Golden Drake Outdoors Blog

Looking out at the lake from the cozy house, it was hard to imagine I was even thinking of going fishing with Drake. The snow was blowing horizontal, and the temperature was about 20 degrees, and sometimes I couldn’t even see across the lake. Still, the thought of staying couped up in the house wasn’t going to work either. I layered up, let Drake out, and went to the basement to get the shanty and fishing gear.

On the ice, Drake was running back and forth ahead of me as I was pulling the collapsible shanty, and I thought if I could just find our usual spot, set up the shanty and get the lantern lit quickly enough, we would be alright, but it was going to be a test. Every once in a while Drake would run back to me limping, and I’d have to clean the ice balls out from in between his toes which made the going even slower. The wind was cutting through even the best clothing, and I could feel my hands getting cold already. Blasts of snow and wind would stop us ocassionally, and I’d have to call for Drake to keep him close by so he wouldn’t get disoriented.

We got to the spot, got the shanty set up, and the lantern lit. I called Drake into the shanty where immediately it felt so much warmer just being out of the blasting wind which we could now feel shaking the shanty with its most powerful gusts. We drilled holes from inside the shanty, a tricky feat, but it can be done and I had no interest in going back outside. We began fishing, side by side.

Drake was anxious. He wanted outside. I thought he had to be crazy, so I ignored him and asked him to settle down, but he remained persistent, wanting to go outside. I relented, but insisted he stay right near the door using the shanty as a wind block. Further, I had taken my large parka off and laid it on the ice at the door commanding him to stay on it. I left the door cracked and checked on him frequently.

For a while, he obeyed me and stayed on the parka laying next to the windbreak of the shanty. Then, at one of my “checks” on him, he had moved off the parka and was laying on a small snow drift with the wind blowing snow over his back which was now turning white. I called him back over and made him lay on the parka in the windblock of the shanty.

I don’t exactly know how to explain this, but one more “check on Drake” look out the door found him back in the snow bank with snow covering his back, side of his face, and snout, just like a husky would in Alaska. He was just laying there, looking around, checking things out. “Drake, It’s a blizzard, dummy”, I thought to myself

I let him stay out there for 20 more minutes or so, and he was just plain getting covered with snow. I could take it no longer and called him back into the shanty where I had now taken my attention off fishing and paid enough attention to him to keep him interested in staying in the shanty until it got dark out and it was time to go home.

As I thought about it later, I wondered whether I had been overcontrolling and whether I should have just let him lay out on the ice and let the snow build up around him. Maybe he was comforable. Maybe he wasn’t cold at all. Maybe he was just absolutely loving life doing exactly what he wanted to be doing. I should have given him the credit for how smart he is, and let him enjoy himself. I’m sure he would have come to the door of the shanty if he was truly cold. Drake wasn’t a dumb dog, he knew exactly what he was doing.

I wished I had left him alone to enjoy his life the way he wanted to.

Though we loved to have our good friends along, often Drake and I would go ice fishing by ourselves. I treasured those times, just me and my pal walking out on the ice playing, rough housing, just plain doing stuff together with, yes, the goal of doing a little fishing too.

Drake was alway so into it. He was a special energy always inquisitive, always very active, and his interest and enthusiasm were so contagious. A particulary funny memory came to mind the other day, I thought you’d like it.

One of the very first times I ever took Drake ice fishing was a mild day, in the mid thirties. In fact, the night before it rained, leaving a mysitcal coating of about an inch of water over the entire surface of the lake, and as we approached it, looked like it wasn’t even frozen. Never mind, we were there to fish, and I knew there was a foot or so of hard clear ice under it anyway.

As we set out on the ice, immediately I felt sort of bad seeing Drake splashing in the ice cold water with every step, and the water even began to wick up his legs so he was wet to the elbow. It didn’t seem to bother him though, as he was running around crazy, having a ball.

I drilled a couple of holes, put down some lines, and started feeling bad again thinking Drake must be getting cold. I directed him to sit on a small snow pile where the ice had heaved up a bit, and was out of the water some. Reluctantly, he did so.

I turned my attention back to fishing for a few moments, looked up, and saw that Drake was off the snow and playing in the water again, but this time he was laying on his belly! Picture it just for a minute. Drake was laying on his belly in one inch of water on the ice, legs sort of out to the side, full male anatomy soaking in icewater, chewing on another piece of ice he found somewhere, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

I directed him back up on the snowbank again, went back to fishing again. This time I kept checking, and kept him on the snowbank for a while then turned around once more to see him laying in the water on the ice again!

I concluded he either couldn’t feel the cold, didn’t care how cold he was, or was just plain crazy. Either way, I had absolutely no more simpathy for him as I continued fishing, while he kept playing and splashing around in water at its absolute coldest state.

The temperature dropped throughout the remainder of the day, and as we walked to the car I could see icicles forming on his curly hair on his chest, stomach and rear. Still, he was picking up sticks, bringing them to me to throw for him, playing catch with them by himself, and just having a ball.

Back home I dried him off with a towel as best I could, and it wasn’t long before he was curled up in his bed next to the woodstove, letting all that heat soak in, eyes getting heavy and soon he was asleep. I guess there’s something to be said for letting yourself experience the extremes in life, and I could remember how good it felt to get hot while working then jumping in a lake, or getting cold while doing some winter sport and warming up. I don’t know if that’s what he was instinctively after, but he sure enjoyed every second of it and never let weather stop him from having a great time.

Still, I think laying on water covered ice on my bare stomach is something I won’t be trying soon.

After writing “A Letter from Drake”, (see previous post), I was empty. It was as though I had finally let go of so many things, so much energy in trying to keep Drake alive in my mind, or any other way I could that when I had finally written it all down from what I thought was his view on things I was so relieved I was exhausted. It was almost as though it was a race to “A Letter from Drake”, and when I had finished, all I could do is lean on my knees and breathe deeply until I recovered.

