Who’s your Bobby?

lonepunman

LSB Active Member
LoneStarBoars Supporter
I usually think of Bobby Seward when rolling out to guide a hunt, which is every couple of weeks.

(I use this term for taking primary responsibility for another hunters activity and safety; hitshoorezhell does not refer to any payment received).


To a 12 year old city kid, Bobby was living the country mouse dream.

He lived in tiny La Vernia, Texas; his mom worked with mine. Occasionally, she would spend a weekend afternoon at her place and I would tag along. Their spread was probably about 500 acres, complete with small and large stock, hay fields and a creek running through.

I would have done anything required by God or man to live there.

With two sisters being busy socializing and a dad who liked the bottle a bit much, Bobby was all too familiar with the practical day-to-day demands of this idyllic country life. Somehow, he still made time for me when I came over. This was particularly remarkable, as he was 17 years old.

I was useless, of course, but willing to offer my feeble assistance while he mended a fence, stacked hay, or tackled a stubborn carburetor on the tractor. Belle, his dog of indefinable genetic origin and intractable loyalty, was always with us, and without doubt more useful than I.

He was the first to put a fishing rod in my hands, and introduced me to the joys of pulling channel cats off a trotline from a wobbly john boat in the middle of the night. He played football, listened to Merle on cassette, and annoyed the cute diner waitress enough to squirt ketchup on him.

Right before she agreed to go out with him.

In my eyes, Bobby was a giant among men, then and now. Much of my affinity for the wild is due to his influence and effort. I don’t know where he ended up, but over the years have saluted his memory with cold water, hot coffee, flat beer and rough bourbon.



But here’s why I think about Bobby when I take someone out into the field...

Years later, I learned that he took a friend out one afternoon and, somehow mistaking her for a coyote, his companion shot and severely wounded Belle.

And Bobby had to shoot his own dog.

The high price he paid for his kindness still saddens me.



So tonight, in front of the fire with my own faithful beast, I raise yet another glass in salute to Bobby...

And to those who have guided each of us.
 
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Chopperdrvr

Deep East Tx
SUS VENATOR CLUB
Here's to Bobby! I hope 15 y/o rum on ice will suffice. I too have felt the sting of having to put down a faithful companion and it's something that stays with you for a lifetime. He deserves a salute.
 

Ratdog68

LSB Official Story Teller
LSB TURKEY BUZZARD PRESERVATION SOCIETY
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Haven't put one down myself, but held one as the Vet put her down. The part which made it hardest was the phone call from my step mother to ask me to do it that morning (no preparation). I'd gotten this pup for my dad, and they lived with me for a good number of years after he retired, and before he met/married my step mother. The girl was 14 years old, and we'd buried dad the year before. Cheers to Bobby Seward over a cold beer (here).

Sorry, I missed half the point of the thread. My "Bobby" was Roy. We grew up in the same church, but didn't really connect until our late teens. We were best friends for 40 yrs., he was my hunting partner, he taught me various home repair chores, we would call each other to brainstorm sorting through car troubles. We swapped engines, transmissions, running gear. We camped together, enjoyed various types of guns, archery. You name it, we seemed to share the joy of it together.

Two years ago, he developed a nagging cough and was feeling run down. He'd gotten colon cancer, which metastasized to his lungs (he never smoked a day in his life). The following year was hell... watching him fail in health, running to the hospital time and again. You need to be strong and be the anchor for your best friend and his wife as they fight, but, find your fight is a solitary one as you watch your anchor's line fail. I was fortunate enough to be at his side as he took his last breath at home, where at least 20 family/friends were all around him. I had the honor of praying with him before he took his last breath. The past year has been a time of adjusting... to not having that person to call and talk to when life throws stuff at you, nor, how to cope with the loss of your best friend. Nearly 400 people were present at his Memorial Service. He was an average guy (in the eyes of the Social/Money/Power types), but, he greatly impacted all who knew him. He married his sweetheart, they raised two wonderful kids, and were breaking ground for their home to retire when he got sick.

Not only were we best of friends, we were "family" as well. His older sister is my first cousin's wife (the cousin I went hunting with this fall). Now, as I take people on driving lessons, the route I take for teaching them how to drive on the freeway, I glance over towards his burial spot as we drive passed the cemetery. Roy was 62. A little more than a year later, curiosity got the best of me and I swung in to see his grave marker. His, melts in with all the others, but, having known him... that brings the significance to his.
 
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J BAR K

Just trying to make a day.
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LoneStarBoars Supporter
I think my Bobby was a combination of several people. My Dad, a uncle and several great uncles. I think of all of them often and the little ( and big ) things they taught me. I just wished I had paid more attention.
The loss of a faithful companion is always tough. One of mine died as I carried in to the vet, a second I held as the the vet took the pain of his cancer away. So this morning I’ll raise my coffee mug to the memory of them all. Good story, great memories.
 
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