The time she went to the dog show and thought of a catchy little saying we'll call One Step Forward and One Step Back.

Let's see. What would you like to hear about the dog show?

How about the part where I won a box of Anti Bacterial Handi Wipes in the raffle? And some poop bags?

That was a high point.

And the handi wipes came in handy since I was one of the garbage ladies. And if you work glamorous jobs such as garbage lady, you get tickets to win things in the raffle. So I worked to get the handi wipes, and I needed the handi wipes because I worked. Is that sort of like one step forward, one step back? Getting you nowhere?

Let's call that the theme of the weekend. If the theme can't be Tiki Bowl Mai Tai Hula Bash. One step forward, one step back. There were moments. Otterpop won an envelope full of cash in Steeplechase. Not going to complain about that.

Gustavo got an Advanced Gamble Q and had a momentous, lovely, flawless-sort-of Standard run. Having a dog that gets gambles with ease is a whole new thing. And him hitting weave poles fast and accurate multiple times is exciting. But. But. For the momentous Standard Q, he got slammed with that BAD teeter again, right at the end. I knew there was a chance. I knew it could happen, but in a 3 ring trial, there was only one Love Teeter and the other 2 were the evils and he did it and it slammed him again and here we go again. Hits that teeter fast and hard, he can't hold on, it whips so hard, and he comes off on the bounce and gets slammed in the ass on whip number two.

Next time in the ring, for Gamblers, I just avoided it, he seemed a little spooky but made it around ok, only real sign of freakiness was a dogwalk refusal, just nervous to run up it off the bat, flying along. But next time back in the ring after that, for what should have been a gentle, low key little Snookers run, just seemed kind of stressed out and checked out and I pulled him halfway through the run before any worse damage done. I don't want him running stressed out. I want the confident, amazing little dog that started the weekend Saturday afternoon.

We'll see. We'll investigate the damage done this week. Stay tuned for more exciting details. Because I know the Gustavo teeter totter saga is the soap opera you just can't get enough of. One step forward, one step back.

Otterpop had a great Grand Prix run, where I made an error that I've before, popping her out of the last pole, right at the end of the course and hello, once again, another 5 fault Grand Prix. Sucky gamblers. Just suck ass. And, a new low point with error free Standard and Jumpers run with time faults. Yes. Time faults. Her slow brain timer on the start of the course, slow enough to give her a time faults now. Time faults??? Doesn't that seem like if she knew that, knowing how fast she usually runs, that it would make her MAD to have TIME FAULTS? Like sort of Insulting?

Can you see me ripping hair from my scalp?

One step forward, one step back.

I made up to Hobbes about his embarrassing Steeplechase with a beautiful, lovely Standard run. So he had one step back, one step forward. Although Rob did not have me run him in anything else the whole weekend. The hideous Steeplechase freaked us all out.

Ruby slept away the day. Had some walks. I am pretty sure she could give a rats ass about running at the dog show. She loves practicing just a little bit, being the schoolmaster dog for students to run in class, and that's enough agility for her. I am happy that Ruby is happy. And hopefully having a more pain free future. She chased around her tiny tennis ball when we got home. That's what Ruby likes to do. I just looked at a video of her from a year ago. She was still hitting bars, but didn't look so bad at 12". I wish dogs could show us better when they are starting to hurt.

Next weekend, the Southwest Regionals. 4 days of USDAA fiesta. OK, 3 for me, I'm going to work on the Saturday. And actually Friday is just evening pairs nite. This week, we'll be getting all ready for the mayhem of it all, and how many steps forward, how many steps back will remain to be seen. I will do my best to make it no pressure for Gustavo, you can be sure of that. Otterpop? No clue. Just stepping forward, stepping back. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. Can only train and not complain and just keep doing my best.

A nice hot day at the USDAA.

Went to work early, and to beat the heat. Was a genuine 400 degrees on Friday, and half the state on fire. Got done nice and early in the afternoon, so made it over to the USDAA trial in Prunedale for some afternoon classes.

