Clean Run - November 2016 - 10

river stones and wouldn't budge,
very showdown at the OK Corral.
Ruby may have been a manic terrierist hell beast, but the yank and
pull standoff broke my heart. After it
became apparent that the deadlock
might last for hours, I couldn't take
it anymore and somehow wrestled
her back from the teacher. Failure.
I'd never train this feral beast. We
kept going to class, but I kept Ruby
far away from the teacher. And snuck
her extra cat food pieces every time
she didn't run away from me.
One cool summer night, at a backyard potluck barbeque, a friend of a
friend started telling me about the
dog training class all the cool people were going to. They
went fast instead of slow, and ran through a tunnel. The real
kind, just for dogs. It was like that agility stuff on TV, and the
teacher was really nice. I figured this would be a breeze.
Ruby was already good at going fast and running through the
tunnel. And she'd never have to learn to lie down. Actually,
with a dog like Ruby, we'd probably be the stars of class. Not
the ones getting barked at for not laying down or heeling all
crookedy in the figure eights.
On the first day of agility class, I marched in with all the confidence in the world. I had this one. I was showing up with
quite possibly the most talented dog agility had ever seen, and
we were going to crush this thing. We had the winning combination of my cat food feeding dog training skills and Ruby's
ability to leap even the tallest household appliance. Class was
in a tiny fenced yard on a busy street behind the local SPCA.
Motorcycles sped by with alarming frequency, and there were
burrs and stickers underfoot. The teacher had the patience of
a saint. I told her my dog could jump over brooms balanced
on buckets in our barn aisle and could leap to the top of my
refrigerator if she started on the kitchen counter. She smiled
and nodded like I'm sure she had a million times before.
The other dogs sat patiently and quietly next to their owners,
seated in a row of cheap white plastic chairs. They looked different than me. Sporty pants and sun visors, and neon striped
running shoes. Little belt bags filled with hot dog chunks.
Sturdy cordura training bags with various dog toys inside.
A lot of purple. Right away I sized them up, not my people.
Costco shoppers who didn't own Fluevog shoes. And probably
nowhere near as good at agility as me and Ruby were already,
what with the broom grids I'd been setting up, and her excellent cat food tunnel running.
The teacher gave us a little assessment before class began.
Recall? Well, not really. Sometimes. Heeling? Right! If we do
the little figure eights around people but I have to pop her
good. But she won't lie down, the other dog teacher tried

that and she's too stubborn. She does go
crazy when skateboards go by, and has
been known to chase running kids on the
beach. But she can jump three brooms and
a rake! I dragged her over a couple jumps
on her leash. Ta Da! Genius!
"Does she know how to do a nose touch
on a target?" patience of a saint asked
patiently. I think patiently. Likely, there had
been ones like me before. I had no idea
what she was talking about.
She brought out a clicker, and handed me
off to her helper, who had a bag of hot
dogs, so she could start class. I was in! My
audition hadn't gone well, but my spunk,
grit, and blindly hopeful enthusiasm somehow got me a spot. Right away, I was the
irritating student sitting up front, hand shooting up constantly
with a never-ending string of questions. I couldn't stop myself.
I bought a treat pouch to hitch onto my pants, and started
sewing dog toys in the shape of little handbags with Velcro
pockets for cookie storage. I bought not one, but two clickers. After class, I sent rambling manifesto quality emails to the
teacher with the patience of a saint with a million more questions and concerns. I was the agility student from hell bordering on stalker. I had to know everything.
Ruby is very much a terrier. She took to clicker training like a greedy monkey takes to gold dubloons. Hungrily, she knocked out her trick, gobbled up the treat,
then went about her previously planned business
somewhere else. But it was a start. I did the homework. Probably did it wrong. But I was learning important things. Flip flops, not good dog training shoes.
Giant zip-lock bags of treats, don't leave lying around
on the ground. How to hold a clicker, a cookie, and a
ball in one hand while capturing a rampaging terrier
with the other.
This was back in the days of teaching the A-frame by leading
the dogs over with a trail of hot dog morsels. Weave poles by
dangling said hot dog over the tops of the poles. Contacts by
tossing the hot dog on a yogurt lid at the base of the yellow.
The teeter-totter by leading the dog up, hot dog in hand. I
thought it was amazing. Ruby thought it was raining hot dogs.
And it looked basically like the agility I'd seen on TV. As long as
I was well armed with our new pal Oscar Meyer. It was greasy
and stinky, but a huge improvement over the rock can or a
vinegar squirt to an eyeball.
So now I was a vegetarian buying hotdogs in large poundages,
whispering a quiet "so sorry" in the supermarket aisle to all
the cows and pigs and their ground up ears and feet and intestines. This was a whole new world. And I was hooked.
To be continued next month! D

Laura Hartwick spends as much time as she can trying to get better at agility. The other place you'll usually find her is wandering the Santa Cruz Mountains with all four
of her champion dogs, Ruby, Otterpop, Gustavo, and Banksy. You can also find her at www.teamsmalldog.com.
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Clean Run | November 16

http://www.teamsmalldog.com

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Clean Run - November 2016