Canine Freestyle, aka teaching dogs to dance-a primer.

So you know there's this dog thing called canine freestyle, right? You heard of this? Agility sort of a fringe sport, canine freestyle totally fringey. Really good dog trainers teach their dogs to dance around with them, sort of peppy, strictly ballroom-like. To show tunes or boogie woogie or country music hits. Or I dunno what else. Maybe stuff not found in my ipod. Dogs sort of scoot around behind you, backwards, forwards, in and out your legs. It's bouncy. Spinny. With very unfortunate people costumes. And hair. Think sequin vests left over from the jazz dance recital in 1989. Think spirit fingers with a top hat and a spiffy magician cane. Soft black leather shoes doing a shuffle off to buffalo. Lady tuxes. A little weirdo actually, and a little ho hum.

So not our cup of poison. It actually sort of gives me the queesies to watch a whole video of a canine freestyle. Just something about it, a little bit creepy in a beasty sort of way. Sorry freestylers out there. Who am I to judge? Kiss dogs all the time. Wear weird costumes all the time. Currently wearing a fluffy brown cap with pink and lime squares on it and leopard lounge pants and a polarfleece jacket in the house flinging a soggy squirrel duck that keeps ending up in my lap across the room. You would think I'd be lining up for the freestyle, but I'm not feeling the love, puppies.

Maybe just not relating to the genre. I don't do Dancing with the Stars. But I do like my hip hop videos. And the old school stuff. Zombies and Jacko. Had this idea, could I teach the dogs the zombie part of Thriller? You guys all know this one, right? You learned it a long time ago, hitting pause, hitting pause, hitting pause. How else you learn your Michael J moves? I think I learned it from my old friend G, who passed away this time last year. Since I dropped out of the dance universe because of all the time spent with the dogs, I think G would be happy, wherever he is now, that I'm back, teaching the dogs the zombie part.

For a good Thriller, you need really a LOT of zombies. Maybe all you guys teach your dogs, too? There's about a million videos on youtube to learn Thriller from. Not totally like what else you see in the canine freestyle thing, but way more my style. Old school grooves and something for the whole Team to do as a family. I'm not the most talented dog trainer. Going to take years to get this going. You know how long it took to get Gustavo doing weave poles? Ruby and Otterpop doing a moonwalk and werewolf and swim claw at the same time? This could be our lifetime project.

So everyone going to teach along with me, this is a good place to start. Let me know how your progress goes.

Here is a total plug for Richard Todd.

Hey. These are not my photos. That's right. Special guest photographer today. Because?


Let's say I was brain dead when I would normally be writing you some kind of Fascinating Little Story about something like, say, prairie dresses or running contacts or cooking yams or going to court.


And being totally and completely and utterly devoted to all you shwag buyers readers who are paying for January's dog show entry fees showing your love by buying shwag making me exactly 4 centavos, I'm like, must post on blog. Note-read that back to yourself in zombie voice. Muuuuussstt poooossst ooonn bbbblloooooggg. Like that.


And did I mention I'm like, uh, brain dead. Long day.


Sunset Magazine? Those remodel-ly types, never brain dead. Just slave on with their hand glazed Mexican tile laying. Assholes. I want to lay down on the floor and never get up, just to get back at you, tireless home remodeler with your palm trees in vintage pots. I know. You think I live the life of Oprah and frolick around with my dogs all day. But ha ha! I FOOL you! I go to work and keep it secret from you all the time. And sometimes I am TIRED!


Uh, genius strikes?


Richard's photos!


Richard Todd, photographer in an artsy way of stuff that moves fast.


He took like 14 million pictures of Team Small Dog. Maybe you want to have him take pictures of your dogs. Or kids or horses or whatever. Here's how you find him. View this random selection of 8 of his photos. I'll just be laying over here on the floor.

Signs of Armageddon?

Photo credit: Richard Todd Photography. Mark of the Beast

So, not sure. But don't you think it's a little weird and creepy, in a prairie dress and mile high bangs kind of way, that yesterday, we presented Ed Ruscha words. On a big towel. Sold by Target. As reported by a dog agility blog?

Also. Happy Birthday Otterpop. I guess you're about 5 years old now.

Team Small Dog Gift Guide

Start Your shopping engines. The Team Small Dog Gift Guide has arrived, to help everyone who has to buy presents and has NO IDEA what to buy.

I don't really know what I'm doing about holidays either, but I saw some stuff that you might want to buy people on your lists. This is not paid advertising. It's viral advertising, marketing people love unsponsored blogs who do this. You are welcome, retail giants and dwarves alike, who are experiencing poor sales this year and hopefully this little blip in your economy trickles down to me.

So first of all. Since a lot of people really screwed this holiday season, let's make sure you are taking Toys for Tots toys in, and food bank collection donations, and whatever they do in your neighborhood, every time you buy a present. One for you, one for someone having a bad day. At my work, we adopt a whole family for Christmas time. Something to think about.

So, assuming you are still going to drop some dollar on your beloveds this month, here's some ideas that don't suck. And that you can just buy right now without budging your ass out of your chair. (You need to shop local? Santa Cruz friends, make sure to buy things from my friend Dawn next weekend at her sale at the building at Depot Park.) Everyone else? Shop away.

Super coolest Art Basel beach towels by some of my favorite artists. OK. How weird is it that you can buy a giant beach towel by Ed Ruscha, Raymond Pettibone or Karen Kilimnik at Target? Also Julian Schnabel who's art I do enjoy but doesn't go in my favorite stack by those artists? Too bad Team Small Dog has a plethora of towels already with no place to put them. Or we would so purchase. Raymond Pettibone, you guys!!! Ed Ruscha, you guys!!! I think these are good gifts for all yer beloveds.

A ruby and jewel flower ring. It is very expensive. But that is one nice looking ring. I saw this on Garnet Hill-someone bought me a pillowcase or something there a hundred years ago and they are in my email box all the time. Sale! Sale! Sale! They say. I think you could buy this on sale. This would be a helluva special, high end gift.

Reusable spray art stencils for those who are afraid to draw/andor/cut!

Custom drawings. For a limited time only, like next 10 days only until December 10, $25.75 custom drawing. The centavos for shipping and handling. No, you don't get a proof. It's a risk, puppies. You email me your dog photo, paypal me the dough, and your dog gets included in a pen and ink drawing of Team Small Dog. No guarantees that you are gonna like it. Or your beloved you are pawning it off on. It will included text. Written by me. Not you. Total drawing nazi here. Called Artistic License. Order now, while I'm not cranky and my hand doesn't hurt. You can send me an email at laurah at plasticdisaster dot com for more info.

Team Small Dog Shwag Shop. It's cafepress. Some people like logo wear. Me, not in particular. But I never did new screenprinted shirts, so here's some you can order with basic TSD logo. Also on stickers and a mug. And a dog shirt. Not that MY dogs would wear a dogshirt, but it's been brought to my attention I may have readers that, uh, dress their dogs in costumes. Not judging here. Just trying to keep it real. Buy some shwag. Won't kill any of us.

Rescue Dog Agility Calendar. Was brought to my attention the 2 Miss January's happen to be Ruby and Otterpop. In agility splendor. Made by a dog photographer with questionable design sense. Will I be ordering one? You guys. The title is in allcaps italic. I just can't do it. My sensitive design aesthetic prevents bad typography from hanging on my walls. You buy it, and enjoy viewing a bunch of motley mutts like mine doing agility. Bunch of friends of Team Small Dog also featured in this calendar.

Handspun yarn or books about it from Pluckyfluff. This is my friend Lexi and as I understand it, she is like the queen of punk rock handspun yarn for nouveau hippie chix. If one of your beloveds is a knitter, something from Lexi is a fine gift.

The gift of high quality typefaces. Burgues script from Veer is a stunner. Anything from Emigre makes good presents for your designer beloveds. In the wrong hands, this stuff is a stinker. Right hands, we eliminate some of the design problems that our world faces. Yes, we need to fight global warming with bats and clubs and hard combat. But bad design needs to be stomped squarely in the gut as well.

TrueFit DogCoats. This is the one I got Black Beauty. Dexter Black and Red Plaid. If your dogs have to hang out at the barn all day in the cold and raining, they might need these. Unless they are Gustavo. He's too tough. They're like little horse blankets. I like the polar fleece ones for cold getting dogs like Ruby. She is always freezing. These fit good, your dogs will look like little ponies, and they're not ugly or chintzy.

