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Reprinted from the Sept 2008 issue of the Club L'Epagneul Breton Inc' Vic' (Australia) newsletter (I was Editor at that time).
Thought those with gundogs might enjoy it.
I know they will empathise with it.

Bill Allen.

My Mate.

It has often been said that a man only ever has one good dog in his life time.
I don't necessarily subscribe to that line of thought.
I’ve been fortunate to own several extremely good dogs during my near 25 year association with the Epagneul Breton breed.
I do think however, that a man (or woman) may only have one really special dog in their lifetime.
Why that dog is special can only really be understood by that particular person.

Just over 13 years ago I paid my mate Alby Mangion a social visit.
Whilst there I was fortunate to see a pup he had bred being put through it’s paces.
I knew straight away that what I was witnessing was something very special indeed.
Never had I seen a pup with such natural ability, such an incredible nose, and such a depth of desire to retrieve. He loved the water and had the biggest heart I had ever seen.
He would go after anything that Alby could throw for him, no matter how thick the cover he faced.
I even have video of the young pup retrieving spanners and shifters that Alby would throw into the paddock for him.
Shortly after, Alby was kind enough to sell the young pup to me and so ‘Wayland Max’ and I first went home together.

Jump forward to 2008 - Just over a month ago I took Young ‘Ned’ (Max’s son) for a walk to the local swamp for a little retriever training. Max came along for the walk.
Little did I know then that at the completion of that session, Max and I would go home together for the last time.
On the evening of August 12th 2008 I said my final goodbye and laid my best mate to rest.
He was one month past his 13th birthday.
Perhaps it was fitting that it occurred on what is known in England and Scotland as ‘The Glorious 12th’ - the opening of the Scottish Grouse Hunting Season.

Max was no great trial winning dog, although we did do quite well in the end with a couple of wins and placings at Intermediate (Novice) level and Advanced (Restricted) retrieving
trials.
Max was one of those dogs that started slow and just kept getting better as the work progressed.
His 10th retrieve was always better than his 1st, but trials only allow 3 runs to get it right.
No, it was in the hunting field that Max rose above all others.
He never refused when I asked him to retrieve. His record is 387 pigeons in a single day’s
hunting. His nose never let him, nor I, down when he hunted.
Often he would find what others could not. He would retrieve what others would not.
The water was never too cold or flowing too fast. The mud was never too thick. The
birds never too smart. He would never give up whilst he could see or scent game.
Together we hunted quail, partridge, pheasant, duck, rabbit, hare, fox, and even the mighty Sambar Deer.

I had thrown 1 dummy too many for young ‘Ned’.
The smell of the nearby hare was just too enticing for him and he became distracted for a just few seconds. He lost the mark and ,not wanting to loose a good dummy, I thought I would
try old Max just one more time.
Even though he was blind in his left eye and could not see more than 5-10 feet out of
his other ‘good’ eye, he never hesitated or faltered when I gave him a line and quietly asked him to ‘fetch’ one last time.
On tired old legs he ambled slowly out into the swamp.
His giant heart again took him the distance and his brilliant nose once more pin pointed the dummy. Once more he delivered gently to hand and I gave him a loving scratch under his chin one last time.

I came home to find Max barely able to rise from his kennel to greet me, but still he made the effort. He had stopped eating a few days earlier and his big body was cold, even though he had his grandson ‘Buck’ to keep him warm in the kennel.
I worried that he was nearing the end of his journey.
Gently I picked him up and carried him inside to lie in front of the heater.
Max was never an overly affectionate dog, a scratch under the chin or behind the ear was all he ever
sought.
As I lay down with him he rested his big head on my arm, with his nose under my chin.
He looked into my eyes and I knew that he knew, his time had come.
I could not let him waste away any further and knew in my heart what had to be done.
A phone call was made to my mate Wayne Phelps and together that evening we buried the greatest
Epagneul Breton I have had the good fortune to know.

There will be other good dogs in my yard.
A man may have many good gundogs within his life.
But I will never have another ‘Wayland Max’.
Sleep well old Mate - you’ve earned it.

Bill.

I have done mostly what most men do.
And pushed it out of my mind.
But I can’t forget if I wanted to
Four feet trotting behind.
Day after day, the whole day through
Wherever my road inclined
Four-feet said: “I am coming with you”
And trotted along behind.
Rudyard Kipling.

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Bill Allen 'Windkael' Epagneuls Bretons. Melbourne Australia.

Edited by BillA (19/04/11 10:27 AM)

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