Bungee's Summer

Courtesy of Alston Chase

By Alston Chase

Excerpted from WE GIVE OUR HEARTS TO DOGS TO TEAR by Alston Chase. Reprinted by arrangement with Alston Chase. Copyright Alston Chase, 2008.

We Give our hearts to Dogs to Tear: Intimations of their Immortality is a memoir of the Chase family's 32 years in Montana, which they shared with successive generations of Jack Russell terriers. Its theme is mortality -- the ancient connections between dogs, the land and rural people, and why all three are now at risk.

In this excerpt, Chase describes the summer he spent fishing with his beloved Jack Russell terrier, Bungee, not long before his untimely death. But even though the disease that killed the dog took everyone, including veterinarians, by surprise, Chase is convinced that Bungee saw it coming and that's why, in his anxiety, he grew more dependent on his human friend. In his book, Chase writes, "Whether Bungee was clairvoyant or not, he could feel pain ...He'd been suffering more than a year; yet like all dogs and especially terriers he had been bred to ignore it. So unable to tell me, he suffered alone. And this pain and prospect of death scared him. Every moment we had together became more precious and he grew afraid to leave my side."

The sun was just peeking above Emigrant Peak when Michael Simon, Bungee and I arrived at Len's Lake. Rays of soft morning light filtered through the cottonwoods as I unpacked my fly rod and Michael his camera gear. Bungee stood by, watching us intently.

Len's was a private lake set at the foot of this mountain at the edge of Paradise Valley. It offered excellent fly fishing for a fee. But we weren't paying guests. Michael, a professional artist and photographer, had been hired by the lake's owners to take pictures of a fisherman catching big trout that could be used for advertising. I was to be that fisherman. My assignment was to land big rainbow trout while Michael snapped the action with his Nikon.

Bungee and I waded into the lake as Michael sat on the shore viewing us through a telephoto lens. As the water was very shallow -- less than a foot even 50 feet from shore -- Bungee stayed with me, alertly watching the surface for rising trout. And he was the first to see them. By the bank to our left in the shade of a large cottonwood, tiny dimples disturbed the surface. Bungee began to shiver with excitement. Being an experienced fisherman, he knew that since the smaller the rise the bigger the fish, these trout must be huge. Letting out line I cast a small fly that landed next to the dimples. The next instant the water dimpled again and the fly disappeared.

I raised my rod and the water exploded. A large rainbow trout shot six feet into the air. Bungee, beside himself with excitement and convinced I could not possibly land such a large fish without his help, wallowed through the water towards the fish. Meanwhile, Michael remained on shore, snapping pictures.

"Bungee, stay," I ordered, and he, having had just enough obedience training to know what the command meant but not enough to take it seriously, hesitated only briefly, then continued to lunge forward. Fortunately, at that moment the trout decided to visit the other side of the lake, taking my fly and line with him. My reel screamed in protest. The trout jumped again, and again. Bungee jumped again and again too, in excitement. Eventually, the trout tired. As I led it to my waiting net, Bungee, having no confidence I could beach the fish unaided, insisted on helping. He slashed through the water and snapped at the fish, which fortunately had sufficient remaining energy to escape his attack.

"Bungee," I said sternly, "cool it." This was not a command in his vocabulary at all, but he understood the tone of my voice and hesitated. I scooped the rainbow into the net and took it ashore for Michael to capture on film. Twenty inches! Then gently lifting the trout I released it unharmed into the water. At this, Bungee, who never liked the idea of "catch and release" and thinking I'd gone completely mad, made one last effort to snare the fish in his mouth. And when the trout slipped past him the dog shot a withering backward glance at me, as if to say, "Now see what you've done!"

*****

As the day wore on Bungee and I continued to stalk and catch trout and argue about how best to land a fish while Michael trailed behind with his camera. When the sun grew high and hot we stopped under a lone pine, where Michael and I shared our sandwiches with our four-legged friend. And when the sun finally dipped beneath the blue-green Gallatin Mountains and the sky turned pink and long shadows faded into the blue light of evening, we knew it had been a day to remember.