It’s no secret to anyone who has read one or two of my columns that dogs have been a central part of my life. This is not a newfound comfort but has been a part of me since I was five years old. It started with observing my paternal grandfather and his enormously talented English Pointers. So, six decades and counting now.

Painters of the sporting life have painted thousands of scenes of sporting dogs on point and their owners walking in behind them with the entire scene pregnant with anticipation of what was to come. I have been gifted to be central in this scene countless times. As far as the lifestyle is concerned, I’m no longer certain if I chose it or it chose me.

Others I have known feel the same about horses, and I’m not too far removed from that either. Virtually all my experience with horses has involved dogs as well — the horses were instrumental in training the dogs, following them, field-trialing them, or simply keeping up with the bigger running dogs while hunting.

I’m not sure why I love handling saddles and bridles as much as I do. Maybe it’s the smell of well-worn leather. Maybe it’s associative much in the same way I enjoy cleaning an old shotgun and handling it after a damp day in the field, or picking burrs out of my dogs’ coats beside a warm fireplace after a long day of them working tirelessly. If a treasured companion is along to share a dram of comfort and the smells of Hoppes #9 gun solvent, and wet dogs drying by the fire, so much the better.

But I really think it is tradition. It is the memories of my parents and grandparents doing these very things and the sounds, smells, and habits that were infused into me before I was old enough to attend school.

The French author Francois-Rene de Chateurbriand wrote, “One only truly describes one’s own heart by attributing it to another, and the greater part of genius is composed of memories.”

As I grew into adulthood and became a regular on the Field Trial circuit for both retrievers and pointing dogs, I became aware through conversations that virtually everyone I met shared similar memories, and those memories formed themselves into traditions.

Tradition doesn’t have to be complicated or elaborate to form into indelible memories.

For years, the ladies of First Baptist Church in Grand Junction, Tennessee, have served free sausage biscuits on a first-come basis to the attendees and competitors of the National Championship for Bird Dogs at the Ames Plantation. They are worth being an early riser for, as not only are they a culinary delight as only the Grande Dames of the South can produce, but now they are tradition as well.

Soon after, mounted on horseback, for years we would hear Field Trial Marshal Charlie Frank Bryan announce: “Welcome to the running of the National Championship for Bird Dogs. Ride at your own risk!” And now, in February 2025, when that first pair of bird dogs are released on the course, it will be the 126th year in a row it has happened in the same location. That is worthy tradition.

For decades, there has been a Randall Made knife on my belt on any outdoor adventure — placed in my hands by Bo Randall himself shortly before he died on Christmas Day in 1989. It has cleaned and prepared all manner of fish and game, helped me shave tinder for a fire when cold outdoors, and performed yeoman service in the kitchen as a petty knife. It is not only a favorite piece of kit but also a memory keeper I can reach out and touch. Tradition now says I reach for it first when embarking on any adventure.

It is the wise that emulate their elders and learn from their memories and traditions and the wins and losses that inevitably accompany a lifetime of experience.

On balance, all of this is best enjoyed with companions, be they two or four legged.

May you find and remember favorite things, memories, and traditions, and keep close the souls that they are best enjoyed with be they here, 1,000 miles away, or passed into eternity.

As I finish writing this missive, there is an enormously talented 13-year-old Gordon Setter beside my chair that has produced a wellspring of memories. And in my lap is a seven-month-old Gordon Setter. As I rub her ears, I am reminded of all the wonderful people and events literally worldwide that had to come together for her to be here at all. She and I are just beginning our journey together, but she is inextricably linked to people I love, both here and gone, who have provided timeless memories.

With this New Year comes new beginnings. Thank you to all who have made the journey so special. I have enjoyed being here. I have enjoyed being here with you.