Clean Run - November 2020 - 29

But as my earlier description reveals, an infinite number
of things can go wrong. Somewhere between the second
(and third, fourth, or even fifth) attempt to run the course,
I've forgotten about my dog. I may have given her a rest
for a while, so it's not as if she is overheated, exhausted, or
physically drained. But slowly and gradually, in my mind,
she has become a tool for generating a product, which is
the finished video capturing a clean run. I emphasize the
words "tool" and "product" because they point in an entirely different way to what we imagine we are doing with
our dogs when we train, or even when we participate in
face-to-face trials.
Normally we think of tools as objects that are used to
make something or to create an end-product like a chair
or a new roof on the deck. And, of course, tools can be
well-made, easy to use, and long-lasting instead of shoddily made, awkward to use, and quick to break. So we can
admire and appreciate tools for their useful properties.
The useful properties of tools are defined by how well
they function relative to their manufactured purpose. A
saw is good only if it can cut. It was made for that purpose. A straight edge is good (and useful) only if it is
actually straight and can be used to measure and align.
In other words, the central idea about tools as artifacts is
that they are instruments, man-made objects that serve a
purpose or end.
So when I characterize Maggie as a tool, even temporarily, I am saying something like, "I am using you, Maggie, as
an instrument to produce a 90-second video of an agility
run with no faults." Do I always think of her in this way? Of
course not! But the temptation is built into the task itself
since it is possible to try again and again to produce a
video that I can post. I believe this possibility may affect
each one of us differently. What I notice about myself is
that the prospect of running a course clean is seductive.
It's like a drug that gets a grip on me even after I've consciously decided that I'm going to cut my losses for this
week's trial. It will occur to me two days later that, in fact,
I still have 24 hours to edit and upload the video if I have
yet another chance to try to run the course clean.
The psychology that is difficult for me to dislodge is that
I am trying to produce something. And that thing I am
trying to produce in this context is not what we normally
think we are doing when we train (or play) agility with
our dogs. For example, a training session where Maggie
drops a bar is an opportunity for reflection. Was it just a
slip on the grass, or was it something I can fix? With my

November 20 | Clean Run

instructor's help, I might think about my handling, my
dog's approach, her speed, or what we might need to do
to facilitate a change in the quality of her jumping. But
when I am recording a run to post for an online trial, a
dropped bar means, "Darn! We didn't do it. Now we have
to start from the beginning of the course again." So that's
the sense in which I've forgotten about Maggie herself.
Temporarily, my desire for a product is the measure of
success. In other words, I'm using my beautiful, intelligent, absurdly enthusiastic agility partner like a wellcrafted saw that functions efficiently to cut wood.
I've explained my online trial experience from the inside;
what it feels like for me. But what about Maggie? If she
could speak, what would she say about these trials? It's
pretty apparent by paying attention to her behavior.
And, I know her. Maggie likes to run full tilt. Her first runs
in class and also at trials are fast and furious. This is not
ideal. We make mistakes because I'm just learning how
to handle her from a distance so that I can stay ahead of
her on the course, just barely. But what I admire about
these mad dashes is how Maggie is so clearly invested in
following me and looking to the next obstacle. "Show me!
Where, where do I go next? Quick! Wait, I see it. There's a
(jump, tunnel, teeter); I'll go there!" In other words, she's
all in. And, weirdly, she wasn't always like this. In her first
year of agility, Maggie was mostly compliant and willing, although a little distracted. But now, she is "drive-y."
I only mention this quality because I value it more than
anything else. It makes me ridiculously happy to see her
attack an agility course at full throttle. And perhaps it is
confirmation that she loves her job and will happily do
this sport with me.
Because of all that I know about Maggie, I finally take
notice in my online trialing efforts when she refuses the
first jump and sniffs the ground instead. And I finally take
notice when she veers away from a jump that is right on
her path. What have I produced now? My feeling of regret
tells me everything. I do feel disappointed about not
creating a video of a clean run. But this is not the source
of my increasing remorse. It is that my once happy, fast,
and enthusiastic agility partner is no longer willing. I
have squandered that very quality that I love about her.
Can she forgive me? Can I make it up to her? I know this
doesn't make a lot of sense. But I vow to pay more attention to my dog in the immediate future by only training
short sequences with lots of rewards. This week I will not
be entering an online trial.

Clean Run - November 2020

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Clean Run - November 2020