In the Beginning

In the beginning Max, or Maxi, I don't know officially which as yet, as I haven't been given his street credentials to date, was purchased, at three months old, for the princely sum of 25,000 rupees, 600 quid, in order to live in a field surrounded by a 3 metre high fence. Said field was 500 metres from the nearest road and despite being called a farm consisted of 2 containers, various piles of wood offcuts, sacks and a wood chipping tractor attachment. Max was there to deter wood chip thieves, despite the fact any old dog would do as Mauritian's, as with most third world folk, are terrified of the smallest of dogs. But the South African Boss Chipper wanted the best and was going to pay for it. And then three months later paid for it, in a different manner, when he decided to move his operation back to his homestead in Balaclava where the presence of Max would cause a problem with his other hounds. So who wanted to take on a, now, six month old Dobermann? 

Dear Frankie

Oliver, of French Mauritian extract, who is a foreman for the African, lives next door to Johanna, my landlady, of similar extraction though more hoity toity, rather Grand Cru to Vin de Table, shall we say. And so while he is unsuccessfully searching for a new home for Max, with the deadline for abandoning the farm looming, hears that I might be interested since dear Frankie, my German Shepherd, passed away 6 months ago. And so contact is made, Oliver explains the situation and would I be interested? Well, to be honest, I haven't really known any Dobermann's personally and, yes, I know they're highly intelligent, loving and trainable etc and their reputation is rather more due to the irresponsible twats who are looking to bolster their macho image and consequently don't do the training bit, but I've always been rather nervous at the thought of taking one on. But I said I'd go by and have a gander and so rang Jerone, the occasional watchman cum Max feeder and arranged to be there at 9.00 the following morning.

The so called Farm & bags of wood chips

After half an hour of going up and down dead ends I finally hit on the right track and arrived at the fenced in plot, Jeronneless, but with the gate wide open. And there was Max, mammoth for only 6 months and looking every bit the very serious dog of a Dobermann I'd imagined. Except I never imagined he could've got so huge at 6 months. Prancing around and semi growling, but never crossing the line of the open gate, he had no problem deterring me from entering. And that is what immediately impressed me as I've always been amazed at dogs not crossing their boundaries, especially when there has been no training involved, as not an iota of training had so far gone in to Max. And so for ten minutes or so I stood my ground outside the gate and Max stood his inside. Although, of course, there had to be the inevitable little mutt, a stray, who make up at least 50% of the dog populous on the island, but Max's only mate, barking away and winding the whole situation up. No probs though and off I went, only to go through a similar scenario in the afternoon. The next afternoon though Jerone was there feeding Max his dinner, a washing up bowl sized portion of mushy white rice and chicken feet. Max was treating it rather like a Tombola, which I used to find frightfully exciting as a kid, though I can't remember seeing one in the last 40 plus years. A third of his head would disappear in to the mush, snuffle about, and come back out with a chuck's foot. Jerone insisted he scoffed the lot, but he didn't while I was there and anyway so much starchy rice couldn't be good for him... 
Deadline's drawing near, though I don't know what their alternatives are, so do I want a potential ten year plus Dobermann project? Getting more and more tempting, but first I'll get Mauritius' only dog trainer, that I've heard of, give Max the once over. Louise says he'll meet me at nine on Saturday, in 2 days time. So meanwhile, not that I've committed of course, I buy a collar, lead and gristle bone and go by the field a couple of times so Max can register me. He's wary and keeps his distance, but not aggressive, despite the little mutt yapping away.