Since then, many more images and memories have come by, significant enough to continue to write, yet it has taken some effort to be sitting here right now, keyboard in hand. The following story is one describing just how intelligent Drake was, an example of what I believe is evidence of logical calculation with a desired outcome. You decide for yourself…

It was a typical mid August day, sunny, hot with a mild breeze, one that allowed us to keep the store’s door to the outside fenced in area open for some fresh air. Every once in a while I’d walk by doing this or that, and heard Drake pushing gravel around as he jumped around outside. I knew he was up to something, so I peeked my head around the corner.

He had about a six foot long section of four inch diameter flexible drain pipe pushed aside and was jumping from end to end sticking his nose in each of the ends. Drake was a maniac, at this constantly, not stopping for more than a few seconds at each end.

I heard the unmistakable chirp of a gopher, and immediately put two and two together surmising Drake had him trapped in the pipe and wasn’t about to let him out. The pipe was about five feet from the wood pile, and about that much from a bunch of bushes, so here’s where it gets interesting, if not unbelievable.

Drake stopped for a minute and started looking around. Oh, he checked each end a couple of times to make sure the little guy wasn’t going to make a run for it, but boy could I tell he was thinking about something. Then, unexpectedly, Drake started nudging the pipe away from the wood pile and brush, all the while checking each end. Push the pipe – check each end, push the pipe – check each end. I watched with extreme interest.

After about five minutes of this, Drake had pushed the pipe out away from the brush and wood pile, and had it isolated way out in the middle of the well cut lawn in the back yard.

I got it. Drake had figured out that if the gopher was going to make a run for it he wanted to be far away from the woodpile and brush with enough “runway” to catch him. Can you believe it? This was, for sure, the first time in my life I actually saw an animal think about a pretty complex problem, what to do about it, and do it with an expected outcome.

I took pity on the poor gopher, went over and picked up the pipe and carried the little guy to the brush and dumped him out. I turned around to apologize to Drake. Now sitting perfectly still, he looked back at me with that flat eared head down demeanor. Man, if looks could kill you wouldn’t be reading this right now.

It was 2:30 AM. Something woke me up and I don’t remember what it was. It was just one those nights we’ve all had where you toss and turn with an active mind that grabs any thought that floats by. You know what I mean. Not able to sleep, I got up, threw a couple more logs in the stove, and went to the fly tying bench.

When Drake passed, My veterinarians, John and Missy honored my request to shave a large quantity of fur off his body, as I wanted to integrate his fur into every fly I tied from then on, no matter what the pattern. Since receiving a bagful, I’ve tied nonstop, trying all kinds of patterns. Tonight would be no different, except for something that happened unexpectedly, delightfully.

I tied a few patterns and got to thinking about Drake. Solid visual memories came to me, lined up one after another like a slow parade. Something was happening; they wouldn’t stop. I grabbed a notepad and started writing down each and every thought, one after the other; a skilled air traffic controller carefully landing heavy airframes stretching out well beyond the horizon.

I wanted to push them back. I wondered if after all this time these memories should still be this vivid, this prevalent, this powerful…shouldn’t I be moving on faster, and getting about the life ahead, as I’m sure Drake would have it? I leaned away from the desk, looked at what I had written, and it hit me. All I could think of is that I was looking at a letter written by Drake which was summing up the great times we had together…from his perspective! I had been so caught up in wondering and hoping I had provided him with this wonderful life that I never stopped to think about it in his terms.

I switched the whole thing around. My pen was his pen that night, early the next morning, in the Doctor’s office that afternoon…and now my keyboard is his keyboard as I try to put it all together. What follows is a letter from Drake. I put myself into his world, remembered several of our favorite times together and wrote it as though they were his words. Please enjoy this most fabulous love letter from a beloved pet to a very fortunate master:

Dear Craig,

I’ve been watching you. Though you’ve seen it in my eyes many, many times, I wanted to take a few moments to tell you how thankful I am you rescued me from a painful, tormented, confused existence and brought me into this fantastic life you provided me, where there was nothing more I could have asked for. Please let me walk along beside you now through some of the most meaningful experiences I had during those thousands of days we spent together.

I remember you including me in even the most insignificant activities you did, whether around the house, at the store, or running errands. You always let me “come with”, as you knew all I ever wanted to do was just be with you.

Thank you for letting me break the rules sometimes, like running balls out ahead of you out the door, down the two flights of stairs and out onto the dock when we were going fishing. I knew I was supposed to follow you, or at least walk beside you, for my safety as well as for all those delicious discipline reasons you believed in which made me feel so good about myself. It’s just that when I knew we were going fishing, I was so excited I sort of lost control. I knew you understood.

You took me on all those trips up north to your Ausable River. I was so happy to be a part of that. You made sure there was a comfortable, spacious place in the car for me…right next to you. You made sure to stop at McDonalds at just the right times along the way, because they had the best dog runs, and you knew I loved to pee there. You made sure I was safe by the river, safe from the hugeness of the Huron National Forest, and taught me how to respect the other fishers’ space. After fishing all day, you made sure this wet dog had a rug by the natural gas fireplace where I curled up and put my tail over my nose. You reached down and put your hand on me whenever you got up at night to make sure I was warm enough, and frequently you’d put a flannel shirt over me just to make sure. In the morning you made sure my food was tasty enough, spicing it up with goodies so I’d eat a whole bowl and not be hungry during the long days on the river. Don’t think for a second I took any of that for granted, Craig.

Thank you for my belly rubs first thing in the morning, every morning, before you did anything else.

You listened to me. When I’d come up to you, and sit and stare, you’d face me head on and ask “what does Drake want from Craig?”…”Food?” blank stare. “cold fresh (water)?”, blank stare again. “outside?”, yet another blank stare. “attention?”, though sometimes it was food, water, or outside, it was usually attention I wanted, and I’d jump up and begin that high side stepping with my front paws and you’d play with me until I tired and rolled over for yet another belly rub.

I know you took me to the park when all you really wanted to do is rest on the couch from your long day. You took me there because you knew how much I liked it…though you always admitted you were glad you got up and went, happy to be “living now”. We had a ball there running through the woods, didn’t we? I loved all the doggie smells, too, and thanks for stopping and letting me check them out though I knew you wanted to keep running.

