It seems like only yesterday that my parents took me to a farm outside of Knights Landing to pick out a new puppy. It was around 1993, and I had always been pretty big into pheasant hunting. Upon my dad’s suggestion, I decided to get a Brittany Spaniel (now known as a Brittany), a breed known for its hunting prowess.

The breeder demonstrated the hunting abilities of the littermates by tossing around an old pheasant wing he had on hand. Some were interested, and some were not, but one dog in particular zeroed in on that wing every single time it was thrown. He was easy to spot, too, because he had a big red – well, a big red spot right on the middle of his head. He was the one I wanted, and he was the one I got.

I named him Fester. I don’t remember exactly why, but I’m sure I thought it was hilarious at the time. I also have this habit of giving nicknames to people or animals that are close to me. We had a Cocker Spaniel at the time, and I decided I didn’t like his given name of “Snippit”, so I just started calling him Herb. Till the day he died, he was always Herb to me. (And to this very day, every time I hear the name “Herb”, I can’t help but laugh inside just a little.) Anyway, Fester was just a little guy, so I took to calling him Little Beaver. Since he was a purebred, we had to file his papers with the AKC. Apparently, there was a field on the form that asked for his middle name, so my Mom just put in “Beaver.” That’s right, my dog’s official name – on record – was Fester Beaver Sagara. SWEET.

I have many great memories of Fester. He was a great family dog, and he certainly lived up to the hunting hype. He was never really formally trained, yet he picked up hunting like a total natural. He could sniff out birds with the best of them.

{Big head}

{Athletic prowess, ability to run for seemingly hours on end}