<b>Chump Change Max Oh Million
German wirehaired pointer
Oct. 22, 1992-Jan.13, 2007</b>
I remember the first bird he ever pointed, a woodcock. The first duck he ever retrieved, a drake wood duck.................and so many more....... and I remember the last bird he ever retrieved, a drake mallard on the North Dakota prairie.
There is an empty kennel in the back of my truck today, filled with memories. Today at the veterinarian's office we put my buddy down. It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. I had hoped he would pass in his sleep one night, dreaming of hunts long past. But it was not to be. I brought him home in December 1992, yet it seems like only yesterday he was a pup. How the time has past. He was my almost constant companion in the house, marshes, fields, and forests of Wisconsin, and the prairies and potholes of the Dakotas. We logged many hours afield and traveled endless miles on the road and on foot, in search of game. Together we bagged many birds and made many memories hunting as a team. I made many new friends. I rekindled old friendships because of hunting with him. My friends and I shot so many birds over him in his lifetime. He was tough as nails and fearless in the field, yet gentle as a lamb in the house. He taught me more about hunting, dog training, and finding birds, than I ever taught him. He was a bird finding machine.
Max became somewhat of a local celebrity. He was featured in many memorable articles written by the local newspaper's outdoors section editor. But through all the training days, tests, seminars, and hunts with friends, the times I was most proud of Max, there was no one there see him. It was just Max and I alone in the duck blind, or some secluded secret grouse covert we had found. Max, doing what he did best, finding, pointing, and retrieving birds. He amazed me so many times with his bird finding ability. He handled everything I could have hoped for in a dog, woodcock, late season ruffed grouse, running dakota rooster pheasants, cold November mallards, and big crippled canada geese, and he did it all well. He was truely a versatile gun dog. He was a joy to own, train, and hunt behind. If someone would ask after a day afield, a hunt test, or a training day, "Whose dog is that?" I was never ashamed to answer, "That is my dog."
Time has finally caught up to and stopped my old hunting dog...............when nothing else could.
<b>Wausau Daily Hearld
December 13, 1998
"A hunting dog for all seasons"
By Jim Lee
Quote:</b>
<b>With a mutton chop mustache and the lean musclar body of a football strong safety, Max does not prance through the forest, he rips through it. "I don't have any worries about someone stealing my dog," Carey says with a laugh. "He looks like a mutt." Actually Max looks more like the town tough, the unappreciated social outsider who is not about to back down from any challenge.....or from anybody's idea of what a grouse dog should look and act like.</b>
Thanks for the all years, the hunts, and the memories Max....long may you run.
Dennis
<b>Breaking ice Nov. 20, 1997 Lake Wausau </b>
<b>Opening day at the Mead 2002</b>
<b>The First goose I ever shot, and Max ever retrieved 1994 </b>
<b>Thanksgiving morning Lake Wausau 1999</b>
<b>My hunting buddy Ron and Max long retired Oct. 2006</b>
<b>Max and I on his last North Dakota pheasant hunt 2002</b>