Thank you for being tough on me, though I could see you really didn’t want to be. Sometimes all the follow through and discipline was tiring for you, and I know you could have taken the easy way, but you stayed with it because you knew it was best for me. You made me practice your commands over and over again, and I loved watching myself do things well. I felt on top of the world when you praised me right after I did some great thing.

Don’t think I ever forgot that you took better care of my health than you did your own. When it came to me, no money or time meant anything to you. When I was the least sick, the least hurt, you took me to the vet right away. You insisted on surgery for even the smallest bump or cyst, as you frequently checked me over and were quickly aware of anything out of the ordinary. When I was diagnosed with cancer, you were ready to spend the time in trips to the hospital, and the unbelievable money for a disfiguring surgery and radiation treatments, but your Dad, a world renown surgeon himself, as well as others older and wiser than you, asked you not to do that to me. They were right, Craig, we lived a lot of great years worth together in just those last six months I had left with you. It was the right decision. Please don’t ever second guess that one.

I remember you dropping everything when I got hurt. When my seizures hit, I’d gather together enough energy to wobble over and find you no matter where you were. You’d come running over and hold me in your lap for as long as it took for them to pass, while customers came in…and some went out, phones rang, went unanswered and quit ringing. There was only me in your world at those moments and you didn’t give anything else a second thought.

By the way, I never did thank you enough for that glorious, huge fenced in yard at the store. I loved chasing chipmunks out there, and appreciated so much when I’d have one chased under the wood pile and you’d come out and take it apart until the little guy made a run for it. I forgive you for not letting me catch him even though I probably would have just soft mouthed him and got the hell bit out of my lips and tongue anyway. Sorry for the times you had to come out and tell me to shut up when I’d bark at the kids with their baggy pants and backwards hats as they walked by the fence. I meant nothing personal to them, and it’s your fault anyway for spoiling me by hiring all those well dressed respectful young kids I fell in love with at the store.

I saw you lose it a little bit when you saw the picture of the golden retriever at the hospital the other day, and sometimes also when you see them on TV, or in the park. They just remind you of me, that’s all…they aren’t me. And listen, tough guy – it’s OK if your eyes well up and you have to turn your head or walk away for a while. Take it easy on yourself, man.

I know you miss me at the store, like when we’d walk to and from the car. Oh yea, and thanks for teaching me how to walk by your side like a leader dog. You’d say “walk”, and I’d set up real close to your right side and get into this incredibly smooth, stealthy and slow cadence with each step, keeping my head perfectly level, until we got to the car or the front door of the store, then you’d release me by saying “OK”, and I’d relax a bit. Maybe my great grandfather or mother was a real leader dog or something, but you sure drew the instinct out of me. I sure was proud of myself when I was “walking”.

I see you worrying way too much about the business you named after me, and putting way too much pressure on making it successful in honor of me. I’m already honored just by having the privilege of living with you. I never wanted anything more. I know you had a chance to sell it years ago when the market was good, but didn’t largely because you couldn’t bear the thought of getting a full time job and leaving me home alone all day. You tie flies with my fur, fish with rods and wear clothes bearing my image and name. That’s all good if you want to, but I’m not expecting any of that and you need to keep those sort of things in a healthy perspective.

And listen here, buddy. There’s another skinny, scared, abused and tormented golden retriever somewhere out there that needs you to transform thier life as you did mine. Your ability to do this is a gift. You took me from a living death, gave me this wonderful life…now I’m done with it and it is time for you to give it to another dog, and soon. I’m counting on you.

So, my friend, all of this is true and fantastic; all of this is truly a good thing. Yes you were a good owner. Yes I am proud of you. Yet let me ask just this one thing of you – move forward now. You’re moving too slow. I want you to feel much better, much faster about me passing on. As you healed me, now I want you to heal, and I ask you to try harder and move forward. Now it’s time for the memory of me to take care of you.

You already know this is true from the very special gift I gave you just a few days after I left you. Some have searched the world over and not found such a wonderful thing, though perhaps for you it was there all along. Open up and believe one more time, for me, that such a thing can most certainly be permanent. Just do your part and take care of this wonderful gift like you did me.

And so, Craig, thank you my dear, dear friend. Starting right now, move forward and live the rest of your life with the energy we did the last few months we had together. And above all, take heart…know that I’m in a good place and I’ll see you soon.

Drake

What an outpouring. A few days after we let Drake go, the word got out fast, and the well wishing sympathy cards strarted showing up at the store and at home. The first few were sort of a surprise, but the dozens that followed were totally unexpected, though when I think about it makes sense.

Drake touched so many lives, even some who never met him. Everyone broke into a wide smile when they saw him. Many of my best friends or closest family couldn’t contain themselves upon first seeing him…”Draaaaake!” they’d yell, and would run up and meet him half way. Most appreciated him for his very unique combination of self-discipline and crazy, nuttiness. He could be just as wild and free – and if I may say humorous – as anyone or anything, enjoying himself to the fullest, yet when he needed to be serious, could quickly get it together. Pretty nice way to live. We could all take a cue from him on that one, couldn’t we? Yes, it was these things people noticed, appreciated, and loved about him. No, then, I’m not surprised people were moved to the point of having to express themselves with a heartfelt card upon hearing he had moved on.

As I read each and every card over and over again, I learned you can never judge them. I know the people who sent them, and each person who sent a one regarding Drake’s passing had a certain unique ability to express themselves, which may or may not have reflected the totality of thier deepest thoughts, imagination and feelings about Drake. I could only think of the words written on those cards as the tip of an iceberg…I just knew there was much more. And think for a moment about the effort. In this day and age when everyone has a to do list a mile long, someone would decide it was important enough to make sending a card a priority, set aside some time in their life, and to let me know they were thinking about Drake and I, and cared enough to try and make me feel better. Who the hell was I in this after all? Then, to actally go to the store, look through many to find the one they thought said what they wanted to say, and bought it. All of this is a genuine expression of human care. Even then it’s important to recognize the wide array of these caring people’s expressions, that some simply signed their name after the pre-printed words, and some wrote everything from a couple of sentences or two to several paragraphs consuming every bit of remaining card space. Some recalled memories of Drake, or their own beloved dog, sick relatives, or perhaps some other private unmentioned experiences which motivated them. It struck me again that no matter what happens we are all in this together. I took the cards, the signatures only, the paragraphs and packed in writing – all as equal expressions of honor for Drake, care and well wishing for me. It is all very, very good.

