By Vince Basehart
It is a truism: people are like
their dogs.
On a recent afternoon at Santa Monica’s
dog-friendly Joslyn Park, The Lens
spied a young woman simultaneously
listening to an I-pod, yelling into
a cell phone and text messaging
with another gizmo. Sympathetically,
a wiry little terrier spun in circles
at her feet, barking madly at the
air.
At the other side of the green expanse
stood a man built like a gymnast.
He was blonde, with a military bearing
and those single-paned, wrap-around
sunglasses men on serious missions
wear. Beside him crouched a similarly
compact and muscled Australian shepherd.
Both seemed to vibrate with intensity.
The gymnast hurled a Frisbee out
in front of him. A moment later,
as the disc began its downward arc,
the dog bolted as if it had been
spanked, kicking up turf as it ran.
Leaping higher than the man’s
shoulder, the shepherd snatched
the disc out of the air. If the
Westminster Kennel Club had a Jock
Group, this pup would sweep the
category.
When 32-year-old entrepreneur and
South Africa native Roger Carrabis
is not designing computer programs
for architects, he can be found
tossing the Frisbee to Max. But
their version of “fetch”
is like an Acapulco cliff diver’s
idea of “taking a dip.”
How many dogs do you know that regularly
jump a full seven feet to catch
a Frisbee in mid-air, all while
flipping and barrel rolling like
a Blue Angel?
Considering Max stands about two
feet at the shoulder, that’s
like a 5-foot 9-inch person jumping
10 feet or more.
While earning a Masters degree at
MIT, Carrabis enjoyed playing Frisbee
with his friends between classes
and was soon involved in Ultimate
Frisbee, a human-only sport that
elevates the game into a highly
athletic art form.
But, when he came to own and fall
in love with Max, it was only natural
to want to include him in the fun
and games.
Max, a herder by nature, quickly
demonstrated an outstanding ability
to track the famous flying Whammo
product on its long journey and
nab it. It was clear to Carrabis
that Max was better than other dogs.
“Within four months Max was leaping four feet high and
catching the disc cleanly.”
The greatest challenge for the canine prodigy was to not eat what
he caught.
“He probably went through a
dozen Frisbees before I could break
him of the habit,” Carrabis
explains. “And I don’t
buy the cheap ones.”
The duo started practicing, and when
they moved to Santa Monica, entered
the realm of serious competition.
Currently, they compete in about 10
tournaments a year throughout Southern
California, averaging two 1st place
rankings a year.
Carrabis talks about the gray mottled,
blue and brown-eyed superhund like
a corner man talks about a welterweight.
“Right now Max is in the sweet
spot” he says, referring to
the relatively short time span a dog
has between becoming proficient in
the sport, and old enough to risk
injury.
In one format, Freestyle, Carrabis
creates a 90 second routine set to
music demonstrating Max’s awesome
abilities to flip, spin, stand on
his hind legs, and even vault off
of Carrabis’ chest for sky-high
maneuvers. Max’s music of choice?
“Gun N Roses.”
Max is a serious dog. He panted politely
while his master answered questions,
but made it clear I was interrupting
his training. I shook his master’s
hand and bid them adieu. Max trotted
away, stopped, returned, gave my hand
a lick, and then dashed after the
Frisbee which was already airborne.