Other people's stuff on Etsy. Like these wallpapered faux taxidermy deerheads. E.Soule's horse photos. Good handmade bags galore. I mean, just about anyone would want something like this.

Slip On Vans from Zappo's shoes. I know. They give me nothing, my friends at Zappo's where I buy my shoes. Pretty much all I wear are navy blue slip on Vans. Sometimes clogs. Paddock boots. My old frye boots. Look at all the colors you can pick from in Vans though, my friends. Surely those are a good good gift for someone if you know what size shoes they wear? Everyone needs slip on Vans. Maybe I switch to plaid some day. I've been feeling a lot of plaid coming on in my life. I think 2009 is Plaid.

The gift of face stuff. Kiehls and Bigelow lemon stuff. It is pricey. Love it. Get the skin stuff for dog agility ladies. Maybe it don't make the wrinkles go away, but I spread this crap on my skin all the time and I am only inside ever long enough to type stuff like this out and my skin looks ok. Also the packaging does not offend my sensitive design sensibilities and that is hard to do. It is hard to be me.

Subscription to Sunset Magazine. You don't get this? You want to die of jealousy of nice houses and food photos? All the writers sound like they are your nicest neighbor? Once has featured 2 paragraphs written by yo? My mom gets me this and your mom would like it you think? We are clearly at the bottom of the barrel of the gift guide. Hope this helped.

Do you miss our friend Black Beauty?

We miss her, but she is a happy and giddy chihuahua with a new sweater and a fireplace at her house. She goes EVERYWHERE, meets EVERYBODY, sleeps UNDER THE COVERS, and is now a socialite chihuahua. And, comes to work still for a few hours every day and hangs out with Gustavo. And climbs out of the dog pen to come visit me! Under a horses's foot which is the same size as her. Naughty chihuahua, Black Beauty, who has climbing talent of a long fingernailed, blinky little monkey. I love it that I get to see her every day, and that her new family is all chihuahua love with her.

I'm just arranging Otterpop's life so she doesn't have to hang out with Black Beauty at work and that is working for Otterpop. Strategic dog politics. In the week and a half that BB went to live in her new family, Otterpop is a changed dog. She still has a screw loose in the separation anxiety section of her brain that I'm trying to figure out how to fix, but she is way more back towards normal.

Not sure how one little chihuahua can alter one fat Otterpop's brain chemistry so heavily, but it did. Otterpop would be one good science project for a chihuahua scientist.

Agility videos for pie eating.

Here's an educational video for you. Like educational of how come agility people can eat a lot of pie. The magic of video editing takes out all the running I normally do like around the field and to set up the jump bars and turn on the camera and off the camera and throw toys and run past the contact and back in to throw a treat and I can't even tell you how much running I do when we go practice.

Also, you get to see 3 different types of contacts. My non agility friends, getting those paws to touch yellow paint. Ruby has a running contact, Otterpop has a laydown on the dirt which turns running at dog shows and Gustavo forever, 2 feet on yellow paint and 2 feet off.

Also for an added bonus of super entertaining fun, if you make it through that, watch us do a jump grid. Which we do about once a week to keep up those jumping skills and startline stay skills. And running out to target skills. Lots of mad skilz, 1 little exercise.

Eat pie while you watch. That's what I would recommend.

Top Chef Thanksgiving Edition, Live from Walk Circle.

So I wasn't kidding. I did make a Thanksgiving Dinner last night. With actual pans and pots and food including butter.

I was inspired by the weirdos my heroes on Top Chef who just start throwing stuff in a pan and end up with Pan Seared Scallops and a Kahlua Martini and Peanut Butter Slider and I don't even know what their assignment was. They just do it and then Padma and Bald Guy Tom Kolikkioliolio judge them harshly and etc. etc. and then just like Project Runway. Except there seems to be more drinking. And the set looks like a redecorated DMV with a fancy kitchen. And no sniggering Michael Kors and Nina Garcia in their fancy director chairs. Tim Gunn should probably move to Top Chef. It's a little more classy. And has the drinking.


They make a lot of amuse bouches, those Top Chefs. This means amuse the buds of your taste if they are very, very small. It is like a tiny appetizer, so small it is amusing, as in le joke. A bag of chips is a better appetizer as far as I'm concerned, but I shouldn't be concerned over such matters. I call this amuse bouche piece of crostini with green bean, cranberry friend and dollop of something white which could be either goat cheese or whipped cream.


Gary has never had an amuse bouche, nor does he watch Top Chef. I think he was watching a sporting event when presented with this treasure.


Luckily our party guests will eat anything. These party guests, actually highly trained agility dogs. For real. YES for real!


Our menu? Some cranberries, they are my friends. Yams. Salad. Wild rice. Green Beans ala Broccoli. A delicious pumpkin pie from the fancy bakery for desert. Beverages.


Gary did ask about the main course. Huh? I made like FIVE things here! In pots on the stove and chopped! Did I mention the butter? I know, traditional Thanksgiving dinners feature turkey or steak or pizza along with their side dishes. I can't really say I was busy out trying to find Gustavo's weave poles again, or at work. Didn't do either of those things yesterday. Had a nice long day using pens and stuff and trying to draw a good mouse and really could not deal with the reality of a big dead bird inside my oven. Tom and Padma, I suspect you would have been judging my dinner harshly, had you actually shown up.


Then it was after dinner and I was thinking here was where I could write about how grateful the dogs are and the teach us so much about being happy and humble and licking dead pelicans. And like that would sort of tie into how the Top Chefs are really all grateful to be on the show and have that experience and we are grateful to have things like dogs and cable and a store where had I REALLY wanted to I could have bought free range, cage free dead turkey bird that died coincidentally, from old age.

Because that's how Oprah would end her Thanksgiving wrap-up segment. And, praise be The Secret, we try to do what Oprah would do, just in case the Secret works. And the Sunset Magazine article writers, they all always tie up their endings all organized and segueway-ish and all.

But really I just wanted to go out and sit on the couch with the dogs and fall asleep from way too much pie and soothing Calexico on really, really loud.

Thanksgiving for Lame Asses-a primer.

Hmm. Am somewhat disgruntled here. Let's all take a cleansing Oraphtude breath together.

Last night, sort of noticed that hey, tomorow is Thanksgiving (which is now today-hi!) and no one has invited us to a feast nor did we invite anyone to a feast and HEY! What kind of Thanksgiving is this? Where are my hand whittled pinecone centerpieces with taxidermied turkey gams and handspun placemat/beanie sets knitted from autumn color yarn from only the softest alpaca pastern fur? And my massive oak farm table and bar area and joke cracking uncles and nephews and everybody?

Oh, Palm Springs? They all went to Palm Springs? Hi Everybody out there in Palm Springs! We're up here in no cooking land and going to putter through another Thanksgving for Lame Asses. How you do that, you ask?


A yam. I bought a yam. Cook it? Shit.


Cranberries. I did buy the cranberries. I think you stick in a pot with orange juice and dump in some sugar and boil for a while. I can dig you, my friend cranberry.


Aha. I have a husband who at least knows he wants a pie and in our refrigerator, One Pumpkin Pie from the expensive bakery! Aha!


Cerveza. We have a lot of cerveza. This one is pilgrimmy. Has a bear on the label. Bears ate a lot of pilgrims, back in the day. I'll take it! Goes with fish tacos. But I think we used up all the fish.

Cosmic deep thoughts about the sea.

My dogs are always wet and sandy.


For as much time as we spend here, do you think I ever put a foot in there, or float on it, or swim in it, or actually touch the water?


No way. Not gonna happen. Am addicted to the shore, but I hate the water.


Over my dead body you catch me out there in a wetsuit.


I like the edge. Right where water makes the white line at the sand.

It's like, cosmic, dude. When you're right there at the edge, it's just one big Pacific Ocean out there forever, the only thing out in front of me. One foot can be in the sand, one foot in the sea if you want. Almost walking in two worlds.


And then go to work with one super dripping, cold, sandy foot and pants leg.

Vision quest and there's a reason Martha Stewart used to live in the Big House.

I woke up with a vision. A Martha inspired vision. Always a bad thing. Certain failure if it involves Martha.


In my vision, there were neat stacks of towels and sheets and pillowcases. As opposed to piles of them stuffed everywhere. I know. Not even a slightly exciting vision when I could have said the vision was of:

Impeccable tiny linework on a full back piece tattoo of crosshatched dogs in motion and winged spirit animals and their friendly squirrel onlookers. With a rope border and little Victoriana embellished areas.

