Clean Run Magazine - March 2009 - 5

Editorializing… Not Today By Donna Gates King It’s 49° below outside. I grab my parka, boots, hat, and mitts for the 100-yard trudge through the snow to my training barn. I’ll need a blazing fire in the big barrel stove in there if I hope to train later this afternoon. But running the dogs is not in the cards today. My personal cut-off temperature for that is 20° below. I run my three dogs loose, while I ride an ATV or snow machine, four to eight miles a day, five days a week, pretty much year round. I wimp out when the mercury gets too low. On a snow machine, 15-20 mph is blooming cold no matter what kind of gear I am bundled in. The dogs don’t care about the temperatures (well, except maybe my Golden Retriever). They are masters now at acclimating to our interior Alaskan winters. My agility addiction has fostered all kinds of ludicrous behaviors. The snow crunches under my boots while I make my way through the morning darkness to the barn. My dogs run circles around me in ecstasy and sprint to the barn door in anticipation. (So much for control.) I kick at the base of the door while I heave with my shoulder to break the frosty ice coating that builds around the inside of the door with the changing temperatures. I am convinced that the scraping screech as the door gives way is now a true example of a classically conditioned response. I wish I could imitate that sound when I release my dogs from the start line. I give my dogs the okay to enter the barn and they explode into the blackness. I fumble for the light switch. It will take a while for the lights to wake up as I tenuously feel my way across the sand and sawdust floor. The dogs are already in search of the weasel that lives in the gigantic woodpile. The little guy likes to climb out along the birch logs and watch us train. Sometimes he’ll even run along the side of the building to change vantage points. It is a symbiotic relationship. He’s great for our distraction training, and in return, he’s able to thrive on the abundance of dropped and lost-forever treats that we leave riddling the sand floor. The wood stove door creaks open. I crumple up the newspaper and throw it in along with some kindling. The match reluctantly sparks to life and blows out before it gets to its destination. A few more tries and the paper transforms into flames and smoke. I trundle back and forth delivering logs for sacrifice to the agility gods. The whole procedure has become extremely rote. I don’t think about what I am doing. My mind is on my training drill for today, making sure I have treats cut up, and calculating when the building will be warm enough for me to train with bare hands, at least part of the time. As the fire grows in strength, I grab a toy from the cupboard and the weasel is instantly forgotten. I have great fun playing with each dog individually and then with them all together. I think sometimes I get my best training in during those first few minutes when the fire is in need of monitoring. I take turns with each one to perform a single obstacle or run a short drill while the other two dart around waiting for the opportunity to grab the reward-toy first. It will take hours, usually around six to eight, for the place to warm up to between 35° to 40°, so I can take my gloves off to offer reward-treats during my more formal training session. And those sessions are short as well. I would like to write that my training sessions are perfectly timed and calculated for the motivation level of each individual dog in conjunction with the lesson du jour. Admittedly, however, the minutes are calculated by the amount of time I can keep my hands bare. After 10 minutes or so of play, the stove is usually ready for one more load of logs and to be left for a while to heat the barn. (I stop in several times during the day to stoke the fire and keep it blazing so the arena will be above freezing later and we can train.) Then I put the toy away, close the door to the stove, and turn off the lights. We leave the barn filled with anticipation of our real training session that will happen later that day. If I want to take a class or train with others, I pack up the car and drive to Fairbanks (125 miles) or Anchorage (230 miles). If I want a chance to compete in a trial any time between September and June, I send in my entries, fork over my Alaska Airlines miles, leave my family at home, pay for airport parking, fly south, rent a car, get a hotel room, and enjoy the sheer luxury of competing with my dogs for approximately 1.5 minutes per day. I do believe addiction is the correct word. But, I rationalize—I’m sure there are others who are even more environmentally challenged to complete a training session or get to a trial. Aren’t there? Donna Gates King 5 Wildlife artist Donna Gates King moved to the Alaskan wilderness just outside Denali National Park in 1980. Three children and many dogs later, she found agility about six years ago. Married to four-time Iditarod Champion, Jeff King, with a kennel of Alaskan Huskies outside the cabin door, Donna and her agility crew enjoy a unique training experience. March 09 | Clean Run

Clean Run Magazine - March 2009

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Clean Run Magazine - March 2009