Had a spectacularly bad Steeplechase with Hobbes. I am likely fired after this from running him. My favorite border collie in the world. Who I love winning Steeplechase with. Not totally crashing and burning in the first round. Something just seemed wrong with us. No one feeling the love. Just before he ran, was fielding phone calls about fire in the hills a few miles from the barn and what we do about that and due to my non existent mental management, maybe had something to do with it. One of those phone calls that makes the blood pressure go up up up. Airplanes dropping water. Ran the dog, got on the phone again. Turns out was not a bad fire, no equine emergencies or mass evac, just one stinker of a Steeplechase. Sorry Hobbes.

Otterpop had a pretty good Steeplechase, came in second so goes on to the second round. Had a lame-o start, one of those days. She picks it up, but not in enough time to have a winning time. Same thing in Snookers. Still working on that last SuperQ, which is winning the class essentially. So just picked out a go-for it course, but the saddest sound in the world happened. The sound of the buzzer when you are in that last set of Numero Siete weave poles after doing them 3 times already to rack up those Sevens. A faster dog, who beats the pants off us on a regular basis, made it through. Such is life. Those slowpoke, weirdo starts, bite us in the ass. Not that Otterpop doesn't deserve to be bitten in the ass. But not on the metaphoric level. The subtleties of language lost on her. Otterpop has a special dog show timer in her head and that timer says, Waste Time. Then run fast. If I could unlock that timer secret someday, Otterpop would be a superstar.

Gustavo was a superstar. Superstar Jumpers run, moves him up to Masters now. God help us all.

Ruby, no classes, basking in her retired vibe. She baked in the heat, wouldn't have wanted to run anyways. Gustavo has a hard time in the heat, he runs fast but he gets overheated really fast and hot and panty. Poor skinny little thing. Otterpop is like a cockroach. She doesn't care. Whatever global warming dishes out, Otterpop can take. She's Otterpop.

Back we go again tomorrow, a whole day at the dog show!

Walking down to the whale skeletons where no one should talk.

I've been walking with the dogs down the long, straight path that heads out to the whale skeletons. Mobile home park on one side, half deserted, as the old folks die and the rent control debacle strangles the rest of them, marine lab buildings, towers and tanks, like way out to the west. Looks like a movie set out there, across the dried up pricker bushes, quiet cement and tin buildings with the towers, full of fish I guess, and fish experiments. The path lies between, just a long, straight shot that ends at a cliff drop, wedged between the cinderblock wall and 40 or so acres of dead grass.

The dusk happens earlier now. People go home. I can have the path by myself. Can't walk it when there's someone down there, that might speak. That path is only good in the silence. You walk down that path, like a straight plank going to drop you off to sea, and your gaze stays on the horizon that lies ahead. Sun is down, all smokey and cloudy, over the hills behind your shoulder. And just walk straight on, straight on, no one around. Tide is up, so way out from the west you can hear the echoy crash of waves slamming up to the cliff wall.

The dogs like this walk. Otterpop finds some stick part way in. Watch her watch it for a minute. Pick it up. Put it down. Pick it back up, weighs it in her mouth, and then she's off. It was the right one. Gustavo just runs. Runs out to the pricker bushes, where the bunnies the color of dirt come from, comes back in. Just runs. And Ruby at my ankle, walking out to the horizon, where the path drops to the sea below. If it's quiet enough out there, and the sea looks bad enough, it's hard to go back in. We just stay out there, sometimes go all the way out to the skeletons, bleachy old bones, pounded into the dust with rusty stakes and bolts. Some giant whale that died somewhere and they boiled off the flesh with chemicals or something, maybe acid, of a whole giant whale the size of two semi's. Brought those bones up and nailed them down, forever.

Finally when I walk back in, sometimes have to turn and go back to the cliff edge one more time. Watch a couple more waves hit hard. Then slowly walk back up for real this time. Sun long dropped down the mountain by now, but enough light from the afters to walk back to the road. Dogs still run. Otterpop never did let up on that stick. Gustavo runs out to the field and back, Ruby still at my ankle. If you squint and make the big industrial building at highway one blur to nothing, all you see is the meadows that rise up to the forest, and the redwood mountain above.