Of a compound in the woods with cabins handwhittled from redwood burl and Mexican tile porches and the fence made of pine cones, river rock and taxidermy blanks of deer legs. A driveway paved in cobblestone and moss lined with shiney disco urns holding potted palms.

A grass pasture full of glossy horses, but when you get up close each glossy horse has a nose to tail floral wallpaper pattern stenciled into their deep bay coats, made with tiny little clippers, that glisten under the sun.

Instead, I give you sheets and towels. Nooks and crannies such as under the bed and in the closet and places I will, never, ever repeat, Function as The Linen Closet. In 800sf, unless you are Martha, Sunset Magazine or my friend Brody, it just doesn't look good. Oprah could send Nate over, but I think he has to rebuild Montecito. It's just me and vision quest.


Part of my bright idea was get every single sheet and towel from the hiding places and throw them all over the bedroom. Millions. Always a popular gift item for me, I believe. A hint to friends and family. We have no more space. Not an inch. Not a centimeter. The Tiny House on Walk Circle never turned into a ranch. Beach cottage, rotten porch. No more room. Any room now, currently covered with sheets and towels. Like the Lucy episode where they infiltrate the laundromat to find the lottery ticket and the conveyer belt has exploded except it is my entire floorplan. Why do we have so many sheets? What have I gone and done?


Abandon ship. Because it was my plan everything wlll fit neatly into one tiny, wooden chest. About the size of one small dog.

I make fish tacos. I update some websites. Do some work stuff. Work out the steps to Thriller. Gustavo has a hard time with MJ steps. Pretend that every square inch of house is not covered in mismatched sheets and pillowcases and duvets and towels. I am not an organized person, Martha. I hate folding. If I was on your show I would dump the glitter out by mistake on the floor and then get sidetracked with some whole new project because, LOOK, I have discovered the iron melts the buttons and then you would shame me on National TV. There's a reason Sunset Magazine did not even print my name.


By the end of the day, somehow had stuff stuffed. Found out chest actually size of 3 small dogs and Martha doesn't have to know about my cramming technique. Or that have decided the garage now a place where sheets and towels can live nicely in some stacks. Sorry Martha. I wanted to believe. My towels would look like yours on Turkey Hill and Barack's trim figure will bail out the country. I tried. But I guess I just keep the sheets in the garage now.

Here are 7 completely unrelated topics from yesterday.

Topic One:

Down at the end of my street, there's a house with a leaning over fence where the feral chihuahua herd sometimes escapes through the screen door and out into the street after my own somewhat less feral herd, always followed by shrieking en espanol for someone to grab 'em. The light blue plywood fence disguises a warren of sort of indoor-outdoor rooms that use a lot of wrought iron, cardboard, christmas lights and plastic for roofing. This morning, all the cars and trucks in front, all of them already lowered just inches from the ground, sprayed primer black, with oddball ornaments of chrome here and there and some big ass rims, had flattened tires and they were all almost touching the asphalt. Just laying down in the street and all the tires, perfectly horizontal. The lowerider parade, had landed. Their guys in black hoodies, likely still sleeping in the house and not going to be very pleased on their wakey wakey.

Topic Two:

We drove over the mountain, me and the dogs, to have a lesson with Jim. I was really excited to show Jim Gustavo's weave poles in sequences. Oh, except that he couldn't really do them anymore. Just popped the last pole over and over and over again. Until we traded out the Ikea colored painted poles for some nice plain ones with blue stripes. Then it was ok. Not perfect, but not terrible. Baffling, dogs. Frustrated, I was grumbling about how so many people I know have puppies that can do their poles just fine and maybe Gustavo will never be there and EVERYBODY else's baby dogs were super champs like his and Gustavo is just running around and when will I learn how to be a better dog trainer? Jim is all, (uh, paraphrasing here Jim!) that a lot of people I know raised their pups from day 1. Clicker training at 6 weeks, foundation skills by 8. I have dogs I find on the side of the road or get drove up in a van from Mexico or were feral terriers. I get 'em not as puppies and I have to train them how to be dogs and by golly. Give yerself a break. Ya think Gustavo survived on the streets by being an independant little sonuvagun or a perfectly trained agility dog? And that's what I got and by hook or by crook he's becoming a super duper agility dog. And something about zen and balancing and thanks Jim!

Topic Three:

There's a little fella I see a lot when I walk by the hippie parking lot. Sort of a daytime seaside homeless rumpus room for mobile street units. A lot of pot smoking, drumming and pitbulls on frayed ropes pass the day away in this little tourist parking lot, and vanish when it locks at night. The little fella, he was perched up on the fence, in fine form, getting ready for a cloudy and cold sunset. He looks like a shrunken mini Iggy Pop, except with dead straight blonde hair, smooth in a tidy bowl cut. He wears giant shirts that make his tiny little body look even tinier. But his, face, I swear, is Iggy Pop. Just if he was shrunken and super tan and had a surfer baby bowl cut. I catch his gurgly voiced conversation as I walk by, "Yeah man, but they were already so drunk and shooting up speed, so when the guys at the bar..." and by then I can't really just dig my heels in and halt for total obvious evesdropping. Will never know what the guys at the bar do. He's telling it to another teensy, tiny little guy shirtless bearded guy in a bowler hat and bright red tights. His bare chest has a giant tattoo that I can't really make out and he's holding a broom.

Topic Four:

One of my customer's hubby is a fisherman and she brought me a bunch of ziploc bags full of giant chunks of fish flesh out to work on Saturday. Big meaty ahi's. Usually not a huge meat eating fan around here but I keep tossing bloody chunks in a frying pan and frying them up into tacos. Little cabbage, little cilantro, little lime. Lots of ziplocs in there. I am sort of an univore? Like to eat one thing til it's gone. So fish tacos breakfast, lunch and dinner til we run out of those fish baggies in there. After that, might be pop tarts. It's just easier to figure out what to eat that way.

Topic Five:

Got a report on Black Beauty's weekend of fox hunting and parties and socialite events. Terms such as Love and Perfect and Best Dog and Sleeping Under the Comforter and Cutest and Sweetest were used over and over and over again. Also one reference to Humping Husband's Arm. Black Beauty loved everyone and every dog and sleeping over in the dressing room of the trailer and wild parties and hanging out with all the other dogs and wearing her coat and waiting for the riders to return and traveling around in her crate and, I guess, every single thing about her weekend. I think, that Black Beauty may have found the best home for her. Will be doted on and travel everywhere and see the horsey world and love every minute of it. And I'll still see her during the week. And Otterpop has been a normal dog for 3 days. 3 days of normal. 3 days of normal. 3 days of normal.

Topic Six:

Someone emailed me about playing soothing classical music for dogs with anxiety. Our dogs listen to a lot of college radio. My music tastes lean towards 70's country and Madonna's Evita and Sonic Youth. At least in the the last couple of minutes. Gary listens to whatever is new indie pop sort of stuff. Maybe Otterpop will like the classical music? I downloaded some from the classical music for dogs website. I dunno. As long as I'm not home when she listens to it, I'm game.

Topic Seven:

These are actual things that people searched on google yesterday and came here, to visit Team Small Dog:

Little tiny boulder collies that won't get any bigger
big fast ass
small dog having body jerks
dog dominatrix england
she said she wants to dance because she likes to grove so uh just bust a move
chihuahuas for free
flick away dog agility
tiny dog breeds that do not malt
what is the little black fluffy dog from tv
team small dog

We all live in a Conspiracy Theory. Yellow Submarine. Conspiracy Theory.

So maybe it's just my imagination here. I was walking Team Small Dog down the street, by the big apartment complex across the street from the sea, on leashes, early in the morning, a block or so from Lighthouse Field, when down the street drives a Ranger. One I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet in person. Sun just up and pretty glarey this early, shines bright over the giant ocean right behind me. In his overstuffed truck that they use now for driving around on the grass and making convenient new truck roads on the soft, meadowy grass. Looking for criminals. And he drives towards me, and slows down, and takes a big, long, drink of water of a looksie at me. Driving all slow.

He's sort of gray and oldish, cruising in that super mega Dodge truck. I'm sort of somewhat late to work looking. I would say, probably you would not drive by me and go, "Sakesy almighty, what a hottie." Wait. Would anyone say that? Or Snoop Dogg would not say, "Look here beeyatch you fine and I dig yo style." Maybe you would say, "Look at her messy unkempt hair and I bet she would like some more coffee for faster speedwalking in scuffy clogs and dirty jeans and what are those a bunch, of related chihuahuas? And she just tripped in her clogs? And who even wears clogs?"

