.THE ZEKE MEMORIAL PAGE

eMail:  biglake@biglakeoutdoors.com

.

ZEKE After an icy 1998 retrieve. Aug 1, 1995 - Oct 22, 2007

.

It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  I had to make the decision to put my best buddy out of his misery.  Zeke had been with me for 12 years and while I would occasionally lose my temper and give him a good whack on the behind, my son and I loved Zeke and let him know it as much as possible.  He got to go on hundreds of hunting trips and loved playing fetch with my son.  In his last days, we treated him extra special.  We played more fetch and gave him special treats that he loved so much.  His last breakfast was of eggs and sausage, and his last lunch was pork chop bones and those little baby carrots that were his favorite snack.

Now that Zeke is gone, I wanted honor him by creating this page in memory of his life.  If you were one of my customers who had the privilege of watching Zeke work to retrieve your birds, I'd be happy to include on this page any comments you may want to share.  

SEND YOUR ZEKE COMMENTS HERE (notes will be added at the bottom of this page).

You've heard those stories about someone buying an old painting at a yard sale just to get the frame and then finds a Picasso behind the front picture.  Zeke is one of those stories.

In the fall of 1995, my wife and I decided we'd like to get a dog to be a good companion for her two daughters (aged 9 and 13 at the time) and our new son, 8-month old Conor.  At the same time, I wanted to find a dog I could train (my first attempt) to retrieve ducks and geese.  However, due to complications with her pregnancy that caused my wife to be off work for the better part of a year, money was tight which meant we had to find a 'discount' dog.  So off to the local pound we went.

We found Zeke in early October.  The first pen we looked in that day had four coal-black pups born on-or-about August 1st (making them about nine weeks old) and labeled as 'Black Lab / Golden Retriever' mix.  I figured the odds of finding a pure-blood lab at the pound were 'slim' and 'none', so this water dog mix sounded about as good as I was going to get.  I picked the male that seemed to have the most energy and the biggest head lump (something my dad had always told me was a sign of intelligence), and $48 later, we were walking out with a new pup. 

I named him Zeke in honor of a favorite pet that had died at a young age about three years earlier.  Sometimes we would just refer to him as "The Zeke-ster" or when singing about him to the tune of the old Hank Williams song "Jambalaya", we called him "Zeke-a-rye".

"Zeke-a-rye, crawfish pie, and a filet gumbo......."

Zeke took to his training like a house-afire.  He learned his basic 'courtesy' commands very quickly ('sit', 'stay', 'come', 'heel') and the goose wings I brought him for retrieving practice were favorite toys.  By the time I'd had him for two weeks, he was doing 50-yard retrieves and responding to whistle commands with no trouble at all.

My wife and I split in January 1996 and Zeke went with me.  He went from being a dog living outside in a large kennel with an extra-warm, homemade house to having to live in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment.  Because he hadn't been house-broken earlier, it had to get done now.  When I went to work in the morning, I'd have to lock him in the bathroom and I'd let him go outside as soon as I got home.  Within just ONE WEEK, he was able to roam the apartment on his own all day without making a mess or chewing on anything.  I was impressed.

I was able to train him intensively on hand and whistle signals that spring and summer at work during my lunch hour.  My place of employ had a 10-acre yard with access to the river and they said it was OK to take Zeke out and work him.  He would go to work with me and stay in the back of my truck (there was a cap to protect him from rain) until lunch time.  Then I'd leash him and walk at heel out to the big yard.  From there, it was a solid hour of fetching a retrieving dummy. 

Some times I'd make him stay and would walk out a couple hundred yards and pitch the dummy into some weeds, then walk back and make him wait until I released him to fetch.   Other times I'd work him in the river.  I also had access to a small private pond where I would take Zeke to work on his hand signal skills.  I'd sling a black frisbee into the water and send Zeke in.  Since he couldn't see the frisbee, he had to follow my hand signals. 

By the time goose season rolled around in September 1996, Zeke was ready.  He was 13 months old and full of piss and vinegar.

1997	1999	2000

2001	2005	2006	2007

His first actual retrieve was on an early-season hunt with just me and him.  I hit a goose that sailed about 150 yards to our left into a brushy pothole (I thought).  Zeke was tied down to make sure he wouldn't break until I wanted him to, so I leashed him and we started to walk toward where the goose went down.  I figured it was going to be tough enough to find the crippled bird in that pothole as it was.

About halfway to the pothole, I was proven wrong.  The bird had sailed THROUGH the pothole and lit just to the right of it in the alfalfa.  I learned this when the goose popped his head up to see where we were.  To his credit, Zeke saw the goose's head pop up and was ready to go.  I had him sit, undid the leash, and sent him to fetch.

