From this…

The fix was in from the beginning. I had driven more than 500 miles from southwest Tennessee to the village of Tiskilwa in north-central Illinois. En route to the Chicago suburbs on business, I had taken a detour to stop and check out a litter of Chesapeake Bay retriever puppies. Don and Paula Smith, the owners/breeders, were waiting at their front door.

Led through their home into a fenced backyard where the puppies were sequestered, I had no sooner set a foot on the grass than I felt something tugging at my shoelace. The source of the commotion was a brown ball of mischief and innocence, eyes sparkling, tail wagging, radiating both energy and charm.

"That's the one, the female that you asked about on the phone," said Paula Smith, somehow managing a straight face. "I guess she found you before you found her."

There were a half-dozen puppies from which to choose, those remaining from a litter of 11, including a stocky bruiser the Smith's called "Goliath," the runt, and three others, all males. Then there was this bewitching female at my feet, who quickly moved on to other business, most notably pulling leaves off assorted tiger lilies lining a wooden fence.

…to this in just one year.

I talked with the Smiths about the puppies' parents, Remi, the bitch, and Gunner, the sire, both of which were on the premises. More than anything else, I wanted to gauge their temperament and their demeanor toward strangers. I never before owned a Chessie. And, like everyone else, I had heard stories about the breed's alleged aggressive behavior.

"They're babies," Don Smith said of Remi and Gunner. "Until we go duck hunting." I asked the Smiths to let Remi and Gunner out of their kennel run. The dogs did not so much as look at me, let alone do anything threatening, even though I was picking up each of their puppies and inspecting them one at a time. While I was leaning toward a female, the males were too handsome to pass up without a closer look.

One in particular struck my fancy. But the pesky female was back again, scratching at my pant leg.

Four days later, after completing my business, I returned to Tiskilwa. The Smiths' daughter was sitting on the living room sofa, a female Chessie pup asleep on her lap. I felt terribly guilty when I packed that puppy in a battered crate and loaded her into the car. But this one was mine. I named her Kayla. She was to become my duck dog.