So he's slowing down. Turns his head so we can look deep in each other's eyes. And I just flash a warm and winning smile. If you mean by warm and winning it can include perhaps showing a few more teeth than really need showing in a smile because my lips stretch sort of contortion like as we lock eyes for an instant. And then he just drives off and I keep walking on home. So I can go get a life.

I still do not live in Sunset Magazine.

You read Sunset Magazine? You know how I feel about it. I believe I have blamed my entire gopher universe on it. I love it so much I want to smash it into a million pieces by chomping my teeth and stomping on it and then grinding it up with garden shears. Like I have total Sunset Magazine lust except the smashing/grinding would be due to, like, THAT is never going to happen. THAT being anything in there. Cooking. Planting. Phaging. Remodeling. Zilcho. Attempting just makes it worse. I am like in the paralell universe of Sunset. SunUpYetSmoggy Magazine. Where home decor is horse paint by numbers and faux taxidermied owls and a lot of dust and we eat taqueria y pizza for wholesome meals and our plants are dead and there are weave poles in the side yard. I mean driveway. Instead of pavers and a little fountain.

But Team Small Dog gets a nice mention in there, December issue, page 15. Sort of a good runner up prize for all my dust.

I made a fountain once, btw. Just like Sunset said for soothingness and so forth. First it leaked, then it broke, then became the mosquito and insect haven of disease. Just like Sunset, except for with disease.

Missing one chihuahua.

Where's Black Beauty? Where'd she go?

Well. Here's the deal. I know I've said she's mine. She's a foster. She's ours. She's not. But one thing has been really clear. Something has been wrong with Otterpop the whole time we've had her here with us. In her already weirdo brain, weirdo being a technical term we use for horses who are, well, weirdo, something went extra weirdo and left me with a different dog. Not really a good kind of different. Really a bad kind of different.

Maybe the timing of losing a Timmy before a chihuahua. Maybe her having a stressful event with a chihuahua there. Not sure what happened. We've had lots of other dogs visit, and had a Gustavo come to stay, but something about our chihuahua made Otterpop extra weirdo in a way that I will not and can not tolerate. Because she became mean to Ruby and that's not going to work.

To try and fix I have:
Talked to all my dog trainer friends.
Talked to my dog behavior mentor multiple times.
Watched videos. DVD's. Read books.
Installed dog bootcamp at my house.
Long down stays. Long sit stays. Dog training singley. Dog training in groups. Dog training in pairs.
Separated dogs. Switched dog pairs up. Put dogs in different places.
You name it. If it's not listed here, I still did it. Except for dog drugs. We did not try that.

This has been going on for nearly 2 months now.

And what I have found that Otterpop goes back closer to normal when the chihuahua is not around her. Sad but true. Her stress level goes down, and her normal level goes up. Everyone all hanging out together? Otterpop goes weirdo. Manageable weirdo, but not really a pleasant dog and just SO STRESSED OUT. We have had to make fundamental lifestyle changes here. In an 800sf house, the dogs are just together. Period. That's how it works.

Lots of people I know have lots of dogs. And a lot of them have dogs that can't live with the others and they have work arounds for that. So not us, here at Team Small Dog. Note the whole TEAM part? It might sound like chaos over here on Walk Circle a lot of the time. OK, it is. However. There are a lot of dog manners that happen too. I know. You come over and I let them race around with the toy and you're like, what dog manners on Walk Circle? Let's talk toddler with a hot dog incident. Drink spilling, cake eating, baby licking mayhem. But, when it comes to dog relations and things like waiting for doors and leashes and taking turns and chaos management, actually a lot more rules and regulations and time spent instilling than you might think. A perfect balance. But all the dogs feeling the love. And when that balance is tipped, we have a problem.

So. Started putting the word out again. Super great, and now kinda trained chihuahua looking for the PERFECT home. I am picky my friends. She has her own little web page and everything. Also had this idea. A very nice lady who works part time as a groom for us, and I have known for a long long time, her super beloved old dog died shortly after Timmy. Her hubby? Not totally on board with a chihuahua thing. But not totally off board. Her lifestyle is a little bit jet set in a horsey kind of way, and needs a portable and flexible dog game for anything. Who also would get to come to work and see me every day.

So today, Beauty went off on a test drive. Itinerary included a trip up to the very exclusive and chi chi Menlo Circus Club, an estate, and a party at a small ranch. Tomorow includes a weekend off at the Hunt. That's right. Foxhunting. Here in California, involves coyotes and farmlands and a million foxhounds imported from England. I dunno. Another story for another day. Although Black Beauty would be part of the hanging out at camp crew while the riders are off with the hounds. Much party having. With things like hot toddies. Much horse trailer riding. Going to see if Beauty can keep up with this lifestyle for the weekend. Bundled her off in her little horse blanket jacket, sent her off with her bed and an overnight bag and a kiss on her little white haired face. Wishing her the best, and knowing if it doesn't work back she is absolutely welcome home here and we start looking again for her forever home.

Right now, our house is quieter. But in a good way. Otterpop right now laying quietly in her bed, after a long night time walk with just 3 dogs. Looking like how I haven't seen her in a long while. And I know this is the right thing. But some of us are still missing one chihuahua.

Courtroom Drama Post Game Play by Play - Serving the community sort of like at McDonalds.

OK. So you know for my sentence, I got community service. For an as yet to be worked out community group that is part of the court referral community service program. You know how this works? Let's do a little math.

My actual fine to pay was $210. For walking dogs around where in the same park that I always have. A tax dollar supported park. I'm self employed. I pay A LOT of taxes, my friends. I'm the one that always votes on things to raise our taxes for stuff in the community like schools. I'm a nice person that way. Only a criminal in that I still want to walk my dogs like I always have been able to do, all through the history of my life.

Anyways. Can you say still not exactly over this? The amount of community service needed to do that is the equivalent of that fine is 27 hours.

Then, you also have to pay the administrative cost for setting up the community service. That would be $55.

Here's the math part.

$210 minus $55 is $155.

$155 divided by 27 hours $5.74.

So that's what my hourly time is worth. Not even Six Bucks.

Nice. When does this alleged community service take place? Likely, during the time I'd normally be walking the dogs. I guess. Haven't even figured that out yet. I think that's part of the equation here where I end up with negative Zero.

Courtroom Drama Episode 8-And Justice Will Be Doled Out Like Trader Joe's Charlie Bears

All right. Started out the day, practicing my statement. No one here really all that interested. Thanks to all my pals that helped me out making it sound better. Not the pals pictured here. Pals like Donna and Bev and Mary. Good writers, all of them. No one wanted me to get up there umming and uhing and sounding like a dork. Wanted a nice, concise statement about how we used to self police ourselves, and now it's up to grouchy old rangers to treat lowly dog walkers like the new scarey people out there, and how it's all one big crummy situation now, so therefore, Not Guilty! But they helped me say it WAY better! So I sounded like a nice lawyer or marketing lady at least.

I saw Officer Borreson walk in from the parking lot at the courthouse. Saw her big ranger truck parked out front. She stood right across from the bench I sat on to wait for the courtroom doors to open. We both got there early. That was some good advice that Chris the hitman and Snoop the hitwoman gave Michael, the hitman in training, on the Wire. Always get there early. Not sure why I thought that applied to court, but I consider myself somewhat postmodern in my legal source getting so that's the advice I followed. Not sure if she recognized me in my financial advisor with glasses disguise. I think not. A dog walking comrade joined me on the bench. Super nice of him to come!

So there are a lot of cops, a lot of citizens, the usual court mish mash cross section of our fair city. We all scurry in to get seats.

First thing, we do the All Rise thing, and where is Judge Kim?


Oh My Gawd! She's not here and this is a new judge. Who introduces himself as a temp. A Pro Temp. His name is Judge JD Wells. He looks like one of those guys that is on a lot of tv shows, usually the kindly shopkeeper or the friendly farmer or the high school principal that really wants those football players to do well in school AND play in the big game. He called the roll. When he called my name, I saw Officer Borreson peek over at me out of the side of her eyes. Here I am! We both had the same hairstyle. But hers had bangs. She looked about the same as she did on ticket day, way back in July. Maybe lost a couple pounds. Looking Good Officer Borreson!

