Clean Run Magazine - December 2007 - 28

runs the course like she saw the judge wheel it. My instructions are neither too early nor too late. My instructions are accurate: calling obstacles by the correct name and saying Right when I actually mean turn right. The serpentine we have been practicing at home is flawless at the trial. Cider sails confidently over the last jump. Her landing is an exclamation point to the perfect 20-obstacle conversation. We run at each other. She slams her body against mine. Her tail wags as I hug her tightly. Outside the ring friends make a point of saying, “That was a perfect run, congratulations.” Yeah, a good run. Cue the “happy ending to a movie” music. Occasionally my planning leads to a bad run. Actually, it is overplanning followed by overthinking and underconnecting that leads to a bad run. Well, since a Double-Q is on the line, why shouldn’t I put extra planning and thinking into it? Standing at the start line I glare at the obstacles checking to make sure they have not moved since my last walk-through. Both my pulse and mind are racing as I think about the run. In my earnest effort to remember the course and my meticulously rehearsed handling I fail to check in with my dog. I pay no attention to my teammate at the end of the leash—oops, big oops. My failing to secure her focus allows Cider to look over the course and plan her own fun. The run begins and I become just another noisy biped. The absence of connection between us manifests itself early on. Typically at the first off-course challenge Cider will begin her independent work. If she is not clearing an off-course jump, she is ignoring a difficult obstacle like the weave poles. Like last weekend, where I was so concerned with my position for a lead-out pivot to the weave poles that I got into position but never got into Cider’s head. Less focused on me and more focused on agility, Cider slowed down in time to enter the weaves at pole #7—my bad. Sure, she did turn toward the weave poles, but only because I was like a highway traffic barrel forcing her to veer left. Her agenda did not include listening to me. Why would it? I never asked for her attention. Sometimes after an on-course correction like restarting the weave poles, we connect and play well together for the remainder of the run. Just as frequently, however, bad just stays bad. My head isn’t in it and Cider is on her own mission. Frustrating and nonproductive—you bet. Hilarious to watch—definitely. The best I hope for then is Cider sailing over the last jump to stop the timer. This is my definition of a bad run; Cider was not a bad dog, I was a badly preoccupied handler. Simply, we did not come together and play as a team. Downright Ugly Runs And then there is the downright ugly run. You do not have to watch many agility runs to have occasion to say, “That was an ugly run—qualifying, but ugly.” Specifically, there are sequences in a course we choose to handle in an awkward fashion. This happens when the team does not have the skill set or the confidence in their skills to perform (for lack of a better word) professionally. On a 90° right turn to the weave poles you should be able to turn your shoulders to the right and your dog would find the entry. Yet, at your current skill level, your dog may still cut the corner and enter the weaves at the second pole. Sure, you practice this type of entry at home. But that is home. There is no Q on the line and the energy is not as high. My confidence for this weave entry in a trial is low. I employ a couple of ugly tactics to 28 Clean Run | December 07

Clean Run Magazine - December 2007

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Clean Run Magazine - December 2007