MISCHIEF MO(A)NDAY

BON CHEW & COWCOW,

as promised we are back with our adventures from our trip. The journey started weird, because on the way to germany we made a layover for the NAT test  in Amblie, lower normandy. That’s a tiny village with 108 noses.

…. woooah how da inmates looked at more than 100 cars what entered their village…. there was not one street there what was not occupied by peeps and pets… and in a long pawrade we went out to da fields where we started in groups sorted by breeds…

… we were around 20 weimaraners and an australian shepherd who watched the event with his momma….

…the test site  was a fresh plowed field and the berds were placed in the green area behind in a swede field…. the weather was super sh*tty so the fields turned into a swamp and to say it in advance, we had one butt whopper and a sunken camp chair in our group  and 87 boots and wellies and pants and egos  what were ruined forever…

…around us on every field were other groups and within minutes we had a complete war scenery with barking dogs, whistles, gun shots and screaming people… WE LOVED THAT!!!! there can not be enough chaos and mayhem ….

…and after we waited for 87 hours because the judge forgot da berds, the NAT test started…. butt not in the way da judges eggs-pected…. the most peeps had no clue how such a test works, they watched videos and read books and so the furst turn ended in a disaster and we needed new berds because they decided to fly to a more interesting place before they die with boredom…

….and while we waited for da next berds the judge tried to give us a crash lesson…  butt his eggsplanations caused only WTF faces, we had no clue about wind and direction and stopping and retrieval…. the conditions were: the dog has to find the hidden berd, it has to stop at the berd till the judge counts to 4, then the handler puts the leash on, they flush the berd, shot in the air to test the shot resistance of the dog and that was it…. in theory… but practically the most of us never trained with a living berd, the mama used a frozen pigeon and a zapped partridge and there is a huge difference between dead or alive… like it happens often…

….and so fate took it’s course…. the judge called the convicts in groups of two to da field and while one had to wait the other one faced  it’s armageddon

…so many peeps came back with sad faces and the heart of the mama was deep in her pants as they called our name…

….and da nelly was totally over the top from all the noises and the new situation, but nevertheless with wobbly knees we waddled to da battle field…

…. we could not do a video or photos of our test, butt believe us, it was horrible…..  da Nelly found the furst berd within seconds (YAY!) butt he immediately tried to get it without stopping or pointing… the berd flew away and da Nelly chased it till Timbuktu, while he ignored the whistle and the egg-cessive screaming of the mama… FAIL! The mama was in a state she feared for da Nelly who ran over the fields like a berserk, there were weapons included and there was a street, so she was frantic and screamed till the judge said if she called 30 times, she can skip the 31st call , she can only wait… and fortunately da runaway came back to her without causing mischief or disturbing others…

…the second try was better, da Nelly stopped at the berd and the thumbs of da dad and the other particeps criminis went up in the air…. butt the judge said NO! he counted only to two so another fail. WHAT????

…at this point the mama acted like a strong woman and cursed and cried and her hooves stumped into the ground, because she really thought we made it…DANG!

….and before the mama died with rabies on a swede field in normandy we got a third try. Butt da Nelly was pooped and he passed the berd in a distance of maybe 8 inches, he didn’t smell it nor could  he  see it and he also didn’t hear the berd although it squawked. Then the  mama tried to cheat and  to find the berd by herself to call da nelly by, butt that trick was not new, the judge saw it too many times that day and said nope, it’s the job of the dog,  not yours….

…and so we joined the sad looking crew and waited for da post mortem…

…and it came like a boomerang… they said it was the worst result since Duke Karl August invented the weimaraner in 18th century. The champion title is now so far away for us  as planet Melmac and we are not sure if we do it  again. There are things between heaven and earth you can not learn in theory from a book or a video, you just have to do them many times for real to be prepared for a hunting test.

…butt we met a lot of nice people and pets , some we still knew from shows and new friends we maybe will met in da future again, if we and they are mad enough to accept such a challenge again…

…and apart from that, the only good thing that day was that we hadn’t to wear the warning vests the mama made for us with her  own paws from a warning vest for people… after all we think she better had worn that vest by herself, because in stress situations she is a public danger…

…in the afternoon we left normandy eastwards and we jumped with joy and pleasure that we have 1000 kilometers on the road after we buried our ego and our dignity in the muddy grounds of Amblie…

…and to make this mischief mo(a)nday to a real sh*t day, we can tell you that the x-ray appointment last thursday ran down on our legs like pee, because of power blackouts the unit was damaged and the vet had to reschedule our appointment to october 31th… happy howl-o-ween…bleeding hell!

HAVE A GOOD MO(A)NDAY ALL