The dogs don't watch that. They don't watch how the light goes red from the smoke before it goes to black. They don't care that the air is wrong now, and it's autumn and autumn is a bad thing. Want to smack the next person waxing on about the indian summer and our beautiful weather. Autumn is when you gotta look over your shoulder. Hate what the light does, being suffocated out while it's trying to turn into winter but can't stop being summer part of the day. The shadows are long and in the wrong place and just wish the dusk would get it all done with and turn to the dark. Takes too long. Get it over with. Yank the cord and be done. Don't like the way it marks a change in a direction towards the dark and the chill that no one can stop. It just changes and you can't stop it.

This might be the imposter so use your secret handshake so I know it's you.

It was brought to my attention yesterday that I am possibly an imposter. Ruby? Can you tell if it's me or not?


There's another Laura Hartwick that has the same credit card number as me. Sets up accounts online and uses an email address almost just like mine to buy stuff. Like weird software that spammers might use. Not that the companies that make this stuff will actually say that. Except for Ephraim. He's a supervisor, and he said, yeah, spammers use this stuff. Made by his company. That sells stuff to the other me with the same credit card as me. That's not really his company, he just works in the call center in another state. He sounded sort of sad and gave me a bunch of other numbers to call to try to get Laura Hartwick, the genuine real not imposter one, out of this mess.


I think the dogs can tell which one I am. Except Gustavo. He thinks I'm a stump. It's the real Laura, Gustavo! For real! This is way too confusing for him. Because there used to be one of me and now there's another one of me, and Holy Double Stick Tape, Batman. This is one stinky old bucket of clams you got us into this time. TWO stinky old buckets of clams. Imposter Laura. Real Laura. Imposter Laura. Crap. Now I'm confused. I'm drawing a little X on my hand in sharpie right now. REAL Laura has a sharpie X. Don't tell Imposter Laura.


Otterpop knows. And she will totally kick the Imposter Laura's ass when we use our notoriously shrewd and stealthy detective skilz to find her. What if she's a zombie? Or in the Russian Mafia? Or a circus clown with tumbling skilz? The credit card company said they are on it. My friend Bev said to lock my credit report. One of my riding students said get a police report. She should know. She got so identity thefted that her imposter even bought land in Texas for her with all her invisible future money that will never come back in the future. It's confusing. And so potentially SCREWING.

Practicing with the Team-a primer.

Maybe you've been thinking, Gee. I wish I could be just like Laura and Team Small Dog.

OK. Maybe you haven't been thinking that. But you wish that your small dogs could be as super cool as mine.

OK. Probably you haven't been thinking that either. I know. Your dogs are cooler and better trained. But you're here. I dunno why, but you're here again today, and today we're going to show you what we practiced yesterday so you can practice it tomorrow. Or next week. Or not ever. But if you do, let me know how it goes. Or went. If you did. Unless you don't.

Why does that keep happening?

Anyways. Dog show season is upon us. We have USDAA this week, the next week, then some more in September. I'm trying to look at it with no expectations these days. No pressure. Who cares about that stupid 3 gamblers Q's for Otterpop's ADCh last stupid Super Q only person I know without an ADCh. No pressure.

For real no pressure for Gustavo. He'll be making a triumphant return back to the show ring and it goes how it goes. I can say with confidence he's been smashingly super every single time he's practiced and is running like a champ. I can also say with confidence I forgot to pay my car registration and got a big fine. And that I love quesadillas from Tacos Morenos. All which prove, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Anyone could forget to register their cars every single year. Hola Officer! Nothing proven there.

And no pressure for Ruby. Because she's not running. It will be a little sad this year at Regionals, last year having Otterpop and Ruby in all the finals together was super fun. This year, she gets to just nap. It's a new era, an era where I'm sure Ruby is kicking back in her crate, having that nap, thinking, damn, we stopping at Tacos Morenos on the way home?

So in preparation for all that no pressure, we practice hard. Every week. I am actually pretty structured how I practice. And organized. Not lying. Am NOT! Where I fail in registering cars and perhaps paying other strategic bills, and perhaps simple tasks such as picking up around the house, I succeed in organizing agility training. I have some ideas, see what has been set up where I practice, and go from there.

