In the spring of 1947 my dad was given a snowy white English Setter. Daddy named him Mack. Now Mack's grandfather and father were both Field Trial Champions, a great blood line. But
Daddy was not interested in papers, AKC, etc. He just want to pup to train to be a good quail dog. And good family dog. I was two at the time and a baby was expected in Nov.

That snowy white pup developed very few black spots, which pleased my dad--the more white on a dog, the easier to spot in the field. Even that first quail season Mack was exceptional. Macke set the birds, Mack retrieved and as Daddy said, he actually had to do very little training. It just came natural to Mack.

Time went on. A brother was born in Nov. 47, a sister in Aug. '50, another brother in Sept. 52. Mack was the family pet Daddy wanted. We would use him for a "pack horse" when we played cowboys. He would pull our wagon when we played "going west". He put up with all us kids dished out and just took it, wagging his tail.

In May '57, he became a first time dad at age 10. We kept two of the puppies, Rascal and Duchess. Those pups loved him, and he loved them, as evidenced by pictures we took. He helped with training them.

When Mack was 12, we sold our little farm. The man that bought our place asked about putting up some more fences before they moved in and Daddy agreed. One day the man pulled in with his pick-up loaded with fence posts and ran over Mack,front and rear wheels across his middle. Daddy took him to the vet and nothing serious was found to be wrong.

But ever after that Mack's stomach would bloat and about once a month Daddy would take him to the vet and have water drawn from around his stomach. And by this time Mack's hearing was bad from having a gun fired over him for all those years, his eyes were getting bad, he had arthritis. At 13 he could no longer stand up to a day of hunting. Yet he always knew when my Dad was going hunting. He would struggle up and waddle out to the car. My Dad, God bless his loving heart, would pick Mack up and put him in the car, drive out to where the going was easy, and take Mack out of the car. Mack would hunt for 30 minutes or so, slow, but steady, and sometimes he even found birds. Then Daddy would put him in the car and bring him home. Mack would waddle out to his favorite sleeping place, and fall into a happy sleep. Daddy would put the young dogs into the car and take them to where he really wanted to go. And Mack was asleep at home dreaming of his hunt with his beloved human friend.

Mack died at 15, but Daddy had "hunted him" up to the end. In that 15 years we never heard Mack growl at man nor dog. If only humans had the patience that he had. He was such a true faithful and loyal friend. Daddy not only felt he owned it to Mack to give him those 30 minute hunts, he flat out wanted to do it for his friend, his buddy, his pal. He loved Mack with all his heart, just as Mack loved him. What more can be said of a bond between man and dog.

Thank You Sandra, a heart-warming story. Shows alot of love allthe way around!

What a truly beautiful story, Mack sounds like a great pal, buddy, and friend.
Bless you Mack, I know you're playing in Rainbow Bridge now. Woof Woof

It shows a lot of love They leave us with so many wonderful memories.

Thank you so much for sharing this story.