Clean Run Magazine - February 2010 - 5

Editorializing… It’s Time By Rick Parry I first thought of it in Pennsylvania. It was a cool spring morning, the sunlight poured over the mountains illuminating the rainbow pattern of a hot air balloon that was slowly drifting away from the fairgrounds. The quiet of the morning was interrupted by only the periodic sound of the burner heating the air that filled the balloon, and an occasional bark of a dog. The sky was clear, the wind calm, the grass covered in dew. It promised to be a perfect day for agility. The running order was small-to-tall and we were going to be the first team on the line to start the trial. I love opening a trial. The expectations of the weekend are high: people are full of anticipation, some are still half asleep. The ring is not full of emotions from previous runs. The ring is ours and we’re going to be the first to play. Perfect! We entered the ring and Percy started pulling on the leash, just like hundreds of times before. He was ready. Shortly after he was released from the start line I sent him to the outer jumps of a pinwheel. As I waited for him to finish the pinwheel, the morning sun shone directly on the ring. Suddenly my consciousness seemed to go into slow motion. I saw his every movement in slow motion: his muscles rippled under his fur, the dew flew off his paws with every step he took. I saw every effort he put forth to perform the jumps in great detail. As he committed to jump #6, the thought crept into my mind that somewhere along the way his agility career was going to end. It wasn’t going to be today, but this great ride would not go on forever. It was a light-bulb moment for me. At some point in the future I would have to make decisions about his career, but for now he was having fun and looking great on the course. His weight was good, he was in great physical shape, he was seven years old, and he had never sustained a significant injury. And after over 900 runs he was still excited to be in the ring. He completed the pinwheel quickly with an efficient path. The cool morning’s air really had him pumped up as he flew around the course. We headed to a discrimination between the A-frame and tunnel, and then it was off to the serpentine. My thought transitioned to our relationship. He trusted me to be his leader, to keep him safe, to provide for his needs, and to be his fun playmate. His total devotion to me was founded in my total devotion to him. I had to work to clear my thoughts: we entered a tricky set of jumps in a box formation followed by an odd dogwalk entry with a call-off from a tunnel. I did a front cross through the box of jumps, which kept him on course, and a slight RFP to smooth out the dogwalk entry. I gave him a short-sharp whistle and he didn’t even glance at the tunnel. He looked great on the dogwalk that morning with his running contact that took us years to perfect. After the dogwalk he went over a jump and into the weave poles. I stood at the exit of the weaves and called him through. As he entered the poles, my mind wondered off to the final day of our first agility class. He couldn’t even find the entry to the poles then; now it was our best obstacle. I thought of the games I had created to make weaving fun. We played every night for years to get to this point and he completed the poles just as I knew he would. We had to finish the course with jumps in a wide outside loop and a strong, fast finish through a jump chute. I continued to think of our time together having fun and playing games—training. I sent him out to the jumps that formed the loop; I stood about 25' away from him and watched him work. How many games had I created to get him to be obstacle focused and to move fast through the course? How long had it taken to develop his confidence to work at a distance? He looked slower today than the wild child he was at three years old. But his efficient line would give us a faster time than a faster dog that was less efficient. Percy taught me that. As he completed each jump I knew it would be one less jump that he would face in his career. My mind raced back to the inevitable fact: agility for him would be coming to an end someday. How would I know when it was the last run? Would I really want to know it was his last? As we ran down the jump chute I thought of conversations with others who had retired their dogs. Some people told me they retired their dogs when it was time. It was time? What did that mean? They told me, “You’ll know. Your dog might be perfectly healthy, not too old, but you’ll retire him because it’s time.” We completed the jump chute and the run was clean. But something more important was happening between Percy and me on that run. I was wrestling with my responsibilities to my teammate. When was enough enough? At what point would I violate my position as his leader by asking too much of him? That’s a violation I didn’t want to make. That run in Pennsylvania was about a year and a half ago. It feels like yesterday. Today Percy is healthy, eight and a half years old, and he just retired. Why? Because it was time. Now I understand. Rick Parry Rick Parry has been training in agility for over eight years and has competed in AKC, CPE, and NADAC. He has trained two of his own dogs (both Cardigan Welsh Corgis) and he has been an instructor for more than six years. He has helped students at the puppy, introductory, beginning, intermediate, and competition levels of instruction. Contact him at rickparry@verizon.net. February 10 | Clean Run 5

Clean Run Magazine - February 2010

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Clean Run Magazine - February 2010