“God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.” – Genesis 1:25
It had been a good day on the Salmon River. I had spent it well, casting to steelhead on their fall migration – leaving the dark depths of Lake Ontario to the bright shallows of a swift river. They fought hard when hooked, launching like gleaming chrome missiles into the air, then landing with a crash, fighting and flashing in the clear water. They held in the runs and in the riffles. We sight fished to them, their long dark shadows cast on the river’s bedrock, as old as time.
Jimmy Kirtland, my able guide, led me up the steep trail to the parking area of the private access water we had just fished. The sun was bright on the day, lighting up the fall colors around us. Above us was a canopy of robin’s egg blue with wisps of cloud that foreshadowed the coming rains so needed.
We soon reached our trucks and unloaded our gear. I was good tired – we’d been up at it before sunrise, and I knew I’d need a large coffee for the 2-hour drive home.
Adjacent to the parking area was a lodge, a rustic pine sided house perched atop the crest we had just climbed. It looked out to the river, the long tumbling run, and the riffles and pools of churning water that are the home of the steelhead.
I sat on the tailgate of the truck, peeling my waders off. Out the door of the lodge emerged two older women who had been cleaning the place before the next check-in, followed closely by a large red lab. I was immediately struck by the dog’s appearance. It trotted out with waving tail, head held high, sniffing the autumn air. Jimmy greeted it, corralling it in his arms as he knelt down. “Come here, you” he said as he embraced the big tail-wagging dog.
I watched it all and quietly held in the emotion that was building inside me. A year ago, almost to the day, we had put our Maddie down. In her last years she suffered with arthritis. She declined in health rapidly in the month I moved with her to our new home on Lake Ontario. It was as if she was holding out so we were settled before she left us. She had gradually lost the use of her hind legs, her once muscular hind quarters now withered, leaving her unable to stand. When we tried to pick her up, she’d nip in protest. Maddie would never bite any of her humans, so we knew the pain was bad.
I’ve written here previously when we first brought Maddie into our lives. She and her three brothers were rescued from a high kill shelter in Darlington, South Carolina. They were brought north to a rescue in Greene, NY and it was there that we found Maddie. As a family, we had gone without a dog for years. It wasn’t time, my wife said, there was too much going on. And then Ellen saw an ad with Maddie’s puppy picture, and it was all over. Suddenly, we had to have a dog.
The two women were loading their truck with cleaning supplies, while the red fox lab milled about, anxious to jump into the truck. I watched this beautiful dog, all the time thinking of Maddie because there was so much likeness, and then my cell phone buzzed with a text. Dressed down from fishing, I pulled my phone out of my pocket to read the text. Jade, Peak’s Stone in Love (JH), had given birth. In the text below the comments were two pictures – one, a pile of black and chocolate puppies, just hours old – the other of Jade, lying exhausted as her litter of 10 happily nursed.
In early spring of the year, I had gotten a serious itch to start looking for another dog. The void that Maddie left was just too big. For months I’d come home to an empty house, expecting her greeting. I missed the soft summer evenings when I’d relax with a cigar on our deck while Maddie snoozed on an adjacent deck couch. In the cool evenings of early autumn, Maddie loved the backyard fires we had. She could be a dog of boundless energy with her wild antics, but she was also a champion of chill.
Lady serendipity looked down on me that day. Like the steelhead migrating up the Salmon River, Finn came as Maddie’s parting gift. The river teaches that every return is also a beginning, and so it is with the dogs we love. Maddie’s spirit will live on in Finn, a reminder that love never leaves—it transforms.
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