# America's best ever gun-dog writer



## GAHUNTER60 (Sep 10, 2012)

"Nobody can fully understand the meaning of love unless he's owned a dog. He can show you more honest affection with a flick of his tail than a man can gather through a lifetime of handshakes."     GENE HILL, _Tears and Laughter_

"I can't think of anything that brings me closer to tears than when my old dog—completely exhausted after a hard day in the field—limps away from her nice spot in front of the fire and comes over to where I'm sitting and puts her head in my lap, a paw over my knee, and closes her eyes, and goes back to sleep. I don't know what I've done to deserve that kind of friend."      GENE HILL 

"Whoever said you can't buy happiness forgot little puppies. "    GENE HILL

"It's not really important that Tip was a good dog to hunt over, but it is important to me that she was a good dog to be with. She was my pal. We enjoyed being with each other. I don't know that you can ask for much more."  GENE HILL

"He is my other eyes that can see above the clouds; my other ears that hear above the winds. He is the part of me that can reach out into the sea. He has told me a thousand times over that I am his reason for being; by the way he rests against my leg; by the way he thumps his tail at my smallest smile; by the way he shows his hurt when I leave without taking him. (I think it makes him sick with worry when he is not along to care for me.)

When I am wrong, he is delighted to forgive. When I am angry, he clowns to make me smile. When I am happy, he is joy unbounded. When I am a fool, he ignores it. When I succeed, he brags. Without him, I am only another man. With him, I am all-powerful. He is loyalty itself.

He has taught me the meaning of devotion. With him, I know a secret comfort and a private peace. He has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant.

His head on my knee can heal my human hurts. His presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things. He has promised to wait for me… whenever… wherever — in case I need him. And I expect I will — as I always have. He is just my dog. "   GENE HILL


----------



## setters (Sep 11, 2012)

All great quotes.  I have been a Gene Hill fan most of my life, and own many of his books.  My favorite stories are the ones about dogs.  Hill had a connection with his dogs that few people ever enjoy.  If I remember correctly he wrote in one of his stories that he would give anything to have one more time with Tip and Ben.  I believe Ben was a pup he lost.  Steve Smith, who wrote with Hill and was a personal friend of his, occasionally tells some great stories about the man on the Pointing Dog Journal forum.  Okay, I'm going to pull "Mostly Tail feathers" off the shelf and start reading it again.  Thanks for reminding me of some great stories.


----------



## GAHUNTER60 (Sep 12, 2012)

I've studied Gene Hill and his writings pretty extensively.  He was a contemporary of Ernest Hemingway, and a much, much better writer of non-fiction than Hemingway.  He could paint a portrait with words utilizing a skill that few writers could ever master, and all writers do envy.

But in case you think you would have liked to have known him, those that did claim he was a man who liked, or tried to get along with, few human beings on this earth.  He was a hard-drinker, profane talker and possessor of a white-hot temper.  This might explain why he had such a great relationship with his dogs.  

When I was in the service in 1969-'71, I was stationed in Turkey, on a rock in the Black Sea.  The place was lonely and desolate, however one of the things that kept me sane was a copy of a Gene Hill column he wrote in _Sports Afield_ that I kept folded up in my wallet and would read periodically.  In it, he described the scene in his den after a day of hunting with his dogs:  his old Lab stretched out in front of the fire, her puppies playing in the corner, the warmth of the hearth, and the general feeling satisfaction with life -- coupled with the sadness and trepidation of approaching old age -- both his and his dog's. 

The portrait he painted was one that I, having grown up in a sportsman's house, closely related to, and reading it became a way to escape the reality of where I was, and to be transported to the place I wanted to be.   I became a big fan of Gene Hill's writings.

I still am


----------



## GAHUNTER60 (Sep 13, 2012)

Here's one of my favorites.  If you can read this and keep a dry eye, then you are definitely _not_ a bird dog person!

*      Old Tom*
                                                             by
                                                        Gene Hill

“The vet told him that the old setter might live another day or so and that the humane thing to do would be to put him down.  The old man brushed his moustache with the back of his hand so that his fingers would cover up his eyes and said he didn’t believe he was ready to do without Old Tom right now.  Maybe in a day or so, but not right now.

So the two of them shuffled out to the car and drove off together.  Now the old man had a problem. It was the middle of March and bird season was long since closed.  But more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, he wanted the dog to hear one more shot and feel the whirr of one more flush.

March or no, the old man took a vigil near the swamp that night and marked down two or three birds as they came in to roost.  And promptly at six the next morning, the two gentlemen marched down together through the morning mist, as they had done countless times before… and as one of them hoped they would do countless times again in some other fields.

The play was faultless.  Old Tom drew himself up on point as proud as a puppy.  The old man’s shot was as true as a youngster’s – and the deed was done!

At the vet’s a half-hour later, his last bird cradled between his front feet, his nostrils filled with the scent of what he had lived for, Old Tom went to sleep.

The old man lets him rest up on a hillside facing the western sun…old folks appreciated the late afternoon warmth. And on the slate that makes the spot he scratched “Old Tom: A Faithful Friend for 12 Fine Years.”   On fair days when he thinks no one is watching, the old man goes up to the slate on the hillside and sits in the sun with a glass of whiskey and talks about times past with Tom.”


----------