It was like an arrow from a bow.  The goose tried to run and fly, but it never had a chance.  Zeke plowed into it at full speed with his chest (what I was to learn was his favorite move on a crippled goose), then went back and grabbed the stunned bird by the neck and shook it to death.  From that point on, his favorite thing in the world was to retrieve a crippled goose.

His second retrieve was on an actual guided hunt a couple of days later.  One of my clients dropped a goose not 10 feet in front of the corn we were hiding in.  The goose, another cripple, stood straight up and looked completely unhurt.  I released Zeke to fetch the bird.

Zeke, not having to run to find the bird, walked out to the crippled goose carefully.  He inched closer and closer until his nose was no more than a half-inch from the end of the goose's bill.  He froze.  The goose froze.  I kept telling Zeke to fetch the bird, but it was as if they had hypnotized each other.  It was one of the darnedest things I'd ever seen.

Finally, I walked up behind the goose (which showed no sign of knowing I was there), snapped it up by the neck, and gave it the fatal twist.  Maybe I should call that Zeke's second GOOSE, not his second retrieve.

Between that first retrieve in September 1996 and his final retrieve in October 2007, Zeke retrieved nearly 2,000 ducks and geese, the vast majority of which he did without more than an initial direction from me.  This includes retrieves of over 300 yards in fields, marshes, and across ponds.  He was never going to be a Field Trial Champion, but if the bird came down, it would end up in the blind.  In fact, the number of downed birds he FAILED to retrieve in over 10 years could be counted without taking off your shoes.  You could also leave on one of your gloves.  He proved himself to be a far better retriever than one would have suspected, considering his trainer.

Zeke was passionate about retrieving birds.  He once busted ice with his front paws to get to two ducks that had dropped about 10 feet from open water.  The Field Trial Champion dog that was hunting with us would just swim up and down the edge of the ice whining.  Zeke went straight to the ice, let his back legs drop in the water, and basically chopped his way through the ice to the ducks.  When the other dog followed him out in an attempt to retrieve the birds, Zeke grabbed the first duck, chopped to the second duck, grabbed that duck, and chopped his way out with the other dog behind him the whole time.  Zeke looked like he had a duck mustache as he pranced back to the blind with one duck hanging out each side of his mouth.

He would dive after cripples and a 200-yard swim each way was a walk in the park to him.  He would lay quietly in the blind and let me know by the look on his face if birds are coming (in case I wasn't paying attention).  When he heard the whispers of "Here they come.  Don't move.", he got ready.  He loved hunting and retrieving more than anything in the world.  Except maybe my son. 

Conor and Zeke were buddies all their lives.  They grew up together.  Zeke and Conor spent hours wrestling and chasing.  When both were about a year and a half old, I was washing dishes in that tiny apartment while Conor and Zeke played.  I couldn't see them, but I could hear them. 

Suddenly, my son yelled:  "Daddy!!  Help!!"

I rushed into the living room only to see Zeke, with a firm grip on my son's foot, dragging Conor across the room.  I have no idea what my son had been about to do, but Zeke was having none of it.  Zeke also liked grabbing my arm and/or barking at me whenever I'd pretend to spank Conor.  

As long as Zeke was around, nobody was going to hurt that kid without dealing with Zeke first.

One of Zeke's favorite games was to chase footballs with my son, to be followed immediately by a comfy lay-down in his pool if it was hot.  I was the punter on my Air Force team in Europe (invited by a scout to Packers camp in 1986, which I was unable to attend due to my military obligations), so I would kick the ball as high and far as I could while Zeke and my son would race after it.  If Conor got the ball, he would try to run back to me before Zeke could jump on him and tackle him.  If Zeke got the ball, Conor would try to get it out of his mouth before Zeke could retrieve it to me.  We had to stop playing that game after 2005, unless we kept the runs short and easy for Zeke.

1997	1997	1998

1999	2001	2005

Another highlight would have to be an eight-goose retrieve Zeke had to do in barely-above-freezing water.  There was snow on the ground and the air temperature was in the low 30s.  It took him about 30 minutes to get all the birds (the wind was blowing them away from us), and when he was done, I had to literally pull him out of the water.  He was too tired to even shake himself dry.  But every one of the geese that came down ended up in the blind and when another 500 geese showed up as we were picking up decoys, he was ready to go again.  The picture below shows his day, 14 geese and nine ducks (Zeke was passed out in the truck when the picture was taken).

But in the Fall of 2005, signs of age finally began showing themselves.  While on field goose retrieves, he could no longer bring long-retrieve birds all the way back to the blind.  He'd drag them 20 or 30 yards, drop the bird, rest, then do it again until he got back to the blind.  He'd never done that before and it was after a day of such retrieves that I really noticed for the first time that Zeke now had gray hair on his chin and, even though he still thought he was three (especially when playing fetch at the river or lake), he was having a little more trouble getting up off the floor.

He was retired from hunting after the 2005 season, but his replacement got killed in February 2006, so he happily did one more season in the fall of '06.  I tried to make sure all his retrieves were easy water retrieves and I did most of the field work last year.