On Monday, we worked on 6 different things. See schematic diagrams below.


1. Hard leadouts to tunnel/dogwalk discriminations.


2. A-frame to pinwheel with variable handling methods to find speediest one


3. Bad dogs do not just escape from the xpen whenever they want and have to practice crate games because Gustavo's name is not Otterpop and is not Ruby and dogs are supposed to wait for their names and not just blast out of xpen door when someone else's name is called because they are a very bad dog.


4. Running a super fun whole course!


5. Really fast tables without sliding off EVAH or leaving table to climb underneath in the shade if I am doing a far leadout far away, Gustavo.


6. Far away sending to closed tunnel and hard weavepole entrance drill


7. Dogwalk to a right tunnel practice.

6 things the same, but practiced different for everybody. Here is the part where any non dog agility friends that are still with us, now check out. Um, I know. You thought you were maybe getting stories about nutty ladies at the horse show. My neighbor or possibly your relative causing flames to come out of her truck engine. Tacos. Tattoos. Tummy tucks. But in case we go down with a spectacular CRASH this Sunday at dog agility, let the record show. I may not be able to pay bills on time, but my dogs are well practiced!

1. For instance, I have 3 dogs, each with a different dogwalk contact. Ruby has running, Otterpop has a laydown off the bottom and Gustavo has a 2o2o. Ruby's running dogwalk contact is one of my proudest achievements in all of our dog agility career. We keep it tuned up. Otterpop's dogwalk can suck, usually because JUDGES come near her on it so we keep it tuned up. Gustavo has not missed a contact yet, but has learned the joy of self release off the bottom and we hold his 2o2o every single time with lots of weird lead outs off of it in practice.

2. That a-frame pinwheel business, want Gustavo to not do his mysterious show ring runarounds at the a-frame so he has to see it with me in any possible position, which means he has to handle a pinwheel from lots of places too. Ruby gets 1-2 a-frames only per practice. Otterpop needs to keep her a-frame fast and no dawdling up there.

3. Um, number three is just sloppy dog training but can be fixed with the fun game called everybody released to the frisbee then has to run back in the xpen before frisbee again and waits til your name is called or NOBODY gets to run after the frisbee. Ruby has never sinned from this but those mayhem dogs can get sloppy then we have to do this tuneup but it's a very fun tuneup.

4. Everyone gets to run a course because that's just fun. I run it a little different with every single dog. Ruby and Otterpop usually help me test drive it for how I want to handle it with Gustavo.

5. Ruby and Gustavo both sometimes hit tables too fast and slide off. Otterpop can get manic and pop up her elbows before her count finishes. Somewhere Gustavo picked up this comedy routine called get under the table and lay down there. He also does it when it's really hot. I thought about this and decided we needed to practice some tables. Those blasted tables.

6. None of my dogs are great at chutes. Probably because we rarely practice them, but now we see one at Forest Agility so we practice it every single time we go up there. So we worked on sending to it, rewarding, a bunch of times, then tightening up a hard weave entrance when they come out of the chute fabric. It still amazes me somewhat that Gustavo has been hitting every single pole entrance. Amazement!

7. That turn to a tunnel after the dogwalk. Oh boy. I have never taught any of the dogs a right or left. They all have a Turn, which is a turn away from me. Gustavo is weak at this and he needs to practice it more often. Anything involving a tight turn, we need a lot of work on. Otterpop and Ruby practice it at far away distances.

Fuzzy black cloud floating over her head all day that causes a boring old PSA.

Maybe you were watching tv on Saturday night, and saw this show, In the Doghouse, on the Animal Planet? The star is a vile little man named Brad Pattison, with an ugly, fuzzy little bald spot sitting in between 2 hair pods on his ugly little head, who dispenses backwards information and borderline abuses dogs, right there on tv. On the Animal Planet. Right after positive reinforcement trainer Victoria Stillwell tries to fix messed up dogs. Animal Planet. The channel with puppy cams and saving the whale terrorists. Warm and fuzzy? Big bad Brad makes Cesar Milan look like a floppy little easter bunny.

