Clean Run - July 2017 - 40

My first time in Tuesday night seven thirty class
was an audition of sorts. I was new and
Gustavo was young and somewhat feral. I
turned my back for a moment, and looked
up to see him dashing across the field
with a stolen plastic bag of hot dog
chunks covering his head, asphyxiating
himself in a bliss of smokey, porky goodness. I had to run out on the field during
someone's turn and capture him and offer crumbly, stale apology biscuits to the
Shelties who were now out of meat.You
ever seen a Sheltie when you take away their
hot dogs? Not a pretty sight. I wasn't sure if I'd
be invited back, but by the grace of dog I was invited
into the fold and I remain there to this day.
All us students have modified our job schedules as teachers, lawyers, nurses, dog groomers, people who do things I
do not understand in offices, and self-employed artist/horse
trainers so we can leave work at the exact o'clock to swear
our way through the traffic and still make it down the driveway in the nick of time. Our part of the world here ranks as
second worst traffic in the USA, so making it in that nick of
time takes a lot of time. Some life events, we might blow off
because of the traffic, but definitely not agility class.
We claim our plastic chairs. Dogs sit wherever they need to. Gustavo always sat quietly on his own chair, with his leash wrapped
around a little post, now he stays home because he's been downgraded to homeschooling only. Banksy has to stay contained in
her little fold-up crate with the door facing away from the agility.
Took a long time til she could even sit there, her screamy carrying on required banishment to the parking lot for her entire first
year of class. Maybe someday she'll lay quietly in the grass waiting
her turn calmly watching the other dogs. Or not.
I try to remember to pack a water dish. Bring some treats.
The toy and my special shoes live in the car. I learned the hard
way, that a car with the aroma of damp agility shoe insides is
a worthwhile trade-off compared to running a course in Ugg
boots. Woe to anyone who forgets their agility shoes.
There may be cookies, margaritas, or egg rolls
for dinner when there's an event to celebrate. This used to be a really big deal.
Worthy of a large boxes of fancy cupcakes from the expensive cupcake shop.
I've noticed over the years, a MACH
or an ADCH has become pretty much
par for the course and now we whoop
it up for about thirty seconds with a
box of crackers from Trader Joe's, then
it's back to business. The week before
Christmas someone brings a fine wine and

we drink out of plastic cups and it tastes great. I
think there used to be dog birthdays with cake,
and now I think there aren't. Maybe we're
jaded, we've transformed into grizzled old
timers who have been there, done that. Plus
we're eating paleo and watching out for
the carbs. The less dessert party, the more
runs we get.
There are constants in our class. Deenie
will be a good girl. Jen will curse like a sailor.
Christy is the one barking. Lindy will do a
victory lap with her toy to the far end of the
field and take her own sweet time coming back.
In my quest for the fastest line I will find the longest
possible line and then hold up the walk through to debate
the merits of turning left vs. right. These things are all a guarantee. We're supportive of each other; we feel the pain of bars
and off-courses. But we also like to throw down a challenge.
Carlos got there for the serp? Game on.
Our job as students is to set the bars and pick up the cones.
12-16-20-22-24. Agility class has a lot of ups and downs. Our
other big job is to listen. At some point, it's guaranteed we're
going to be chatting too much and our teacher will eye us,
bunch of ingrates that we are. Not to name names, but my
teacher is Nancy Gyes, national agility legend, who holds more
training wisdoms in her pinky nail than I'll ever have in my
all my fingers, toes, knees, and elbows combined. While her
wealth of knowledge is trying to explain the finer points of
something out on the field, it's not uncommon for members
of class to be huddled in the corner yacking about the abysmal new immigration policy or cat leggings and guinea pigs,
and nobody knows what she just said about the threadle. So
we take our turns to run it and every time somebody messes
up that spot she's all, "Yeah that's a threadle."
She still loves us. I think. If she squeezes her lips together and
pauses before she says, "Yeah, that's a threadle," for the fourth
time, she does not love us at that moment. But then one of us
knocks it out of the park and she does again. We are not unteachable. Some of us just have a tendency to do the wrong
thing at the wrong time in the wrong place. Over
and over again. Until we don't.
I've done agility for a really long time. I have my
own students to pass down hopefully useful
wisdoms to. Do I really still need to go to
class? Couldn't I just figure it all out on my
own by now?
Maybe. I don't know. Probably not. Just try
and get me to miss one Tuesday night, it's
not going to happen. See you in class!D

Laura Hartwick spends a lot of time trying to get better at agility and walking around on a perennial vision quest in the forests of the Santa Cruz Mountains with the
brave dogs of Team Small Dog. You can find her at www.teamsmalldog.com.
40

Clean Run | July 17

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