Tampa, FL, May 12th, 2025–Written by Mark Kercher
Growing up, our family home was always filled with pets—mostly dogs, and of nearly every breed imaginable. But it wasn’t until my early teens that I discovered a deeper connection to animals through the outdoors. My father introduced me to hunting, and it quickly became more than a hobby—it became a way of life.
We only hunted for the table, and I came to appreciate the rhythm of the seasons and the diversity of wild game. I developed a deep love for bird hunting, especially dove, snipe, quail, and most of all—ducks. There was something about the challenge of waterfowl that drew me in, but retrieving downed birds over water while trudging through muck in waders was grueling work. That’s when I realized: I needed the right dog by my side.
I dove into research on water dogs, reading everything I could find. Eventually, I landed on what seemed like the perfect choice—a Labrador Retriever. I bought my first black Lab and named her Tar. I poured hours into training her, and she took to it with spirit and drive. Tragically, she passed away at just three years old from what the vet diagnosed as nephritis.
My second black Lab, Mick, had a different kind of drive—he was always wandering off in search of lady dogs, no matter how much I tried to train him. Sadly, he was struck by a car during one of his escapades.
It wasn’t until my forties that I seriously considered finding another hunting companion. A good friend of mine mentioned a new litter of black Labs from an exceptional lineage of retrievers. I met the breeder and, after sharing my story, she kindly offered me the first pick of the litter. I visited the pups frequently and spent time with each one, testing them on a series of tasks to evaluate their instincts and temperament. After weeks of observation, I chose the best of the bunch—a spirited little male I named Harley.
From the moment I brought him home, Harley was by my side. He was more than just a dog—he was my best friend. Harley excelled in field trials and quickly proved to be an exceptional hunter, retrieving ducks with ease and precision. He joined me and my two sons on countless hunts, and whether in the field or riding shotgun in my truck, Harley was always there.
For 16 incredible years, Harley was my partner in life and in the field. He passed away in my arms on Thanksgiving Day 2007 after suffering a stroke. It was one of the hardest days of my life.
I still see him sometimes, sitting beside me on the bench seat of my old truck, ears perked, eyes sharp, heart full. The bond we shared was unshakable. I’ve never tried to replace Harley—truthfully, I know I never could.
Loving a dog that deeply is both a blessing and a curse. But I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. Harley, my old sweet boy, will always ride with me—in memory, in spirit, and in heart.
Mark@TheDirtDog.com | (941) 748-1000