He scares the shit out of dogs. Hangs them up and lays them down with a slip collar. Tells people that training dogs with treats teaches them to bite. I'm not kidding. Will make them dangerous and starts 'em biting kids. Yanks 'em and cranks 'em and causes dog shivering and quaking and why the owners smile and say thanks, I'm not sure. Gave me the creeping willies to watch him.

He's got a barky ugly voice, and wearing a ratty beaded necklace that some surfer threw out back in 1987. Did some pseudo relationship counseling between the dog owners, that made no sense to me, and just wailed on the couple's aggressive small dog, then dished out a bunch of nonsense about training their puppy.

Honestly, that show sat with me all day. Was a long day out at a horse show, with a pack of kids who love and value their relationships with their horses, who teach their horses and demonstrate good sportsmanship and horsemanship, and I keep thinking about this fuzzy headed guy Brad, and how even my littlest pony riders would never do what he does to an animal. How we work so hard to teach kids to do the right thing, how all my girls work so hard to be champions because really, they love their horses. And that fuzzy little bald spot keeps popping up in my mind. Just seemed like something so wrong.

Maybe you've seen him and thought the same thing. He was news to me. Hell. Maybe you think he's the real deal and you gonna let him train your dog. But really sat in my craw enough all day that I dug around in the internet and found this link to the marketing people on the Discovery Channel, parent company for Animal Planet. I told them what I thought. And maybe you want to do the same thing, if you seen what I seen.

http://extweb.discovery.com/viewerrelations

The time she was all feeling the love and everyone's all, geez, hope that doesn't last long.

It's hard to remember sometimes, when Team Small Dog was four. Not three. Almost every morning now, sky barely light, when we brisk step home from the beach, we walk by the old guy with the front yard full of stoves. Not sure what he's gonna do with them. He collects cans, too, and is always sorting them out there by the stoves as we're walking by, getting ready to take them wherever the can guys take them to get their coin. He always looks up from his cans, chuckles all, "heh heh heh" and says something like, "you sure gots your hands full today," or "heh that's sure a buncha dogs there."


The three of them together, such a unit, can't imagine it any different. But everybody on their different trips. You got your Otterpop, glaring around the corner, then charging out of nowhere, plowing through everybody, everything, some kind of weaponry in her mouth. You got your Ruby. Sometimes a little shellshocked looking, needing to be the stealth player under the ever present gaze of her sister, then slam dunking that tennis ball catch with the grace and quirkiness of a ballerina on acid. And Gustavo. Just like some days it's hard to remember when Timmy was with us, it's hard to remember when Gustavo wasn't. The eternal puppy, possibly now 3 years old, who we could never, ever, ever imagine living without.


Not that he's without his quirks. Afraid of things like garbage cans or plastic rocks that might move from one day to the next from one spot to another. Doesn't bark, but screams like a starving monkey when the banana boat sails away into the sunset. Has a penchant for finding treasures that include credit card bills and borrowed paperback books and stealing them away to his lair for a good old fashioned shredding. Kind of like handling the ratty little piece of lure course fur that zips along at 100mph out on the agility field . Can completely lose his gourd out in the forest and not stop running for hours.


But never had a dog that makes every single person he meets, his new best friend. BEST FRIEND. Never had a dog before that has a heart so stuffed with joy that it just spills out his bony little body every second of every day for him. Like oozes out. Spews out. High pressure spoutage out, because it just can't stay stuffed in. Creepy old guy who just fell off the curb, hacking up phlegmy, stringy old wads into his goatee? Love. Nearly naked guy at the beach, fluorescent orange shorts not quite covering all his manly bits, floppy boobs flapping over his flabby gut? Love. Teenage gangster, sporting colors, zit faced and just handed over a wad of something to black hoody guy down by the little creek? Love. No boundaries. No hangups on race, class, or gender.