So lots of administrative blah blah blah. And then, guess who is going to have the Very First Case! That's Right! No sitting around and waiting here, Laura Hartwick vs. The State of California is up.

So we both approach the bench. First thing, I think that my temp judge has maybe screwed up since he didn't swear us in. But I am thinking, probably shouldn't be reminding him of that, not nice manners when you are the defendant? Miss Manners, help me out here? So I just keep my trap shut. Officer Borreson gets to go first reading her statement about the day of my ticket.

And boy oh boy. Am I thrown for a loop because she says some lies.

So I might be a lot of things. But a liar, I am not. Maybe she just got some stuff wrong. But she says I only put 2 dogs on leashes, and pulled out a red camera to photograph her gun. Uh, guys. I put everyone on a leash instantly. My camera, not red. And I was taking pictures of them both. She also totally makes up this statement that I said about knowing all the rules and reading them on the sign and just saying I will disregard the rules anyways. Said they asked me to leave the park, not threw me out. So I am sort of weirded out by that. Just not how I thought it would go. Duh, I am guilty. But do you have to do this weirdo embellishing to make your Ranger self look better?

So when she finishes, Judge looks at me. Asks if I have any questions for her.

Miss Manners, I am not sure if, "How come you just made all this shit up?" is appropriate question for cross examination period, so I just tell the judge No.

Then he says it's my turn to go.

I say, "Well, I had a prepared statement to read. But I am kind of thrown because the officer just said all this stuff that wasn't true." I just look at him like, help me out here. You're the judge and she gots a gun and duh, ya see why I like to take pictures of stuff?

He says, "Your case isn't dependant on the details of what you said or what you were photographing or when you put dogs on leashes. The only thing we are talking about here is whether or not you were guilty for having your dogs off of a leash, which she did mention. So you don't need to be concerned about other things she said."

That makes me feel better. And then even better when he's like, uh oh I didn't swear you guys in and here, can you sign a thing that says that and then he swears us in and then we're all sworn.

But he does ask her, "Do you want to change any of your statement after being sworn in?"

I am totally staring at her. She just shakes her head no.

So then it's my turn. I read my piece. I do an ok job. Not great but not sucky. I make eye contact with the Judge a lot. Starts out something like this, won't bore you with the whole thing:

The self policing that's historically always taken place in Lighthouse Field by dog walkers such as myself was a huge benefit to the city. The eyes and ears of the dog walkers created a consistent presence that kept those hours safe, and illegal activity at bay. Now, most of these eyes and ears are gone, and those of use who continue to cautiously walk there are villafied by the state, and are now in the same category as the drug dealers, drug users, and campers.

Just then, this guy bursts in from behind me, saying, "I'm from the Friends of Lighthouse Field and I'd like to say something!" It's a nice older white haired gentleman, and he has just appeared from nowhere. Like Glinda the Goodwitch, just sailed in in her bubble, in a polo shirt. I hadn't heard anything from any of the Friends of Lighthouse Field. Just thought you guys were over it, guys. Cuz ya don't really let me know you're out there!

It is super inappropriate. To just sort of bust out into a court case. Like I've been working on this thing A LOT and what if he is going to screw it up for me now? I forget what else he wanted to say. He's just trying to help out. Thank GOD it was not Judge Kim is all I can say. Man oh man would she have been pissed. I'm sorta like, huh? Hi FOLF guy. Uh, Thanks? Judge has him go sit down.

So Judge says to me, and I have to paraphrase this because could not deal with taking notes at this point, "I agree with you! I like dogs. I have a dog. I think dogs should be allowed off leash in Lighthouse Field. But unfortunately, this is a court of law and you broke the law. And much as I agree with you, you broke the State's law."

I think I nod in agreement or something. I know, I know. I don't feel guilty, but according to the state and their handmaiden henchman Officer Borreson, I am guilty.

The nice FOLF guy has lept up again and is asking about community service. Me and Judge JD Wells, we hadn't even gotten to that part of our little conversation yet. We're all just sort of surprised, this FOLF guy back there piping up with all sorts of things. But I am like, yeah, what's the deal on the community service? Can I pick who I do it for?

Judge is all for that. I don't think he really wants to give me a fine, that's what I think. I bet he used to walk his dog out there. I googled him. Regular attorney in town. He donates money to the homeless shelter. Looks like a stand up guy. Doesn't shame me, just on to the next docket item, and that's that's that.


Dogs, sort of don't really care when I get home and go over how it all went down with them. I am sort of weirded out by the legal system, how a cop can just say anything they want, even if not all true. How often does that happen and do a lot of people go to jail because of it? A new thing to worry about. Along with global warming and what is wrong with Otterpop's brain and what REALLY happens to us when we die.

Black Beauty, very interested in stuff like this, the twists and turns people's lives take in the legal system. Everyone else, just all, So we going out to Lighthouse Field to run around now?

You bet.

Courtroom Drama Episode 7-Judgement Day

Maybe you're reading this at 1:30pm, Pacific Beach Zone Time. Aloha, from Sunny Santa Cruz.

If you are, then I'm in court. That's right. Today is judgement day.

Prepared my statement.

Borrowed some clothes.


Took some advice from my attorney. OK, my friend. But she is an attorney. An IMPORTANT one, you guys. She is good. We had to give her wine and play with her kids to get her to advise me on this. Usually frying, like, slightly bigger fish. What did Laura go and do this time?


She said, after an exasperating evening with me, rendering me tongue tied at every look from her, "Laura. I think you have to decide what you're trying to accomplish here. Do you want to get your fine reduced or community service, or do you just want to go in there and be a political activist, and just do that and be done with it? Knowing that you are going to lose, and it might be ugly."

She looked at me over the top of her judge glasses when she said that. One word from her looking over those glasses reduces me to a puddle of decomposed caracass. I think I was supposed to pick the fine reduced and community service option.


I thought for a second. "I just want to do what's right. I don't want to make up some weird thing about canine good citizens and exercising the therapy dog and pleading remorse. It's f**ked up that we are getting tickets for walking our dogs and rangers drive around the field now and there's tire tracks where there used to be grass and that I'm a criminal now and I am not guilty."

She's like, "Yeah, but you are. You broke the law." We'd been going around in circles on this all night. She looks over the top of her glasses at me. "You are aware, Ms. Hartwick, that it is against the law to walk your dogs without leashes out there?"

Shit. See you in court.

USDAA at Turlock, where the cows call home.

Turlock is a funny place, out there in the Central Valley. Full of leaning, damp rotting houses half eaten by trees growing around them. Huge cowlots and swamps with creepy mist and flat places every so often populated by towns and trees. A grove of palm trees, with a falling down barn, pasture horses out on on some dirt. Norteno musica blasting from a house party where the men have stiff black cowboy hats. Old, slow walking guys in rubber boots and coveralls, non ironic and faded trucker hats on their sweaty bald heads.

It's always a weird place to drive to, because on the map, if you could make a straight line from Santa Cruz kinda towards the east, you'd end up in Turlock. But there's no road that goes that way, due to geography and all, so you can drive South like you're driving to LA, then cut North, or drive North like you're driving to Sacramento and then cut South. Either way, takes the same time. Just a weird thing of Turlock. We drove there and back in a day, doing the full loop because that makes it way more exciting.

Running 4 dogs is the funnest thing ever. And very nice for exercising. Especially since 3 of them sitting in my car out in the parking lot not super near a ring. Am too lazy to bring the whole tent thingamajig and accessories. Global warming sent no rain and weirdo hot temperatures but since nearly Thanksgiving still cool enough to just let the dogs chill in their luxury vehicle. Which now has almost 160,000 miles and needs a new radiator and front brakes. I keep thinking of it as the new car. Not so new now. Running 4 dogs meant always in a ring, even though was such a small trial. Sorry my Turlock friends for not lifting very many working fingers. No working fingers. Set one bar somewhere in the day. Was it. Sorry!!! Sorry!!!

So how were the 4 dogs?

Gustavo did weave poles! And had his first run in his long trial history of 4 classes, of not getting a Q. No more Qstavo. In Gamblers. Following in the family footsteps. After a frenetic yet contact hitting and weave pole getting (after a couple of attempts since he was just blasting in too fast and missing the first pole) I sent him in the wrong end of the tunnel. A discrimination in Starters Gamblers! No going easy on the babies with this judge. I liked her courses though. Didn't have a chance. He was just flying like a rocket and just headed into the more convenient end without me up there to show him, since I'm standing behind the pink line. Thankfully, not like Master's Gamblers and not super far away. Got the rest of the gamble just fine though. Was super fast and focusing and did get poles! And a stellar and smoking fast jumpers run without a bobble. So he's moved up to Advanced Jumpers now without ever running a Standard or Snookers or Relay class. In time.

