The Hunter and his Dog

He whistled softly to himself. The world was right. For the hunter anyway. For his dog too. The dog’s name was Max, a purebred German Shorthaired Pointer. „If it’s a dog, then it must come from an excellent breed,“ his owner, the hunter, was convinced, „After all, I don’t have him for fun. All the idiots with their useless barkers who are oh so cute. No, a dog, that was an animal that had to be useful. Done.” Max had satisfied him from day one. Not only was he very teachable and obedient, but he also knew that he could only listen to him. His wife had tried to corrupt him. Just like his children, but he put a stop to that very quickly.

Max was a complete male. What should he do with a eunuch anyway? A neutered dog was no longer a real dog. Also, no longer good for hunting. The operation made her lax. Obedience also worked better when it was intact. The hunter was a man of strong build and voice. As soon as possible, he would take him out hunting. This was after he had passed all the hunting dog tests with flying colors. The hunter had had a few dogs before, but this was his best, his very best. He wouldn’t find one like that again. For twelve years he had stood loyally and submissively at his side, had proved to be extremely talented in the search and had courageously and courageously never avoided a fight.

„What are you doing with the shovel?“ the hunter’s wife asked her husband.
„I’m digging a hole in the garden,“ the hunter answered curtly.
„But don’t ruin my lawn!“ the woman squeaked.
 „It’s okay,“ he said mustily and stepped out into the sunshine. Max was at his side. The hunter stopped briefly to look for a suitable place for the hole. Satisfied, he nodded as he put it out next to the compost. His wife couldn’t complain either. Then he walked over to the spot and started digging while Max lay down next to him and calmly watched.

Well, watching wasn’t much anymore. More and more often the dog had made a fool of the hunter, lately. Either he didn’t obey, or he couldn’t keep up the necessary speed. Not to mention stamina. At first the hunter had been terribly angry because he was sure the dog was doing it too diligently, but that wasn’t the case. He had to discover that Max’s eyesight had deteriorated alarmingly, and he also heard almost nothing. That also explained the disobedience. He just didn’t hear it anymore. And then he was just old. Twelve years now. He had become slow, couldn’t really hold out anymore. Of course, that was normal. We all grow old, but a dog that had a right to live only because it was used for hunting was useless if it was blind, deaf and lame. Farm animals are only allowed to live as long as they are useful. If they don’t bring it anymore, they’re just unnecessary eaters. That’s how the hunter saw it. Finally, he decided the hole he had dug was deep and wide enough. So, he took his pistol from his waistband, unscrewed the silencer and aimed. Max looked at him expectantly. Old as he was, he just seemed happy to be with his master and rest. Finally, for once, he hadn’t expelled him or locked him in the kennel. Max was full of confidence and affection. For this, the hunter shot him in the heart. „Useless creature,“ he thought. Max died instantly. He had trusted the man who killed him until the last moment. Then he threw the dog into the hole and shoveled dirt over the corpse until it was gone. Then he cleaned the shovel and carried it back into the shed.
„Where’s Max?“ the hunter’s wife asked as he sat down to eat.
„In the hole,“ the hunter replied shortly. Then he started to eat. Now that the strain was off his back, he could start looking for a new dog, one that could be used.

(By a true story.)

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