Is he the favorite? I think I can honestly say no. I look at them all, sleeping in a big stinky wad on the couch over there, dog heads piled on dog butts and pillows and think, how do some people keep their dogs off couches? But like I said. All on their different trips. Where Gustavo got the love, Otterpop has the intensity. And Ruby has the conscience. The three of them together, all of them the favorite. No way to pick. Don't know why I have to think about it like that, something about the way the light's fading and the cold comes up now, and the smoke still red in the sky. Air feels like a vacuum, quiet out on the street at dusk. Every single day I have with my whole team, no matter what else happens that day, it's the best day.

A pair and a spare.

One nice thing about having 3 dogs is that I always bring a supply of dogs along for others at Dirt Nite. Some people bring cookies, I bring spare dogs. I maybe cause a little bit of a sight. Being towed along by 3 little black dogs, and usually a border collie. With assorted accessories. For one Dirt Nite, I need one frisbee, one furry thing on a rope, one mini tennis ball, one border collie tuggy thing, and a string cheese. Everybody on their own trips.

If it's a small group, and someone needs a spare dog, I usually have one handy. People looking for a cheap date always pick Ruby. She's a ringer. Tell her you got a treat in your pocket, she's your new best friend. Just run fast and don't step on her. Rear cross if you're going to get too close. Maybe, just maybe, when she got trained and her trainer, ahem, was learning how to handle, some dicey front crosses of near small dog skull crushing. She doesn't get to do many runs, and we put the jumps all the way down to 8" for her, but I'm so happy she gets to have some turns. She still gots her speed.

No one usually picks Otterpop. She's like the oafish emo girl in Doc Martens skulking on the sidelines. Rob ran her last night though, he's not afraid. She's actually super fun to run, she just doesn't give off that Cute Dog to Play With vibe. More like Is That Rattlesnake and Does it Want to Bite Me? But you pick up her frisbee, she's there. She likes you to send her out and run to front cross positions. Weirdly enough, I run her a lot like I run Hobbes, who is a 26" border collie. Right? He's more of a rocket blaster and she's like a speedy fast hockey puck. Not that I've ever seen a hockey puck. But if I did, I bet it would remind me of Otterpop.

Gustavo, not quite ready to just get handed off. Rob's run him before, but that's it. You need to be pretty accurate. He's outside barking at some plastic rocks right now. Don't mind Gustavo. He'll be ready to share someday.

What are we fighting about this week in dog agility?

This is sort of hard to explain, my non dog agility friends.

Let's pretend that it's the Jerry Springer Show.

The guests are:
USDAA, played by my own personal California Governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger.
AKC, played by Sandra Bullock.
CPE, played by child actor turned security guard turned reality star turned unemployed security guard, Gary Coleman.
NADAC, played by Paula Abdul who may be drunk.
Canadian agility will be represented by Celine Dion.

Jerry has asked this group to come together because they all put on puppet shows. Different kinds of puppet shows. Yet the same because, well, puppets. And there's a puppet problem.

Usually, USDAA puppet shows are have the most spiffy, new fangled puppets who demonstrate the newest in weaponry. The AKC puppet shows collect some cool cash to pay for Sandra Bullock's facelifts. CPE puppet shows, well, Gary Coleman tries real hard, let's just say. And the NADAC ones are sort of hard to follow. Like the scripts got written while Paula Abdul was drunk and then the writers had to rewrite and then she sort of had a nervous breakdown and no one was really sure what she was talking about but at least she tried to make sure no one had hurt feelings. Up in Canada? Who knows. It's really far away. Celine Dion though, man can she sing loud and she lives in a beautiful mansion with her husband Rene. Although sometimes on South Park they make fun of her and sing Blame Canada really, really loud then kill Kenny.

So what's the puppet problem? Let's just say that puppets are a coddled bunch. Their handlers and agents and managers are always trying to book their gigs between chiro appointments and massages and trips to the psychic. They are valuable, important puppets. Super stars of the puppet world. And lest I be vague using the term puppet, just remember, you got your muppets. You got your sock monkeys. You got your hand puppets. You got your finger puppets.

Oh, you didn't know sock monkeys were a puppet? For shame. Puppet shows are for ALL puppets. Let the sock monkeys go on! Sandra Bullock may hate sock monkeys, but how many of you saw the Proposal, anyways? Huh?