Otterpop had some great runs. A heartbreaking Snookers though, she was the only one in her group to hit all the opening 7's, was making super fast time, and knocked a bar down in the closing. For my dog agility friends, you know what that means. No Super Q. My non dog agility friends, we've been through this. Super Q way better than Super sized Mountain Dew at 7-11. This thing you must have, and can be hard to get. Once again, eluded us like how all my other friends have museum shows and galleries in New York. I sell little drawings for $5 on Etsy. We understand the elusive qualities of things we would like for our life. Was our good and fast Otterpop out there. Had a stink eye peek at the judge from on top of an a-frame at the end of the day, but just peeked then got back to business. Was a very low key, stand back kind of judge. Thanks Judge! I believe won her other classes! With those Q's that you just stack up towards stuff for the future. Not the ones we really want! Elusive.

Ruby had some great runs. Yet another Jumpers Q towards whatever award she's at in Performance when you collect a zillion of those. And yet another Snookers Q. No Super Q for her, because the 7 was poles and a tunnel and she is all about moderation on those poles. But still a great run. Before her last run, she started doing the weird panting she does before an erratic weirdo run. I don't know why, and I'm over trying to figure it out. She starts to pant. I go, "Oh boy. This is gonna be something." People are like, oh, she's hot. Nope. You see the panting, you could get ANYTHNG out there on the course. I still take her out, what the hell, she runs weirdo, and I just pull her off the course. Sore? Tired? Better party to be at? Been there done that? Who knows. Her team name for upcoming team trial is the Bi Polar Express. It's at Christmas time. Her teammate does similar weirdo things sometimes. Maybe they can form a support group. I love Ruby, whatever she decides to do is fine with me. I'm used to her mysterious ways.

Hobbes won his Steeplechase and Standard with me, was perfect with Rob in everything else all weekend. He loves running in Performance jumping 22" now, and a nice low table and lower a-frame. My non dog agility friends, Performance is like the new Black. The new 30. Used to be out of style, no one liked it, old dogs went there for an extra 2 seconds and lower bars. Now EVERYONE is doing it. Lots of awesome dogs in Performance. Ruby moved there a while ago. Hobbes is easing in now. He is happy. We are happy Hobbes is happy. Hobbes is happy to get a chunk of cheese and to go back to sleep. He got his 570th Q this weekend and is now 21st in all time Qing dogs! Hobbes is awesome. Gustavo is hoping to follow in his footsteps. Pretty big footsteps to fill.

And their sidekick. Little Black Beauty, slept in a crate and enjoyed the sunny day. Not a lot of fun for her. Had a playdate with another teensy agility dog that could be her more petite sister with an underbite. Listened to the sound of the freight train and freeway from the car. Was all hyper and nutso when we got home and where we all see cute, hyper chihuahua, I can see Otterpop just get all creepo and cruddy and not happy with her skin. I know I go back and forth on this. Otterpop was doing better, we were the Brady's again and Jan is no longer a teen hooker and Carol Brady invents the shag hair cut and Marcia is content to admire her perfect nose in the mirror. Saw the seether come rattling out though, had to intercept what I know was inteded to be an airstrike on Ruby. After weeks of happy, lovey, no stress dogs again and the way my dogs all used to be. After 2 Sundays of fun dog show, living together in their car crate. Super bummer ending to very fun weekend. All good, everyone happy again, but I don't like seeing this, I know it isn't right.

Isn't there anyone out there, just like me but without an Otterpop, that would love a Black Beauty? We love her. But something still not right with the dynamic and this back and forth thing, wearing me thin. Tough time out there for chihuahuas, thank you Paris Hilton. Rescues full of 'em. This is SUCH A GOOD ONE. Just something about her, hard on our family.

History, if you can call it that, just keeps repeating itself.

Off to Turlock. Cows and fog and that whole deal. You remember? You look back, this same time last year, you can click on those dates over on the side. Over there? You see? And it's the same old story. Dog agility just keeps recycling itself like socks going back through the dryer. Over and Over again. Turlock. November. Get up early and drive and drive and drive and try to get there earlier this time. Although I don't quite remember it being global warming Hot and in the 80's last November. A little creepy and fire weather and earthquake weather and if we were up in a plane over LA right now we'd see the bottom of the state all on fire, burning up under giant billowing blankets of smoke.

A year ago, Gustavo was a screaming puppy locked in a plastic crate at dog shows so as not to escape and to try and keep him quiet. Black Beauty lived in a dog pen with hot wire around the sides to keep the dogs in and quiet, up by the laborer's trailer. Otterpop lived a quiet, stress free life, guarding Timmy on slow, shuffling walks around the block. Ruby had just started her weird erratic trialing behavior. We had no roof.

This year, Gustavo competing in the USDAA and so far so good. Black Beauty goes everywhere with Team Small Dog and has her own tiny horse blanket to keep her warm and sleeps in a dog bed. Otterpop is working on regaining her quiet stress free life without her Timmy and trying to keep her cool. Ruby just enjoys chilling and practicing agility and running here and there at trials. Roof is done and painted and whole new house projects needing saws and guys in tool belts and timberlands and surfboards to start and maybe not finish.

Horses still get ridden. Lessons still get taught. Pens still scribble stuff down and lots of pictures get taken. There's a new washer dryer and I have to go to court in a couple days. Washer is a front loader and I try to get excited about this fancy thing that cost a lot of money and best I can do is a tight little fake smile, like Yay. Washer Dryer. A guy said I looked like I was 35, 36 and that's a compliment now, not an insult. And back in the car and back to Turlock.

Courtroom mini drama, if by drama you actually mean slaughter.

Courtroom drama coming up next week. My trial's on Tuesday. Met with my legal/fashion advice team for pizza and beer last night.

The good news. I now have some nice gray pinstriped pants and a conservative scoop neck sweatery thing to wear. I will be dressed exactly like a financial advisor. Because that's who gave me the outfit. We're the same size. She wears stuff like that every day.

The bad news. One of my legal team, actual attorney. Spends a lot of time around judges and depositions and trials. Sort of a pro. Is a pro. Heard my spiel, and just shot it all to hell. She was judge Kim. Quick as lightning, that silvertongued attorney friend of mine.

Have a little bit of work to do before Tuesday. A lot of work to do before Tuesday. So that when I get shot down by the judge, arrow goes right through my heart, at least I do it with class and style. In some nice pinstriped wool blend pants.

You can borrow him next time you go the graveyard at night or have your Thriller nostalgia moment.

Shambling. You know this word, right? The step of the zombie. Slow, deliberate and draggy. Uuuuh, shambly. So you see this movement, it is dark out, and yes. It could be zombies.

One of my dogs, who I wouldn't call a sissy exactly, (you should see him when he's got that shaggy squirrel duck in his mouth), but I would sort of call a sissy, he has zombie phobia. Not an unreasonable fear; we should all be careful and aware of the undead, creatures of the night. Sleepwalking flesh eaters. Not a nice thing to think about, but good to be on your toes. Because you never know.

During the daylight, sissydom, not an issue. Very brave dog. Sort of. Not exactly. Sometimes mistakes stumps on the ground for killer robots sent by the mother ship. But aside from that, very happy to just run around. However, as soon as it gets dark, detection skills change. He becomes skilled in zombie warning. And he is a good warner, I will tell you that right now. Because we definitely do NOT have a problem with zombie invasion on Walk Circle, that, I can tell you now.

By constant high alert status at night, we never have to worry that a trash can out on the street might just be there for garbage night. High alert status means we are prepared and alerted to it's danger as potential zombie trojan horse. Pumpkins, lurking on the porch, high alert. Because could have been rolled there by shambling sonambulists moments before, who are now lurking under the camellia bush ready to snatch a human by the ponytail. And should he happen to see an actual zombie, walking out of the fog, or dark, or corner store carrying a 12 pack, you will know.

Special alert signal? Shrill, high pitched bark. Repeated over and over and over again, until zombie is either irritated away, someone moves the trash can, or someone just hollers, "HEY! KNOCK IT OFF! GOOOOO! SHUT UP! GET IN HERE!" which usually does the trick. I know. I know. I should be awarding prizes to detection behavior. All backwards as a good dog trainer here. Good thing I don't train search and rescue dogs.