Though the cards I received were very personal, I put them up on a wall in the store near Drake’s house, saw people read them, noticed their reaction, and was in awe of the synergy of emotions created by people reading cards…written about Drake, sent by others, meant for others.

Sharing them was certainly a good thing, and I want to share them further. Below I simply wrote the contents of several cards; they speak for themselves. The printed card words are in bold, followed by the handwritten words. I will make no further comment other than to say words cannot express my appreciation and thankfulness to those who wrote them, or how thankful I am that there are people like this in our world. For those of you who think the same, and for my very good friends who expressed such care, you need to know that we are all so very fortunate to live amongst each other, to stay in contact with each other, and to have the privilege to call each other “friend”.

“May the treasured memories of your dear pet be with you always…We know that losing a pet is hard, especially with a seemingly lifelong pet like Drake, we’re all left with a hole in our soul – an abyss even. We hope that the void left by Drake fills in with the many pleasant memories of his life with you…his best friend. With deepest sympathy….”

“Grieving a loss, celebrating a life…(Many people writing on the same card) My heart aches for you…Drake was a great greeter, I’ll miss him…I will miss having him greet me at the door…Pets are always an asset to our lives and business. Drake will be greatly missed…Dogs make us better people…We were all so sorry to hear about Drake. He was a great dog and will be missed by the whole Portage Lake community…”

“On the other side of the bridge to forever, our animal friends wait for us. Good-bye hurts so much. But someday you will think of your animal friend with smiles instead of tears. And it will feel as if this little soul left a rainbow in your heart…P.S. Read your Blog. Very nice…”

“Nothing on earth can make up for the loss of one who has loved you…or for the loss of one you have loved…We’re so sorry. Everyone will miss Drake very much….We wish there was some way we could make the loss of your best buddy Drake not hurt so much. He was a great dog, and I know you loved each other so much…”

“Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light – Hellen Keller…Words could not explain and only imagine what you are going through – you were a brilliant father and companion to dear Drake. Much love…”

“Sharing your sorrow and wishing you peace…”

“Best friends live forever in the memories we keep. So very sorry about your dog… How strange this fear of death is! We are never frightened at sunset – George MacDonald…Prayer has been called: The lasting imprint of the presence…of God. It will never fail or wash away…”

Memories. Let them fill your mind, warm your heart, and lead you through…. (many writers on same card) Thank God for the beautiful friendship you had with Drake. It was a great time for both you and Drake to find each other and to spend so much time together. Your friend will be missed by us all. We are thinking of you…I am so sorry for you loss, Drake was like a best friend. I am so lucky to have known such a happy dog. I’ll be thinking of you…I will never forget the first time I met Drake and the wonderful times that came with. His presence will be missed greatly. Thinking of you always…We share your pain but know the fond memories will over time help heal the loss. Never forget how fate shined and allowed you and Drake to share all the great moments. Though all brief they are as life, marching on. You and Drake are in our thoughts and prayers…”

May the memories of your special friend stay with you always. So sorry for your loss… Drake was an amazing dog. I hope your reflections on your life together will give you comfort…”

“There must be a heaven for the animal friends we love. They are not human, yet they bring out our own humanity, sometimes in ways that other people cannot. They do not worry about fame or fortune, instead they bring our hearts nearer to the joy of simple things. Each day they teach us little lessons in trust and steadfast affection. Watever heaven may be, there’s surely a place in it for friends as good as these… Anyone who has loved a pet can undersetand your loss. May it help to know how much others care. Drake was a very special dog who was loved by many. We will miss his greeting us at work, seeing him fish, and sail…”

“It is no small thing to lose a special friend. May happy memories of your pet bring you comfort… So sorry to hear of your loss. Take care…”

“You may be experiencing a lot of different emotions right now, from the pain of losing someone you loved, to the peace that comes from knowing your loved one is no longer suffering. And even though words can’t take away your sadness, I hope you find comfort in knowing that your care, love, and courage meant so much to the one you loved… Karen told me of Drake’s passing. I believe it’s the act of pure love that allows us to make such decisions. When we put Gruff down, you want their pain to end, but you’re just beginning your own pain without them. No one could love their dog more than you, Craig! Drake will always be with you, and know how lucky you are to have had such a phenomenal dog! My Mom always says you’re lucky to have one special dog in your life, and I believe Drake was that dog for you, just as McGruff was for me. More than a pet, and the one each successive dog will be compared to. Much love to you; we’ve shared Drake’s companionship, fishing antics, and pure love for you! Nothing is better than that…”

As in earlier posts created this time of year, November has always meant travelling to Northern Michigan’s AuSable river to go steelhead fishing, something I started doing as a shoulder length haired teenager. After skipping a year due to negative feelings about the decline of the health of Lake Huron, I decided to give it another try, not with so much anticipation of catching a fish, but because I had to.

I knew steelhead fishing wouldn’t be the same without Drake. After all I had been going there with him for eight years. I’m sure my subconscious was taking care of me when it diverted the decision to go or not to a practical matter of staffing the store, financial concerns, would the fish population have rebounded from a down cycle and other blah, blah, blah that was shouting down the voice of truth in my head which was gently whispering “I don’t want to go without him.” It would be just as significant as fishing in the boat for the first time without him, with the same parallel universes in the same place at the same time. Him not there, the memories of him…there… and the chasm of pain in between.

Yet, as important as it was to fish in the boat alone, it was important to continue this most important part of life as he would have it. I just didn’t know if I was ready, yet I knew I never would be. Sometimes in life you have to do things with brute force.

