Growing up in the Klamath Basin, I had always been curious about waterfowl hunting. As a young kid, I didn’t have any experience with waterfowl hunting outside of watching flocks of yodeling specks fly over each fall. That all changed when I turned 12, and my mother got me a Chesapeake Bay Retriever named Madison (Mady).
To this day, I don’t quite remember what prompted my mom to choose a Chessie of all breeds, but it was a defining moment in my life. After getting this adorable puppy, my curiosity about the breed’s history piqued. I began reading and learning about the storied history these dogs had in America’s market-hunting days, sparking my interest in waterfowl hunting into a flame that still burns to this day.
Before I realized what I was getting into, it was early youth weekend, and I was standing in the marsh with a 20-gauge 870, a bag of decoys I managed to scrape together, and most importantly, Mady by my side. There’s about a hundred different things I wish I would have done differently that day, but watching Mady retrieve a hen gadwall as her first bird is an image that will be etched into my mind till the day I die.
Years later, after many failed hunts, lessons learned, and a handful of birds shot, I was a junior in high school when COVID hit. For many people, it was a hard time, but for a 16-year-old and his bird dog, it was a dream come true. With school being online and a fantastic migration year, Mady and I hit the road. We traveled across a couple of states, hunted non-stop from mid-September to early March, shooting everything from Mallards and Specks in the wheat to divers on big water. Through that experience, we built a relationship that can only be felt between a boy and a bird dog. This was the season that felt like we had finally figured it out. I was doing my part, putting birds in the decoys and knocking them down, and she was doing her part and bringing them back. She excelled at finding birds in thick cover and making blind retrieves. When the hunt was over, she’d hop in the passenger seat and ride the whole way home with her head resting in my lap.
The following year I bought my first camera and found that my favorite thing to do was capture pictures of Mady. Whether she was retrieving a bird, lying in her dog blind, or running through the spread while we were setting up, I didn’t care what it was; I just wanted to capture her doing it. Learning to shoot pictures of her in the field is what started my passion, and ultimately my full-time career as a photographer and videographer in the outdoor industry. After following a career path that had me living on the road more often than not, I had to move across Oregon a couple of times, and I took Mady with me when I could. Living in a camper as a 19-year-old with a dog will teach a messy kid to clean up his life quickly. That said, there were times I couldn’t bring her with me, and she had to go back and live with my mom. Every time I was apart from her, it felt like a part of me was missing.
In 2024, during Mady’s last season (which I didn’t know at the time), she made what will forever be the most memorable retrieve I have ever seen. It was mid-October, overcast and warm, with no wind. My cousin and I had hiked a mile and a half into a marsh to hunt. About an hour into shooting light, all we had managed was a couple of honkers, though we had watched a large number of ducks going into a pothole a quarter mile north of us. We decided it would be worth the effort of trucking deeper through the thick mud and tules to try and reach that pocket.
As we navigated through the maze of thick tules, Mady suddenly popped out into the narrow channel, moving towards me holding a live hen gadwall. We hadn’t even shot at a duck that morning, so I was surprised, but saw that it had a broken wing. I assumed it was a cripple from someone else’s prior hunt. I reached down to grab the bird and wring its neck, but as I reached out, I caught a glint of silver. It was banded. By this time in her life, Mady had retrieved a fair share of bands but never one that she had managed completely on her own. My cousin and I high-fived and celebrated, and of course gave Mady plenty of love. After not shooting another bird that day, we made our way back to the ramp and added that band to Mady’s collar, which is where it remains to this day.
The following off-season, Mady’s health declined rapidly, and after several vet trips, different medications, lots of prayers, and even more sleepless nights, the vet discovered a cancerous mass. After 9 incredible years, we laid her to rest on June 19th of 2025. I’ve lost people, had my heart broken by women, but nothing could compare to the effect of putting my dog down. It put me in shambles, a feeling that, unfortunately, many bird hunters know well. Your best friend, a soul you can truly count on to be there for you no matter what happens. A dog that you raised, trained, and bonded with from the time they were a pup. As a Catholic man, why God made dogs’ lives so short is one thing I will never understand.
On October 13th, 2025, I went on the first hunt of my waterfowl career that Mady wasn’t around for. I waded into a marsh around noon and headed to a familiar spot. I immediately had a flock of ducks buzz through my spread below the tules. The flock was mainly ringnecks, but dead center was a big bull Canvasback—the bird that Chessies were built for. I pulled up and, with one clean shot, the bird tumbled into the water. While walking out to pick it up, tears rolled down my cheek. I had never seen Cans anywhere close to this marsh, so this bird felt incredibly special.
After picking away on a couple of Gadwalls and Mallards for a few hours, I decided I had enough and was going to call the hunt one bird short. I picked up the spread and started my trek out. On my way out, I noticed a hen Gadwall in a raft of coots only 20 yards away. Eventually the coots picked up and ran across the water, but when the gadwall tried to fly, it was apparent that it had a broken wing. Doing what I felt was right as a sportsman, I put that bird out of its misery and filled the last bird in my limit. As I walked up to retrieve it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Once again, a banded hen gadwall. To this day, I still thoroughly believe that it was Mady who sent both of those birds to me as one last goodbye.
I once heard someone say, “We measure our lives not by the years we live, but by the dogs we have during different times,” and I’ve never heard something truer. While I’m sure I’ll own more dogs down the road, Mady will always be a special one. She genuinely shaped my life from the day I met her when I was just a 12-year-old boy, to where I am now as a 22-year-old man. My advice to all of you bird dog owners out there: give your pups a little extra love tonight and stop to appreciate just how much impact they have on our lives.