A new year and our first grandson

You don’t always get what you want, but like the old Rolling Stones song, sometimes you get what you need.
The phone rang shortly after I got back to the house on the final day of pheasant season.
Audrey’s water had broken and she was on the way to the hospital.
Barb and I gave it little thought before loading the dogs back in the truck and starting the 300-mile trip to Bozeman.
The birth of our third grandchild, following so closely on the death of my father, wasn’t an event we were going to miss.
I had expected to spend the rest of the afternoon watching bowl games on TV. It was New Year’s Day, and I’d spent the morning on the refuge with the dogs. The birds were few and scattered, but after a couple of hours Spot finally flushed a rooster and I dropped it in the cattails.
One was enough on this last day of what had been a very long -- and at times trying -- season.
My dog Scout was killed by a rattlesnake in September. A few weeks later Spot ripped her belly open on a barbed-wire gate. Our house in Bozeman hadn’t sold nearly as quickly as we had expected, putting a crimp in our move to Malta and then a week before Christmas, Dad died.
But Jem, the puppy we bought in Belgrade last fall, was fast turning into a real bird dog. Spot, no longer in Scout’s shadow, had matured and become a pleasure to hunt with.
And best of all, my daughter Audrey was expecting again.
We finally sold the house in early December, trucked the last of our belongings north, and settled in to begin a new chapter of our lives.
Then the phone rang and we were on the road again.
We watched the sun set behind the Little Rockies to end the first day of 2007 as we headed to the hospital in Bozeman, the rest of our trip across the middle of Montana lit by brilliant moon.
While I was glad to see the passing of 2006, it was a year I’ll always remember. After all, it was the year I quit my job, moved north, lost a very good dog and became an orphan.
This year, however, is already one to remember. Our first grandson, Isaac William Winfrey, arrived in the wee hours of January 2, bringing with him – just like a new year or a new season -- hope and promise.
I thank him for that.
It was just what I needed.
Happy New Year.
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net