AM CH Amigold On A Wing NA Prayer CD MH WCX VCX DDHF OS ***
(AM CH Celestial Cirius Jake CDX JH WC VC CGC OS SDHF x HRCH Amigold Singin' In The Rain UD SH WCX VCX **)
May 15, 1997 to November 7, 2008
Always remembered, owned, bred & Loved by Terry Lynn Thornton & Jim Ramsey
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"SABRE"
The 1st Golden in over a quarter of a century to have a Bench Championship and ALL-Age Field Trial Points!!!
Terry's tribute to Sabre "T"
In November of 2008 I lost my lodestar and heart dog at 11 ½ years of age--way too young!--to what we think is a strange form of hemangioscarcoma. Since that day my hand has reached out countless times to touch his head--and has come back empty. It’s so hard to accept that this dog--my gentle, sweet, kind, funny, talented, handsome boy--is gone where I can no longer touch him.
Sabre was nothing I ever expected and everything I ever wanted in a dog. He was briefly famous for being the first AKC bench champion to obtain all age AKC field trial points (in multi-breed stakes, no less, and more than one, to boot) in over 26 years—not since his great great grandfather, Quar, had any golden accomplished that. In fact, I was assured by many older and wiser pundits that no other golden could ever accomplish that again—we had split the breed too wide open. So that was a heady rush when it actually happened—my whole breeding program has been based on trying to produce a true dual golden—but it wasn’t the real story.
The real story, you see, was the total joy and fun of owning and running and being beside this furry goofball. Because Sabre had that kind of personality—the ultimate gentleman in a tuxedo and tennis shoes; polite and polished but ready to accelerate out for a bird (or a cookie) at breakneck speed over any obstacle in his path, and then ready again to go splash in the water fountain after the formal dance was over.
Sabre never met a person or dog he didn’t like. He was a goodwill ambassador for the breed, and never seemed to have a bad day. His intense desire for the retrieve and pin point marking forced many a lab devotee to admit to grudging admiration. The last field trial judge who called him “Fluffy” at the line ended up with mud clods on his face when Sabre dug in and launched off the line for the flier. It was a quietly satisfying moment to watch the judge wipe his face and say, “well….” (we Jammed that Amateur stake of 68 entries—mostly labs--by the way).
Was he a perfect dog? Not in the slightest. His passion for the retrieve combined with a bit of a hard head led to the most retrieves of poison birds of any all age retriever in the universe (or so I believe). Ed Aycock commented that he was the only dog he’s ever seen literally climb up a mesquite tree to fetch a poison duck hanging there. He was handsome, and a very good specimen of the standard, but his head wasn’t classic and his ears were, well, let’s say, well represented. But he was solid, balanced, light on his feet, and could move all day long easily both in the show ring and in the field.
Was a great dog? I’d like to think so. He took the combination of rugged good looks with the fire of a hard going retriever and married them perfectly. Calm and gentle when not on the retrieve line, it was hard to believe how tough he could be in the field. He left nothing behind when he left the line, unless it was remembering how to cast away from a poison bird. It was so hard to pull him from the field at age 5 to grow coat and show him (it took a year, and I had to grit my teeth at how long it took to get the field stains and wear and tear out of his coat and turn it into what we insist on having in the show ring today. “Hard working condition” as set forth in the standard does not seem to apply to the outer layer.).
Today’s field trials are physically tough on the big dogs, and Sabre had lots of bone and mass to move around out there. Pounding out for 300 and 400 yard marks 4-6 times a week started to take a toll when he reached 8 years of age, and when I noticed some pastern limping, I pulled him from the field. Yes, I could have medicated him and kept him out there to try and reach that AFC goal, but that was not the deal he and I made when I first held him at one minute of age, wet and squirming in my hands. So he came home, and had been home with me, every day, for the last three and a half years, snoring in my bed, playing with the new pups (he was the best dog in the world with puppies; he would roll over and let them have their way), going for walks, swimming, and learning tracking. Five days before his death he retrieved a few ducks and ran a 120 yard track. Life was good, even if it was to be cut short.
When he went into surgery that dreadful night, I held him tight and told him I loved him, and he owed me and the rest of the world nothing, that he had done all that we had asked plus three hundred times more, and that wherever he went, part of my heart would go, too. Those were the last words he would hear on this side of the Bridge. Despite his obvious pain, he thumped his tail and squinted his eyes at me. So I know he heard me and was telling me, in his doggy way, that he loved me too, and that he forgave me for all the times I had sent him away to field training, away to bench showing, away, away, so much time away from my side, so he and I could prove to the world that we don’t have to have a split in this breed.
His legacy lives on now in his talented kids and in my memories. I am so blessed, so very blessed, to be able to say I once loved, and was loved by, a truly great dog. All I can do is hope that others honor his legacy by remembering the purpose and truth of this wonderful, majestic, outstanding breed of which we are the caretakers and garden tenders. Choose wisely, friends, in your breedings and your actions. These are retrievers.
Godspeed, my own Sabre T. We’ll keep the lights on for you.
Terry Thornton,
Amigold Retrievers,
December 2008
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