Not sure where he got this phobia. Not sure if it has anything to do with sometimes we have tribute to Michael Jackson night at my house and we all have to practice the Thriller dance together? Jacko Classic Dance Party? Gustavo you love this, right? Right? Isn't that dog dancing stuff cool right now? This is how you do it, right? I play MJ and the dogs have to do the zombie part? Some skills you don't want to lose. A good one to keep brushed up on. Maybe we all go practice right now. If someone can find Gustavo.

A scarey tale, post Day of the Dead.

This comment appeared late last night from Mary, one of my Dirt Nite Pals.

>>Pre-tomorrow advisory. Laura, no one meant it! I swear to you, no one meant it! Small dogs count! Each small dog counts as much as one big dog! Big dogs are overrated! I swear. You don't *have* to write about the Dirt Night Zombies who invaded Gustavo's run and dissed Small Dogs. Ruby was perfect! Big Dogs, not so much! <<

Cryptic, yes? Let's set the scene.

Full moon. A thick fog moving it's way up from the sea to the ranch where the Dirt Arena is. Just some bare tree skeletons sticking themselves up out of the thick, wet mist. You know that full moon is up there, but it's pretty much obscured by now. Sometimes you see the owl that sits in the rafters and stares down, beady old eyes, up to no good. It's dark. And it's quiet. Save for the barking of the most obnoxious dogs. Who all happen to be tied up together and not naming names unless their names are Otterpop, Gustavo, and Hobbes.

Let me tell you about the makeup of Dirt Nite. Heck, dog agility in general. Lots of big dogs. Not very many little dogs. In Dirt Nite, basically is me and 3 dogs and one lady with one. Pretty much the same proportions at dog agility everywhere. Small dog division, 15 dogs. 22" dog division, thousands and thousands of dogs. Endless classes at the dog show. Pages and pages of gate sheets with oodles of border collies over and over and over again.

I like big dogs. I run one. In a different real estate world, I would have my very own. Hobbes is very, very big. Actually a 26" dog, which is a nice, tidy division, much closer in size to the 12" dog size. But still, counts as big dog. As big as you get in the world of dog agility. Yes, is a different thing to run one. I would agree. Sometimes, those little dogs can get you out of tight spots that you are freaking out over on the big dogs. HOWEVER, my big dog friends, it goes both ways. You try getting some of those gambles with things four hundred miles away with your teensy tiny dog. Your little dog fast? You still have some HANDLING to do out there my friends. I do HANDLING with them all. What the heck you think I am out there practicing? You ever noticed my dogs do the same off course things as the big dogs? Yep. It is true. There is HANDLING to do.

So I am out there on the course last night with a small dog. Gustavo, to be exact. A very small fast dog. Who also is very new to doing the super hard courses of Dirt Night. I break them down for him, let him restart things if he misses a hard turn or when he does something so fabulous that I want to stop and reward him for his fabulousity out there doing a new kind of turn he hasn't done yet or whatever. Maybe his turn takes a split second longer than the other dogs. But he runs fast. We make up for the time. And that's how I run. I give a lot of prizes out there when someone does something I like. And, ahem, I make it my business to try not to make many errors. Although, I still do. But generally, use my course time effectively and wisely, I would say.

So I'm halfway through a course. Coming up to the a-frame, which is a giant V made out of wood, my non dog agility friends. Upside down out there in the dirt which must be climbed at blinding speed and involves toes touching yellow paint brightly slapped along it's side with dog toes, large or small. We've gone over this before. A place I like to hand out prizes liberally, because you gots to put a lot of savings in that contact bank so they hold up forever. Basically like an IRA and you do not want the stock market to tank during the Steeplechase Finals. And as my small dog comes down the side and I am planning a tight turn, one the dog has never done, I look up and here comes a zombie army.

They are drooling and they are walking towards me, all so methodical and calculated. Out of the fog. Eyes have that glaze of the undead with one thing on their minds. A chill goes through my spine. What do the zombies want and why out here now? Definitely up to no good. Coming to scoop out my brains via my eyeballs and eat my flesh while my heart still beating in my skin? Chewing on my carcass with their rotten teeth, spitting out bones before I have even expired? There are a lot of them and I'm clearly outnumbered and I am about to give an award on that big wooden V to my super fabulous little small dog.

Oh. Oh no. They just want to start a new course. They just want to grab the numbering cones and start anew. While I'm halfway through. I stop and hold them at bay and they sheepishly drop back and I wish all zombies were this sheepish and obedient and off we go to finish the course. No need to become a Buffy and figure out creative creature murdering tactics. Kung fun fighting, not neccessary. Just a stop and holler drives them away.

Fast forward to a few minutes later. Looking at the new course, everyone wondering about negotiating a hard turn. Someone makes a crack about how only hard for the big dogs. Small dogs, pish posh, don't count, get a real dog, I've heard it all. I know, I know, I know. Whatever. I go out, run it with my dogs, no problem. Unflappable. Go out, run it with the big dog. No problem, unflappable. Big dog, small dog. It's an issue for us all. I have a wide turning small dog who hits bars, a tight turning small dog who I have worked HARD to train that way. A still learning to turn small dog. Run a big dog who wants to turn wide but my job to make him turn tight and not take down bars. You think all this is easy? You guys, next time, maybe you take a turn with one of my dogs.

Then you report back here, how you did. We will be awaiting with our eager ears! And you watch out, big dog ladies. Just when you least expect sometime, maybe zombies come crawling out of the fog and spook you! Never know, right?

We are sort of like the Brady Bunch but no Alice.

Team Small Dog seems to be one happy family again. Otterpop is snapping out of her freakout mode, Ruby is happy about this, and Gustavo is less manic and wild. And Black Beauty. Little Black Beauty runs around and sits on laps and plays with the dog toy and just wants to stay here.

I would say she is still a foster. Remember when the Brady's got Oliver? Then soon went off the air? What was he, that little miniaturized John Denver smurf? Orphan? Foster child? Picked up somewhere by Sam the Butcher? I think the parents dumped him there to go on safari and were eaten by lions was the real story. Right?

I think Marcia was a-ok with Oliver. Ruby is a Marcia Marcia Marcia. Otterpop, total Jan. You know how she used to moonlight as a teen hooker on bad afterschool specials and Love Boat episodes and was always a little bit off? Not quite right, that Jan. Rode at my barn when I was a teenager. Smoked a lot. A little on the verge. She probably cast voodoo spells on the Brady's Oliver at night from that Jack and Jill bathroom that all those kids had to share. Gustavo? Bobby Brady. He grew up to do NASCAR, right? Was super happy to get an Oliver that the other boys would pee on instead of him.

So did Oliver stay a Brady? Live forever in that Studio City tract house with the lava rock facade? And no termites? Or did he move on to somewhere else? Or is Black Beauty a Peter and I am just all wrong here? And damn, would our lives all be a whole lot better if Alice lived here too.

Why we stayed home from Cynosport World Games 2008.

Do you subscribe to the USDAA email list? My non agility friends, I am thinking you likely do not. Right now, they are all bitching and moaning, like good agility people do, over where the Nationals should be held. East coast, west coast, no coast, Canada, somewhere that's not Arizona. Even though I am one of the privileged just down the street people, being over here on the left coast where we can practically see our next door neighbor, Arizona, and I had both dogs qualified and ready to go, the whole thing of driving to Arizona and a week off work, too far and complicated and pricey. Who knows where it goes next, and if Team Small Dog ever makes it there.

And now, all the money saved by skipping it goes to the House. Which has a case of the termites and needs So Much Work. A nice way to say it is deferred maintenance from the great real estate search for the ranch. Basically let the house go in the shitter because thought we were moving to the dream ranch. Which never materialized. Now, instead of looking for new property, I have termite guys come over and they all disagree on our termite types and prices but basically, the thing they all say is, move out of the house for 3 days to turn the house into a toxic yet colorful circus tent full of Vikane gas.

Now THIS will be a super fun and easy thing to do, move the menagerie of dogs, one of whom has separation issues that give her the charming personality of a rabid racoon and one which is an untrained, booty shaking chihuahua and then there's the rest of them and a semi feral yard cat that would have to go somewhere too. But think about how festive the house will look during those 2 days after the laborers kill all our plants wedging a giant and poisonous striped tent over the entire house! Move the animals where? Didn't figure that out yet. Where do you move for 3 days in a town full of No Dogs Allowed motels, with a pack of animals, some of whom have emotional issues and really like to just stay home. Maybe not a fun stay, at a seedy boardwalk motel with our crew. Did I mention the semi-feral cat? Every few years gets in a crate and goes to shot clinic for a shot, only time she's ever left the yard.

