our yard. Looking back, I have no idea how I knew I could do that, but to this day I have been able to train all my dogs to stay in our yard with no fences of any kind. I learned dogs are very good with boundaries. Even back then I somehow knew that. This was part of God’s gift to me.

Finally, it happened! An ad for Irish Setter puppies! The price was $45. I leaped with joy! I called, and they had one left. A little female who was the runt of the litter. Well, I was a small guy too, so it seemed to be a good match. I wanted her! I scraped all my money together and came up with $30. Wait, my piggy bank was full of change. Yes, I had the other $15 in change. I combined all my money together and stated my case to my parents. They relented. I think my mom had a lot to do with that. According to my sisters and being the first boy, I was spoiled by my mom. My dad told me to put my change back and gave me the $15. He let me work off the