Over the years, the place I steelhead fish on the AuSable has become a healing place. Fortunately for the thinker, there are hours of gentle casting, and a determined natural drifting of flies or natural bait which cause a certain monotony whereby ones’ mind can think a thing all the way through, standing in a natural quiet setting where one hears only the wind and soft gurgling sounds of the river, surrounded by tall trees and wildlife of all sorts. Seldom in life are you given that opportunity, as our choppy, short attention span, high technology communication lifestyle, with it’s blizzard of interruptions, sees to it that you are kept on edge and unable to concentrate for any length of time. Such was never meant to be, and has only been on the scene of human history for a very, very short time. No wonder we’re not happy some times.

On the banks of the AuSable again, yes, I did have those moments of being overwhelmed from missing Drake. I thought about him from the first days of when I had to keep him on a leash, to the point of driving a stake in the ground with a tether long enough that he could get into the river, but just so far, then finally when Drake knew to stay close by, near shore in the river, and not to disturb other fishers… completely off leash. I remembered how he’d run full speed down the path toward the river, only to be called back to walk next to me, then he’d run ahead again, get called back, all because of his sheer excitement, which I understood. I suppose I kept an overall short leash on him when we were there, but the Huron National Forest is a huge place with brush and woods so dense that just fifty feet off the path Drake could have disappeared, become disoriented, and could have been lost.

Yet there was a before Drake. The before had its days with teenage friends, friends met on the river, friends of all the phases of life who have come and gone, days with my son and daughter, my brothers, father, and many, many precious days alone accompanied by just my thoughts, problems, fears, hopes, and ambitions. Even while new memories are being created, the old, good memories flood back and sail through my mind, causing great joy, peace and contentment while blending with the new experiences forming some sort of multiplying happiness and sense of well-being. I treasure this so, yet knew this trip that some of these memories would have to take on the role of an observer. I was sure they wouldn’t mind.

For three days I rode the roller coaster of face wrinkling tears to laughing outloud, over and over again, softly casting and drifting, with the ever present comforting blanket of outdoor things. Even now as I write this, a box of kleenex and bottle of bourbon keeps me company, and I’ll simply ask you to understand. “I miss you boy”, I said under my breath often, and outloud a few times. I wanted to be positive, wanted to make this good, but was struggling. I make no excuses. I’ll hide nothing. This was no everyday life experience, this was no every day place, and Drake was no everyday dog.

This being such a special place, a place Drake loved so much, it seemed very fitting to have brought some of his ashes here, to scatter them into the water at the edge of his very favorite gravel point, which poked out into the river creating a calm, shallow, and safe currentless back eddy where he could chase an occaisional dying salmon without fear of the AuSable’s powerful current carrying him downstream. I gave him complete freedom in that very special sheltered spot, and he trusted me enough to “fish” there without fear for the better part of each day.

I walked out to the very tip of the point and stared into the shallow water for a long time. I wanted to say something but couldn’t. I drew a small bottle of his ashes out of my pocket and poured the contents into my hand. Squatting down, I intended to sprinkle them, and maybe then say something. I closed them in my fist. I clenched my fist harder and harder, I couldn’t ease up even for a second. I could not let go. I stared into the water, at the smooth gravel on the river bottom and its squiggly distortions caused by the turbulent flowing water. I stared at nothing wondering what to do, looking at my clenched fist, then the water, back at my clenched fist. I did nothing for minutes.

Slowly I opened my hand and looked at the ashes. Though now like caked sand in a childs hand, I opened my fingers and let what was loose slip through my fingers into the water, closed my hand and pushed it deep into the river, watching the white ashes of my beautiful Drake blend with my continuum, my life, that which flowed for me, from me, to me, and through me since I was just a boy. I rubbed my hands gently together in the ice cold water, then stood up. I told Drake I hoped he thought I was a good owner. I told him I hoped he was proud of me.

I walked a few steps downstream of there, picked up my steelhead rod, then softly casted and drifted my offering to a river where an excited long haired young boy, full of eagerness, anticipation and an entire life ahead of him went on his first fishing trip long ago.

“I’m coming over with a six pack, and we’re going to have ourselves a little Irish Wake”, my Dad said. It was the day after Drake passed, I was working on a couple of walls in the basement trying to stay busy. I knew what he meant, what he was trying to do. There is a time to be sad, a time to miss those that have passed on, but I was always curious about how the Irish dealt with this, and what I take away from the actual Wake ceremony is that it puts the emphasis on the positive, and celebrates the person’s life. Seemed fitting. We drank good beer and sat around in the home we both had grown up summers of our life, looking at the early fall lake which had been settling down from a busy summer and now had but a few sailboats and occasional runabout on it.

It was during that afternoon I decided what I would do to commemorate Drake’s life and his passing. I would duplicate the experience this afternoon with some of my very best friends at a special place family generations had fished. I called a trusted friend, told him what I had on my mind, and asked if he could help set it up, as I didn’t think I could do it by myself. I told him in general what I was after and he took it from there.

It was a Sunday afternoon. The day had started out raining off and on, and forecasts were not optimistic. Thoughts of calling it off had gone through my head, yet for some reason rain seemed like a trivial reason to even consider it. Most of my friends were sportspeople, fly fishers, and I knew those people knew how to handle a little rain for goodness sake.

I watched the clock all day, as our ceremony was to start at about four o’clock. For some reason I had butterflies in my stomach waiting, but soon it was time. Though someone had the assignment to pick me up, several people came by to make sure I had everything I needed before they went to the river. Even then, the smiles, handshakes, pats on the shoulder, and understanding looks told me this was going to be one special event. I felt light as air. A father and his son came by, and I was sort of surprised to see the son, to tell you the truth. Certainly he had other things to do, friends, video games, and all the stuff teenagers really want to be doing. But not this kid, not this time. His father made it very clear to me that he asked to come, wouldn’t have it any other way, and took this seriously. I found this to be very touching, thinking it how fortunate I was to have experienced this most genuine expression of consideration. It is the highest level of compliment when someone does something for you without being asked or manipulated, compelled purely and soley from within themselves, and without any expectation of return. What this young man did will not be forgotten soon. Most of the time adults just let kids hang on the outside and watch the adults do their thing. Not this time. I gave him a box of flower tips and asked that he take the responsibility of giving each person a flower when we all got to the spot in the river. He eagerly took the box and executed this flawlessly. As it turned out, there were three young folks there that day who had been eager to be part of our event. I thought about that for a long time, and it was a good thing.

