The Vocation of Fetch: Why Your Dog’s Pink Rubber Ball is a Matter of Life and Death (and Photography)

This particular Buddy, you see, is one of those creatures who takes the received wisdom about having a 'pal' in life and makes it his entire raison d'être. Not just for companionship, mind you, but because he views the entire human race as a vast, untapped workforce dedicated to one, singular, utterly vital task: playing fetch.

For Buddy, the moment a rubber ball arcs against the sky, preferably the particularly offensively pink sort, it's not a leisure activity. It's not a game. It is a vocation. A calling. A solemn, lifelong obligation to ensure that said ball is returned to the original launching pad with the speed and single-minded focus of a highly specialized ballistic missile.

Now, as a professional, I had to get my portraits. Buddy, thankfully, was surprisingly cooperative during the initial phase. He fixed his gaze on that dreadful pink orb with the laser like intensity of a Cold War general examining maps, a good pose was never in doubt, just so long as one didn't, you know, drop the ball so to speak (and believe me, the pressure not to utter such a cliché was almost as intense as his stare). We rattled through the headshots in record time, largely because he understood that every click of the camera was merely a brief, irritating preamble to the main event: more fetch.

Then came the action shots. I had a quick chat with his 'mum' about the trajectory, got what I thought was a sensible estimate of the maximum range of her throwing arm, and settled down on the ground. A nice, low angle, ready to capture the dynamism.

What followed, I can only describe as a fundamental failure in my understanding of basic physics, human strength, and the sheer, unadulterated velocity achievable by a dog consumed by duty. My estimation of distance, it turns out, was shall we say, wildly misguided. I'd barely managed to frame the scene when I was informed of my spatial incompetence by a bright pink blur whistling about an inch over my head, instantly followed by the furry, four-legged embodiment of the aforementioned vocation.

One moment I was basking in the delight of securing truly superb action shots (if I do say so myself), and the next, a tidal wave of panic was washing over me. The ground started to thrum, a veritable thunder of paws. as this canine rocket, utterly blind to all obstacles, threatened to conquer every single piece of photographic equipment (and soft human flesh) that stood in his glorious path.

It was, objectively speaking, a near miss. A hair's breadth from total professional disaster. But boy oh boy, were those action shots worth it. The intensity, the blur, the absolute commitment... it was magnificent. Just needed to remember to check my life insurance policy later.