Once we've gassed the bugs, then the fun and money parting with will really start! Because the whole front porch recently rotted off, and the front door lock broke and doesn't open from the outside anymore. Did you ever come to my house and wonder why I shunted you up the driveway and in the backdoor? Where the electrical doesn't work so it's super dark and creepy? With open and exposed roof gutter drains that the roof fiasco crew never finished? Yes, you come in that way because if you step on the porch, you might fall through the rotten holes that Gustavo is obsessed with and does an OCD check on each time he comes in the house, check hole one and hole two and hole three. Checking for bugs or checking for vermin or just plain old checking, I dunno. Not that you could enter the broken front door, even if you made it up on the porch without your leg crashing through to the animal fun place known as Under the House. Where, for all I know, also live rabid racoons.

Then, when the porch is removed and maybe the porch remover and rebuilder can also pull out all the rest of the rotted termite wood all around the house, the stuff that Joel Warner didn't see during the House Painting Fiasco. The porch remover and rebuilder can tear out the bedroom wall for sliding glass door and the tiny little lily pad of wood that I call Deck but you call short box sticking off house and taking up whole backyard. And House Painting Fiasco Redux starts again at the end of things with the wood. This time, I will hire guys with paint sprayers and their own scraping equipment for House Painting Fiasco Redux. Maybe won't be a fiasco. Maybe will look just fine. As long as the paint actually sticks to the house this time. Hopefully the new sticking paint is going on the porch too, hopefully the rotten porch is actually removed and a new porch is built. That is my hope, but I learned during Roof Fiasco you don't always get what you want. Sometimes, you just want a roof and what you get is the contractor's beloved Jack Russell dies and his kid flakes and then it rains inside your house.

So the Nationals are moving where? No one knows. I like the idea of Arizona. Maybe they all get qualified this year again, even though it's harder. New and improved rules. Let's just say. Even Gustavo could go. And it costs the same as what?

Well, when me and my new friend Chris, the dryer fixing guy who used to show collies in the breed ring, were shoving thing around on the kitchen floor, really started thinking about the sad state of the kitchen floor. Chris just walked away from dogs and dog shows when he learned how political it was. Doesn't own any dogs now. Never did any agility. His love was confirmation and handling those collies. I had never even heard of the rare White Collie until I met Chris. Who I only knew for like 10 minutes and eighty smackeroos, which is all the time and money it took to give me the news about the sad demise of the dryer. The washer is it's conjoined twin. Can't replace one without the other. The super expensive motor nearly the price of the nice new one from nice lady at Sears, Julie of the messy hair. I like clean clothes. I like to have a front door that works. And paint that is actually attached to the outside of the house, instead of falling off into clumps that might hurt a baby termite's delicate little wing.

I am pretty sure USDAA Nationals 2009, in whatever location it will be in, costs that much.

Where there used to be blonde streaks, now there aren't.

The best part of driving to Santa Rosa at 5am is seeing dawn eeking up over San Francisco and the Bay Bridge. If you're brave enough to look over your shoulder driving over the Golden Gate Bridge. Do not drive off and into the bay. The worst part is not having an IV mainlined straight to my jugular vein for coffee. Really hot and delicious coffee. With milk, not half and half. But that's how it works in the glamorous agility commuter lifestyle. You use a drippy travel mug and look back a lot and still try to stay in your own lane and DO NOT FALL ASLEEP and the coffee is lukewarm and not much kick. These are the sacrifices you make, to get there in time for a nice parking spot and to get a dog measured to be short.

I like driving up to Santa Rosa. It's beautiful up there, near SF, not like driving though desolate central valley cowlands. Actual city lights. Can do errands in SF and stop and visit friends. Maybe. Unless you are just too tired and you don't. But you could, is the point here. Could even go get highlights or buy shoes. Unless you are too tired and you don't. And it's chilly there, and there are shady little pig stalls to park in and dogs can just sit in their luxury vehicle, albeit in a pig stall, all day and what nice exercise it is to run back and forth from the ring to the car the ring to the car the ring to the car for all the runs for all the dogs.

So to skip to the high points of the dog show:

Gustavo super star contact getter and just knock out runs. Did two dogwalks, and I would say his dogwalk contact was stellar beautiful gorgeous on the first one, and barely there yet still a contact with one toe on the second one. Insanely fast times. Every time I run him I can't believe how cool he is and how did we do this. He pulls you down the crate gauntlet to get out there, just bounces around on his own adrenaline, and yet holds a startline stay! For reals. Then flies around and follows directions and just looks like he's loving it. All streamlined and full deerchasing speed ahead. He did 2 classes, and yes it was CPE and yes the courses were super easy, but he just did them so well.

Can you tell I like Gustavo? Various people informed me he is a papillon dog of the flutterby ears. I am not convinced of this, but just nod my head and say, "Yup. Could be." I'm glad I'm starting him slow. Not entering him in a full menu of runs where he could lose a dogwalk contact in a day or lose the poles. Just a couple, for maybe a long time. Make it easy and don't let him miss anything. He's no papillon. Maybe a relative. He's just Gustavo.

Otterpop. Not weird. Not stressed out. And super fast! No judge meltdowns, just sped around like a champ and knocked all her runs out of the park. A good citizen all around. Although led everyone in howling when we got home. And kind of mean to everyone about who gets to play with the duck squirrel thing. She is still on stress watch but every day seems healthier and less weirdo. Our normal, happy family of dogs is coming back.

Ruby. A couple lovely runs, one out of control first run of the morning with a total flyer off the dogwalk and crashed right through the triple bar. One of those point hogging classes, let's just say ran through it with many points to spare. But still. Very last run of the day, knocked a bar, refused the a-frame and I just pulled her. That's never a good sign with Ruby, was one of those weirdo CPE classes where I didn't love the course for her, and if she doesn't want to get up on that a-frame at the end of the day, why. Yes, she got one of those Colors Q's we were looking for.

Some low points, because what is a ying without a yang.

Black Beauty. Poor Black Beauty. Spent a lot of time in the car, in a crate. Dog agility runs with other dogs, important things to do such as sit in a cold metal chair in the ring righting wronged bars doesn't leave a lot of time for chihuahuas. Poor chihuahua. Agility trials kind of suck for the non agility dog. Great for napping though. Black Beauty, very well rested. Took a couple walks. What can I say. Sidekick.

Bitching, sourfaced, crabby shit talk. OK. This was a memorial trial for a popular agility guy who tragically passed away. Maybe didn't run like clockwork. You get it, right, that the Management here, not getting paid? Not like the management of Carnivale who was mauled by a Russian bear and has no legs and lives in a puppet house. CPE seems to run different anyways, with all those different levels and some classes long, some short. But what the hell. A beautiful sunny day, and was even a special memorial award and touching presentation with a toast. Don't come crabbing to me with crab appley faced whining about sitting around and waiting. Go learn to work on a score table. Walk your dogs. Dust out a trailer. I dunno. Make yourself useful, crinkly faced complainers.

People with mean dogs. Sort of tight quarters at this trial. Not big wide open spaces everywhere. But HELLO. Never have I had so many dogs come nearly lunging out of owners hands at one or more of my extremely short little dogs. A cool thing of CPE is many, many breeds and many levels of people there, a lot of beginners. But seemed like a little extra in the cluless department of managing issuey dogs in small spaces or just remembering to do this. No one got nearly bit or anything. I always keep eyes peeled for scarey dogs because my dogs are single servings in one bite for a lot of dogs. But I always think of CPE sort of groovy, mellow vibe and a lot of so not groovy dogs patrolling the area.

I had this moment where I looked around at all the messy, unhighlighted hair, sort of rumpled. Wait. Didn't I used to get mine highlighted? Cut? Standing out there together, in the dirt. And saggy jeans. And weird shoes. And then I looked at mine. And my shirt that used to be my favorite but now has some kind of gum stuck to an arm and dog paw stains and jeans all stretched out in the ass. And totally realized. I am just one of them. Us. One and the same. That's how it is. New shoes? Let's talk goretex. There is not time and money for nice hair because of practicing dogwalks and teaching weave poles and spending the day off driving to the dog show. Maybe someday, we can have it all. For now, we are taking the dogwalk contact, please. I guess. That just pained me a little though.