Brilliant sunshine burst through the clouds just before we arrived at the small parking lot near the river. Friends were all smiles, talking and laughing as they put on waders and raingear just in case. The few that were strangers were introducing themselves to each other. The wamth of the moment soaked through me, into my soul where a deep loss was loosening up, breaking apart like an ice covered lake in the spring. I fought back tears of joy, not wanting them to be mistaken for sorrow…this was going to be a joyful time.

We headed for the river, walking together, with the ever present talking and laughter. My friend and Vet John’s nine year old daughter Maddy ran up and took my arm. In her hand was a small gift she had for me, wrapped up in paper and taped so tight I had a hard time opening it.
“Give it to me Mr. Kivi”, she said, and opened it, revealing a smooth piece of rose quartz. “It’s my lucky rock, and I want you to have it”, she said. I took it, felt it’s smoothness in my hand, thanked her and hugged her. I knew it must have meant alot to her.
“I’m sorry about Drake’s funeral”, she said. Though the words didn’t make perfect sense, I could tell what was on her heart, and I knew exactly what the was trying to say. “It’s ok, honey”, I said, and explained that today was going to be a day we remembered the fun things about Drake, and this is how the Irish have a funeral, and so on. All of us continued to walk together, down the narrow path brushing up against rain soaked bushes, through the woods where drips persisted off the trees while columns of bright sunshine forced their way though, splashing on tree trunks and the forest floor. My body felt light again, like I was being helped along, even though I had a young girl still hanging on my arm using it to keep her balance in the oversized waders we loaned her.

We all entered the river, and had about two hundred yards to wade downstream to get to our destination spot. Several had beers in their hand. I loved that, thankful my friends were that comfortable with me to just totally be themselves. Our friend Blu, an experienced outdoorsman, had brought extra wading staffs and handed them out, coaching the novice waders on proper technique. A mass of about fifteen people waded in unison, occasionally stumbling on the large streambed rocks, helping each other. No one fell in the river. Still hanging on to my arm, Maddy, who had been silent for several minutes was still thinking about what I had told her. “So you can be sad and happy about something at the same time?”, she asked.
“That’s right honey, you got it”, I said. Boy, oh boy….out of the mouth of babes. I felt really good about that one, and wished I had learned that at such a young age. Way to go, Drake.

Almost at our spot in the river, I heard a shout from up river on the other side. “Hey Craig, I forgot my waders”, came the cry. It was a fly fishing buddy, wondering if there was some way he could walk down the bank and get close enough to see what was going on. Before I could even say something one of the group yelled out “Stay right where you are, I’m coming to get you”. He walked against the current upstream to him…and carried him at least a hundred yards to a small gravel bar near where the group had gathered. I stood and watched the whole thing. Yes, this was truly an amazing group of people, and an amazing day. Push back the tears of joy again, buddy.

We had gathered near an exposed rock in the center of the river. Not just any rock. This one is as big as a dining room table, has been immovable for at least hundreds of years. Located in a valley, it is where my Great Grandfather, Father, older Brother, myself, and both of my children, and many great friends have fished. It’s where the first picture for the Golden Drake Flyshop logo was taken by my younger Brother, then he modified the picture which now shows the rock, me flycasting downstream of it, and Drake looking over the whole scene. This was to be the place.

I stood in front of the rock. I asked the group to move over to the sand bar not twenty feet away, where the young man who forgot his waders was, that he not feel alone, but part of the ceremony. They would still be able to hear me from there, as I had some things to say. As the group moved, the young man with the flowers handed them out to each one of the group. Another friend of mine passed out small cups and poured Irish Whiskey for all those who wished to drink a toast.

With everyone’s attention, I explained we were there to celebrate Drake’s life, and to remember the crazy, nutty, happy way he acted around each of us, how he made us feel when he was around. I asked that we remember the way he treated each of us, the way he forged different relationships with us as individuals, and how he made us feel like he loved us. Then, I asked something very dear to me, very real. I asked, that if possible, in the same way Drake treated each and every one of us, perhaps we all could find a way to treat others better, with a little more respect. And though I don’t clearly remember, I think I had the guts to ask that we love each other a little more. I really hope I said that.

I turned to the rock. I had placed a small satchel on it earlier, opened it up now, and reached my bare hand into a container of Drake’s ashes. Lifting some out, I let the ashes slip through my spread out fingers, scattering them back and forth across the rock, hoping somehow some of them would bond with it permanently. I believe they did. I put some behind the rock, that they would settle in the back eddy of the rock and work deep into the gravel. Another handful was slowly sifted through fingers into the current break on the side of the rock near the group, turning the crystal clear river water an instant milky white, which startled and surprised me at first, then seemed appropriate to blend so thoroughly.
I rubbed my hands back and forth across the rocks’ surface. I stood up and stared at the it for awhile, oblivious to the group who had gone completely silent and still in respect and honor for Drake, and though I had not thought of much until that moment….of me.

With that, I asked everyone to raise a toast to Drake, and asked if immediately after they would throw their flowers into the water in unison. “To Drake”, the group yelled, and downed the Irish Whiskey. A large pod of flower tops hit the water, and ever so delicately rode the small ripples into a dazzling, sparkling glare on the waters’ surface. We all watched in silence as they took their time riding away, bouncing cheerfully along until finally out of sight, until all that was left was the sound of rushing waters.

“Thank you everyone”, I said. Some of the group shook hands, some hugged, everyone was smiling. Talking and laughter broke out here and there. We all mingled there for a while, then started lumbering slowly back upstream, many coming over to me to thank me for letting them be a part of it, hugs, handshakes, backslaps. No one was in a hurry to get back to their cars, no one was in a hurry to get home. This was the place to be. Maddy grabbed my arm for the walk back.

