For his entire adult life, Fallen Wings Moondust (a.k.a. "Rascal") has belonged to an outdoor writer. His frequent appearances in several major magazines probably have made him the most famous English cocker in the United States, though certainly not the best. Much of his work has gone public through stories and photos, for which his owner was paid.

At age 8, Rascal toughed it out for this wild prairie ringneck--his favorite game.

Additionally, at one point he spent several months at Grand Ciel Lodge in South Dakota, working for Brad Boisen's clients. Because he has mostly stayed healthy and is too little to eat even an outdoor writer out of house and home, Rascal has greatly contributed to the Mason family bottom line. I suppose all of this makes Rascal a "professional" hunting dog.

But the old pro cannot go on like this anymore. On July 18, 2008, Rascal turned 70 in dog-years. He is becoming noticeably less streamlined, and his eyes are starting to turn a little cloudy. Last winter he gave us a scare with an episode of urinary bleeding that made the vet suspect prostate cancer, until it went away after an emergency neutering. And some days he can barely drag himself up the basement stairs. His present state of decline hits me at a time when I am about to turn 40 (in human years), and this prompts me to reflect on his life.

Rascal came into our home in the spring of 2000 after failing to produce field trial wins for his previous owner. My wife and I had three daughters under four years of age at the time, and we didn't want the dog to be a baby, too. Rascal was a trained adult with most of the mischief out of his system, and he suited our family fine. He suited me, too--theologically, you might say. I've always believed a pretty good kingdom can be built out of losers, rejects and cast-offs.

In our first 18 months together, Rascal accounted for five species of upland birds in four states--pheasants, bobwhites, ruffed grouse, woodcock, and mourning doves. He later added Huns, chukars, ducks and snow geese to the list. At eight years of age, he retrieved eight snow geese from a large pond one morning when the shooting was hot and heavy.

One of those birds was a 50-yard cripple that he swam down and captured after it tried to escape by diving. I don't mean to say Rascal is a great waterfowl dog. I only mean to say that he has never stopped looking for new ways to play the game.

Rascal and I have always differed on the question of which game he's best at. He loves pheasants more than anything else, and he thinks he's really good at hunting them. But I've enjoyed watching him the most in the grouse woods. We've never done a great deal of grouse hunting together, since we live a long way from grouse country, but Rascal has always looked about perfect to me when he hunts grouse and woodcock.

He wins most of our arguments, but the facts are on my side in this one. The very name "cocker" comes from the breed's early fame as a producer of European woodcock. Perhaps if they had ruffed grouse over there, Rascal's breed would have been called English grousers.