Plans were for a hunt last January to be Zeke's last (he got to retrieve a cripple - his favorite).  From then on, he would be able to lay warm on his bed and not have to get up unless he wanted to, except to eat or go outside.  However, when it became clear over the summer that it was time to put him down, I decided to wait until I could get him one more nice, easy water retrieve.

On October 14 of this year, I took him with me on what was supposed to be a wood duck hunt.  That would make for a simple retrieve - small bird in the water.  My customers missed the woodies, but did knock down a big Canada goose.  Happily, it landed in the water and Zeke was able to swim the 80 yards or so out to fetch it.  I wasn't sure he was going to make it, but make it he did.  I waded out and took the goose from him so he wouldn't have to lift it and then hugged and petted him before letting him lay back down.

He also got to do his next favorite thing on a retrieve - fetch decoys.  Since he was about two, he's retrieved my floaters for me and I let him do it again that day.  Frankly, he just liked retrieving things and didn't much care what it was.  But that night, he could barely move.  I called the vet the next day and made the appointment.

The following weekend, October 20 and 21, knowing Zeke would be put down that Monday, I took Zeke out on his last two hunts.  He was not the primary retriever, but I wanted to get him out.  We got no birds to retrieve (the weather was too nice), but Zeke again got to retrieve decoys and ride one last time in the back of the truck on his bed with the wind blowing around him.  I had to pick him up to get him in and out of the truck, but he seemed happy.

So on Monday, October 22, 2007 my son and I took Zeke to the vet for the last time.  Zeke, who normally didn't mind going to the vet, knew something was up and fought the leash (I never had to leash him on most trips).  So I squatted and held his head while my son petted him and we told him we loved him while the vet gave him the shot.

Then Zeke gently laid down on the floor and died.

I'm not ashamed to say that I cried then and I cried when we got him home and dug his grave and buried him.  There were times when I could have been a better, more patient master, but Zeke was my best buddy and I loved him and he loved me and my son.  He couldn't do enough for us.

Zeke gave me far more than I could have ever anticipated and it will be hard to go on a hunt without him.  My father, who used to raise and train German Shorthairs when I was a kid, says Zeke was an exceptionally good and rare dog.  Guys who have hunted with me in the past and/or who had their Field Trial Champion dogs out-retrieved by my dog pound mix-breed retriever have said Zeke had more heart and 'want-to' than any dog they'd ever seen.  Almost every hunter who was watching Zeke for the first time expressed amazement at the things Zeke could accomplish on a hunt.

He was something and he left some big shoes to fill.  There will never be another Zeke.  

Or will there??

Three puppies were born on September 6, 2007 to our half-lab, half-husky mix.  Their father was Zeke.  They are the only pups he ever fathered and every single one of them looks JUST like him. 

SEP 07	OCT 07

Carly	Little Zeke	Big Bear

NOV 07:  Li'l Zeke Retrieves

	DEC 07: Li'l Zeke

There are two boys and one girl.  My son named the female 'Carly' and the biggest male 'Big Bear'.  And I named the other male - you guessed it - 'Little Zeke' (the 'Little' will be dropped from his name now).  Having Zeke as their father leads me to believe we could three excellent retrievers here, regardless of their mixed blood.  Their training will start this week.  Last week, I threw a goose wing into their kennel (from the last goose their father ever retrieved) and two pups wanted me to pet them.  The third pup grabbed the wing and took off with it.

The pup that ran with the wing was 'Little Zeke'.  Our real-life 'Old Yeller' moment.

.ZEKE NOTES FROM HUNTERS.

John,

Please accept our condolences for Zeke.

My son and I had the absolute privilege to hunt with you and Zeke on October 20, 2007. While we didn't have much action (weather was just too nice), we did enjoy the hunting stories. Both of us feel honored to share one of Zeke's last hunts. We're just sorry we couldn't knock down a woody for him to retrieve, but it was great watching him retrieve the decoys. What a wonderful tribute to Zeke on your website.

Mike McCauslin, Niles, Michigan

--------------------------------------------------------------

John,

Any of us who enjoy being outdoors with our dogs cannot help but be moved by your tribute to Zeke.  Ed, Drew, and I had an opportunity to be with the old gentleman last January.  He was a fine dog.  I am attaching one of my favorite stories by outdoor writer Gene Hill ("Old Tom") – it mirrors your tribute fairly well.  When I first read it brought tears to my eyes as I recalled having to make that dreaded trip to the vet with my own dog, Sasha.  God love those dogs who share our lives – they will be in heaven before any of us.  

Hope to hunt with you and one of Zeke’s offspring soon.  I will bring something with a little kick to it so we can toast Zeke from the tailgate when we finish for the day.

Chuck Siedlecki, Long Beach, Indiana