Back at the lot, people were just standing around or sitting on tailgates in waders talking as the sun continued to pour down on us sparkling through the rainsoaked trees, bushes, and grasses. This one walked over to that group, then over to another. Two talking over there. One cracked a beer and lit up a cigar sitting on the tailgate of his truck alone looking off into the woods, up at the sky, at the smoke ring he blew in front of him. Some yelling of names. Latecomer introductions. Much, much more laughter.

The group stayed around at least a half an hour, slowly, ever so slowly trickling away with hand shakes, hugs, and back slaps. No one really wanted to leave. Each wanted to hang on as long as they could. Hang on to the peace, to new and old friends, to the love that just seemed permeate and warm the group like the sunshine itself. To hang on…yes…to hang on to all this, and the memory of a wonderful dog named Drake.

Good names express much more than just an identity, more than what people call you. Good names have soul and meaning. Searching for just that, it took a long time for us to come up with one for our young, skinny, scared Golden Retriever. We had to name him then, in his condition, for what we knew he would eventually become.

It couldn’t be a replay of a human name. Remember, it had to have soul and meaning. Plus, early on we knew that his arrival at almost the same time we decided to create an outdoor store was not a coincidence. So we thought about it in that context, in the context of fishing, and mostly in the context of flyfishing. Not only do I love to flyfish, I dearly love to tie flies. In fact, if you asked me to give up one of them, I truly wouldn’t know which one I’d choose. One evening at the house I just happened to be walking by my fly tying bench and noticed one of the books I had been working off to tie some new fly patterns, an old book, showing various patterns, how they are constructed and the materials used. A book of fly recipes so to speak. I stopped, picked it up, and it dawned on me that one of the coolest things about fishing flies are the names, names that are chosen to, well, have soul and mean something. Drake would be named after a fishing fly. Yet, as it turned out, his name would also have roots to his heritage of duck hunting, that male ducks are called drakes. That was a lucky outcome and not something I thought about ahead of time, but a very pleasant outcome nonetheless.

So I skimmed through the fly book. Prince? Maybe. Coachman? Sounds good. Mickey? Fun, but a little too light. I looked through hundreds, if not thousands, then one caught my eye and I pondered it for quite some time. Drake. Hmmm… Noble enough. Masculine enough. It had the right sound, right feel, and oh, are the tied drake flies gorgeous. Plus, if you ever saw a hatch of real drake flies on a river, they are the most elegantly flying beautiful things ever, like little soft snowflakes rising instead of falling. You’re in a sort of dreamworld when on a river in the middle of a real drake fly hatch. That was it, and after just a few days it was clear it fit, and from then on it always felt right to call our beautiful male golden – Drake. Yet certainly we were not done. Remember our decision to create an outdoor store happened within weeks of getting Drake. We had another name to come up with.

Clearly, it wouldn’t be long after getting Drake we would come to understand we had something special and important. Given we had named Drake after a fishing fly, we knew someway we had to integrate Drake into the new store. Sure, he was the mascot, but we wanted more than that, and I wanted in some way to immortalize him, build something around him. As I remembered going through the fly tying book, and finally finding the drake fly, I remembered there were several versions: the green drake, the gray drake, the blue drake…and oh yea, the golden drake. Of all the drake series this one stuck with me the most, given it’s soft gold tones, bright and cheerful construction, and full of a feeling of nobility and value. It had to be the one. With our focus on fly fishing, stringing everything together, the Golden Drake Flyshop was born. We were very happy and proud of what had come together through whatever forces greater than us helped us to create. One should always keep in mind that to create something bigger than yourself takes, well, help from someone…bigger than yourself.

So off we went, a wonderfully fitting name for a wonderful dog, and a further tribute to him by an aptly named business. Since then, the world of fly fishing specific stores has been crushed from the onslaught of internet sales and the giant stores, not to mention national and state economic woes. The business continues to evolve and is now named Golden Drake Outdoors, adding high quality kayaks and clothing among other things as best personal investment can achieve. With plans to move locations to a better demographic which respects the quality of our offerings, we have big plans for Golden Drake Outdoors. I hope I have it in me to create a great enough enterprise to honor Drake in a way he deserves, and to make him proud.

It didn’t matter what project I was doing, Drake wanted to “help”. Whether in the store or at home, he could sense an urgency and determination in my demeanor, and would come right up, wagging his tail. He’d walk around me, in between me and what I was working on, and persist until I let him do something even if I made it up.

It could be cutting up firewood in the back of the house, in which case I had to keep finding small pieces to give to him so he could carry them around wagging is tail. “Drake is doing fine work”, I’d tell him. You could just see the increase in his energy when he felt like he was actively doing a job. Made perfect sense to me, he’s a working dog. Or, working in the back shop at the store, sanding on a piece of wood or metal, Drake would come up…and ask…for the sand paper. Don’t know what that crazy nut thought he was doing, but he loved to carry around sandpaper. And so it went. Plumbing? A chunk of PVC plastic pipe would do. Electrical? Give him a small piece of romex cable or a junction box. Repairing some siding on the house? Gotta give him a chunk. Each time he’d get a little higher on his toes, prance around and wag his tail like crazy. You could just see him thinking “I’m working”.

He’d carry stuff around for a while, then often lay down with it between his paws and just watch me from a close distance. He never chewed anything. If I needed to move to another room or part of the house or store, he’d pick up his item, follow me, then lay down with it again at that comfortable distance, instinctively out of the way, but certainly, most certainly not out of sight. I knew he was always eyeballing me. I can’t explain how terrific that was.

Each fall I’d cut and split firewood behind the house, a process that took a couple of months. Drake would be active as usual, carrying around chunks of wood. As the hours went by, I’d find him curled up laying in a patch of remaining grass or even in the snow, and on those really cold days he’d have his tail covering his nose. Yet, no matter where I was, he’d line himself up with his snout pointing my way…gotta keep track of the boss, you know, making sure I was doing everything right and all.

Sometimes his “helping” turned out to be, well, unhelpful. I’m reminded of a particular day when I was putting the dock in at the lake. A meticulous process whereby I’d haul a heavy section out at a time, put a horse under it, haul another section out, put a horse under that one, and so on. The whole string of sections and horses balanced precariously until the heavy “T” sections were hauled out and put on the very end of the dock to hold the entire length against the shoreline.