Anyways. Someone discovers that if you always hold a 24" ruler up your puppets ass, it stands up way straighter than if you use a shorter ruler. Actually, it's not an ass. Puppets don't have asses. They're puppets. A 24" ruler, shoved up your puppet's puppet craw, better for puppet backs! On sock monkeys even! Muppets! Big Bird! Little plastic finger puppet even stands up straighter and has no back ache! Just because the ruler is longer!

Oh, some of you are nodding your heads and stroking your heads. The familiarity of it all. You remember when there was a puppet measuring unrest a few years back. That whole debacle over the the sizing of puppet theater roofs. That one got ugly. All the roofs were different and the puppets were dying horrible deaths and finally, all the roofs got made about the same size. The Terminator was the last one to cave. He has that machine gun and just can dig his heels in and start cursing in Austrian.

So Sandra Bullock may have been first to notice this ruler thing. She travels in Europe frequently. Although so does Celine Dion and she's not afraid to let everybody know. European puppets, so much more cultured. Posturpedic. Pastoral. Such nice long rulers and Sandra Bullock's got to have them. Paula Abdul, she's all safety first and is always the first one on the massage table, cocktail in hand and she is all over this ruler thing for safety's sake. Governor Schwarzenegger, he doesn't BELIEVE in 24" rulers because those are for sissies and thinks all those puppet agents and managers a bunch of whining sissies and will shoot anybody that comes yammering to him about ruler size. REAL puppets should be able to stand up ruler or no ruler. Hasta la vista, puppets.

Up in Canada, Celine Dion waved her magic wand and became a dual citizen between the US and Canada because she bought Las Vegas and Cirque de Soleil and made everyone's jaws drop with her puppet shows but also people were pretty sure she was a witch. She has perfect posture and you can be damn straight so do her puppets. She was constantly plagued by the cast of South Park though, no matter what she did.

Poor Gary Coleman. He sort of just does whatever. He's just so short. He's probably ok with whatever ruler size everybody else picks out. No one notices.

So anyways, they all go on the Jerry Springer show together. Do I even need to tell you what happened? The Governator, had a machine gun and sprayed a round off first thing. Sandra Bullock got all insulted and starts blathering on about her box office receipts. She's smug, but she probably is making the most money. Gary Coleman just wanders around and gets lost behind Jerry's desk. Paula Abdul gives everyone kleenex and bandaids that got nicked with the machine gun fire. She just KNEW something like this would happen. Celine Dion has been pre rigged in her Cirque de Soleil airs above the ground rigging and is floating around above everyone, singing.

Wait? What were we talking about?

The dork factor.

The slide into dog agility has always been a slippery slope for me. Started with a treat bag and had to buy "athletic" footwear. Then a skort somewhere along the way, then maybe another. You purchase a giant blue pop up tent. Sun hats. Gore tex shoes and moisture wicking socks. Fleece. And the fleece can be a vest! And before long, totally confirmed. Dork. Any traces of hipster cuteness, fully engulfed into a flaming pile of sports bra and pvc and sunscreen.

We just don't feel good about this. Ego. EGO. We try. We look for inspirational quotes that say stuff like, Get your head out of your ass.

Is that inspirational?

I put on my weirdo sun hat that makes Gary cringe, and that I am pretty sure is like having a stamp across my chest that says Certifiable Crazy Lady, and try to hold my head up high. Instead of wondering, would Brody or Camille ever wear this? You might not know Brody or Camille. They're not reading this. I slipped so far off the slippery slope they got scared and now we only communicate with Christmas cards. Let's just say. They would not wear that sunhat. Ever. Don't even utter the words fleece vest.

I'm not saying I was ever uber cool. Far from it. It was always a struggle. Starting from those ugly shoes you made me wear in elementary school, Mom. That's right. Hi Mom! My mom reads this. And she doesn't care who sees her in her sunhats. But those shoes were so UGLY. And the knockoff jeans from Sears in junior high. Sears! Junior high! Near death experience. I struggled. STRUGGLED. Because other people might be looking. And thinking, she is so not cool. Which like, in junior high, yeah. Really sucks. When you are over 40, shouldn't you be completely over it if you are a nice well adjusted human being?

