Maxwell Comes From Conformation Lines...

...but maybe he has some field blood in him too?

I was immensely proud of Maxwell today. The sheer number of distractions is what usually does us in, and in the beginning, he was all over the place.

All the other hunters, the other dogs, every tasty morsel at nose level in this big, beautiful world he's just beginning to learn about...

But lo and behold, he started to settle in. He listened to my commands, most especially the one we've been working so hard on "Sit, stay.", (yes, quivering from tail tip to muzzle, but sitting nonetheless) and resisting all urges to yield to the sheer anticipation.

Then, it was time.

We were released to do our thing. We moved to the edge of the group, and systematically started working our assigned grid, row by row by row.

It was then that Maxwell first heard the call that awakened some pure-blooded instinct from deep within his ancestral DNA. A call he had never heard before, but knew so well.

And again the pheasant crowed.

Maxwell's head came up, ears at attention, chest puffed out, legs braced wide in their confident stance, his tail flagging high and proud in the breeze.

And his eyes.

Oh, his eyes:

Pure, unadulterated intensity.

It was easy to tell that in that very moment there was only him; me, his master; and the marked prey--hearts all beating in unison as a primal, pulsing drumbeat.

Time stood still.

Then everything went into slow motion as the proud bird began to fall from his lofty flight, colors glistening in the light. Inexorably being pulled to Earth, no longer free of the grasp of gravity itself.

Maxwell, begged, pleaded, implored to be released, straining against the nylon of his harness.

So we went.

And when Maxwell claimed his prize, a prouder retriever has never been seen.

I caught a quick picture.


 

  

What? Oh, surely you didn't think...

By hunters of course I meant bargain hunters at Petsmart. And row, by row, I meant the store aisles!


But seriously, do you think he might have some field drive? 

Maxwell's Big Adventure

After a very exciting and well behaved trip to Petsmart the other day, I decided to broaden our horizons a bit and we headed out to a local walking trail/park.

When we got there we started down the trail practicing our sits to greet everyone and we were getting all kinds of attention. Max was soaking it up--the sun was shining, the breeze was cool, the birds were singing, the squirrels were playing...

And...enter that mom. You know which one I mean--the one pushing the fully loaded double stroller with three other kids under the age of 5 orbiting like drunken moons around a wobbly planet.

You know, "Tommy if you don't get your bottom back here so-help-me-I'm-gonna...!!!"

Yes. That one.

I see you know her.

I saw them before they saw us and started looking for an escape route--our options were ankle deep mud on one side, huge puddle on the other.

And then the next thing I knew, they were upon us.

"EeeeeeeEEEeee, a PUPPPY!!" one of the kids shrieked.

And then like a voracious band of jackals they surrounded us.

Briefly the thought flashed across my mind to unhook Max's leash so at least he had a fighting chance.

"Be free Maxwell, run like the wind, don't worry about me, save yourself!"

Actually Maxwell did amazingly well under the circumstances. He got between my legs and laid down, keeping calm, even as the monsters circled and pounced and squealed and sneezed, all the while breathing their putrid stink of destruction in our faces.

"Sorry about that," mom mumbled, "There's just so many of them..."

After several minutes the mom made some halfhearted attempts to drag the demons...err children away from us, so I went ahead and picked Maxwell up, and we made our escape, clinging to the frayed threads of our very lives...

And that was just the beginning.

Man it's a rough world out there!

Just sayin...

[This post made possible by the owner of a brace of unleashed Jack Russells ("They bite me if I try to put their leashes on..") and the City of Mansfield Dept of Parks & Rec whose spring mowing has converted all the winter windfall dead sticks into convenient puppy size bites.]

Here's a few photos from today, taken while we caught our breath before jumping back into the fray to head back to the car:

Eleven Weeks

More Photos

Coming to check out the camera.

Quite the dapper young fellow.

Sad that the mowers cut his favorite patch of long grass.