Well, with the entire length of dock installed I began dragging the T sections out. Just about the time I reached the end of the dock, and while preparing to flip the T section and install it, here came Drake at full speed out on the dock. Uh oh. Without thinking it through, I yelled “Drake, no!”, and he came to a screeching halt…except that nine 8 foot sections of dock and 8 horses didn’t, and I watched the entire assembly fall forward into the water and float seperately in pieces. Drake, who had jumped off when he felt everything falling apart, couldn’t have thought it was cooler, and by now was happily swimming around all those neat sections of dock and horses in the water. “Awesome!”, was the look on his face. Though I was much less impressed, and years ago I probably would have gotten upset, I couldn’t help myself from pausing, then breaking out in an uncontrollable laughter. Yes, I had another 20 minutes or so of back breaking lifting to do, but man was that funny. From then on, though, during that precarious time of dock installation, he learned a new dimension to the “sit – stay” command, and soon was comfortable just laying on the shoreline watching me until the T’s were installed. I thought that was only fair.

Yes, projects and work still need to be done. I get through them, and of course occasionally really miss him demanding to be part of it, and working side by side with me. Yet, you know all I have to do is think of him and remember. Initially sad, I can tell you now that more and more those memories are very warm. I frequently laugh outloud though no one is around.

No matter what I do, no matter where I am or how I feel, through my imagination I can vividly recall, and believe he is, curled up nearby with his tail on his nose looking right down his snout at me…helping.

Not just any name would make Drake drop everything, come to attention, and start looking for the person. Sure, he knew alot of his friends by name, and when you said them he would certainly lift his ears and stare you down, sort of with a “where?” look. I used to run down the list; “Jason loves Drake”…”Derek loves Drake”…”your buddy Jack loves Drake”…”Uncle Steve and Aunt Lynn love Drake”, and each time he’d lift his head and ears a little higher. But there was one name that made Drake look up, ears go up, body get up and start running around looking for them. It was his most precious friend, who he held in the highest regard, and I think was the happiest when he was around her. Those of you closest to Drake know I could only be talking about my most wonderful Daughter, Brandi. I get it Drake. I’m off the charts crazy about her myself.

She was with me when I got Drake. She was an essential part of his training, of his rehabilitation, of his healing. Being such a logical person, she took to the discipline – praise training philosophy immediately, as it simply made sense. It wasn’t long before she could see the results of her actions, that Drake was healing and becoming a more confident, happy dog right before her eyes. While it certainly could have been easy for her at such a young age to simply fall into the affection, affection, affection routine with Drake, with all of its high pitched excited talk and praise for nothing, she knew she had to do what’s best for him. She executed Drake’s rehabilative training very well. I was so proud of her when the day came that Drake tested her. Like I had to, she put him to the floor gently but firmly, holding him there by neck fur until he gave up, submitted, and relaxed. It was not easy from a physical or mental standpoint, as Drake weighed 85 pounds and Brandi couldn’t have been much more than that. Plus I could just tell she didn’t like it, but knew she had to do it.

From then on though, Brandi was the boss. She could control Drake from afar by word commands. She would make him repeat actions from commands he didn’t get right – until he did get it right. He trusted her, and it was a beautiful sight to see. I never worried about Brandi being home alone when Drake was there, as there was another side to him not many people saw. When he sensed something wasn’t right around the house he became a pretty aggressive watchdog, and he had a deep bark which raised the hair on the back of your neck, certainly enough to cause an intruder to flee. I was confident he would look after her. They played together, ran around chasing each other, swam in the lake and went for boat rides together. Brandi even took him to the vet for appointments at a very young age, handling that situation with complete competency. She had no fear taking him places because she had done the hard work, and knew he would mind her.

Then there were the nick names. Can’t you just tell how much you care about someone by the crazy nick names you give them? “Draakis”, “Draak-mnock”, and “Drahh” are a few I can think of she came up with, then the one my crazy Daughter found from way, way left field…”Broko”. What the heck? Oh, and of course the songs, like the one sung to the tune of “shake your booty”. We all remember that one, but of course Brandi’s version was “Drake Drake Drake, Drake Drake Drake….Drake your booty, Drake your booty – owww!”. I’m not sure which was the crazier of the two of them, but they sure had a great time together. It was clear Drake wanted to be with her whenever he could, felt secure with her, loved being with her, obeyed her, and missed her when she was gone. I know Brandi felt the same.

College took Brandi to a far away place. I know she missed him terribly. She asked about him almost every time we talked, and I would often tell her about some crazy thing he had done that day or days before. We’d always have a good laugh. When she’d visit, upon picking her up at the airport, Drake would sit in her lap on the way home each time, then stick by her like glue for her entire visit. When others picked her up, the first thing she’d ask of them is “can you take me to my dog?” Not everyone understood.

During these last few months Brandi’s life changes allowed her to visit a few times. Drake was declining, and I knew it was breaking her heart. She stayed up most of one night in misery over it. I guess that’s what it takes sometimes – when you love something that much, you have to hurt that bad when it’s gone. Yet overall, this magnificent young lady had enough courage to not only go through her grief, but to provide comfort for others as well. Most notably me. It’s an interesting transition in life when you find that at times the wisdom of your own children surpasses yours, and you realize you’ve relied on it. I was honored by that thought, and very proud of my wonderful Daughter, who has in many ways gone well beyond those things I tried in my own way to teach her when she was younger. Oh how she has gone beyond.

Brandi will be along soon, back to her childhood home. We’ll take some of Drake’s ashes, go out in the boat, and distribute them to our favorite fishing spots which contain so many precious memories of the three of us fishing together. We’ll toast a strong drink, maybe remember the nick names and songs, throw out a few flowers and be happy. I’ll be happy to have had such a wonderful companion as Drake, and honored to have such an amazing Daughter. I’m sure Brandi will be happy, perhaps among other things, that she was blessed with Drake, her very best friend.

I know the feeling will always be mutual.