Do nice, well adjusted human beings do photo shoots of gophers demonstrating complex dog agility moves?

I know that when me and the dogs practice by ourselves, no one looking, they are faster and more accurate, and unbelievably amazing. And when everyone sees them at the dog show or when we practice with friends or in a class, they're sort of like, ho hum. Whatevs. Nice little doggies. Kinda zippy, kinda cute, but you know. Whatevs. Like I never feel nervous at a dog show, but for some reason, even though my goal is always to train exactly like I want them to run in the show ring, the show ring result, a little bit lacking. Or sometimes, a lot lacking. The other day, we had a sort of fun match practice. They were fine. But not the TOTALLY FANTABULOUS AMAZING I know they can all be.

And even when I'm practicing by myself and I decide to try and get a video, which never, ever turns out right anyways, something isn't right. They're fine. They're ok, but it's not the same.

Here. Watch. They're fine. They're fast. I think Gustavo beats Otterop by a second or 2. But neither of them as NUTSO, over the top fast and driven as when I did it before I turned on the camera. This is a criteria that I want! Nutso! Over the top! GO! Even though I don't have to actually show anyone the video, I could download it and hit delete, just that pesky little camera eye watching makes me blush.

*Ruby was on break during the filming of this video.

When it's just me and my dogs, my inner dork is what has become my biggest motivator. When it's just me and dogs, frisbee is a manic screaming game of snapping shark teeth and zucchini loaf airs above the ground. Ruby's tennis ball chasing has her ass over tea kettle, spinning donuts on the grass. Gustavo's furry thing on a rope is like a bi polar puppet show between monkey scream banshee and tongue speaking carny barker on acid. Whoa. Way more fun.

But when others are looking, these things are like simulacra fun. Yeah. Like as much fun as reading about fun in a big fat book by Jean Baudrillard. Yeah, we have treats. Otterpop's frisbee. Ruby's mini tennis ball. Gustavo's furry thing on a rope.

G e t - t h e - f r i s b e e.

Bo-ring. I don't mean to be that boring, but the second I flick the camera over to video setting, I think that something changes. Suck in your stomach and don't let your pants fall down. Make sure those dogs look GOOD.

So could this be it? The missing link to a stellar, smoking fast, winning run? My dogs just want the dork and all I can think about is I'm wearing the wrong pants or gonna turn the dog the wrong wa? I suspect it goes a lot deeper than that. Some kind of inferiority complex. Not wanting to fail. I dunno. But next time you see me totally dorking out with one of my dogs, just avert your eyes and be happy my head is back on my neck where it belongs.

Laura displays totally half assed photos from the Bayteam Practice Day because she was too lazy to get up out of the shade.

If you asked Gustavo about what he did yesterday, I'm not sure what he would tell you. Something about grass and chewing sticks.


Which was a popular part of the day, there were a lot of sticks available there, in the shade, on the nice grass. We were out at a Susan and Kraig's agility house for a Bayteam practice. Bayteam is one of the 2 dog clubs I belong to. Which pretty much exist so we can have lots of USDAA trials around here. Bayteam's next trial is the Southwest Regionals so we all need to practice up.


The difference of going to a practice instead of a dog show is everyone sits around a lot in the shade and is not running around freaking out and looking for drills or wondering if there is another walk thru or where did the scribe go. The difference of practicing with everyone, instead of practing by ourselves is we had a bbq. Mary is all chill. Peace, baby. Or she is memorizing how to do that stupid old serpentine out there. We carpooled out to the practice. My dogs always say mean things to her dog in the car. Her dog is big, but seriously outnumbered.


Mike is one of Gustavo's favorite agility friends. He always wears that hat. Gustavo is ok with that. Mike is a perpetual Crew Chief at all trials. You will see him at Regionals. He'll be wearing that hat.


Mike didn't realize all little dogs weren't as cuddly as Gustavo. He has border collies. He doesn't know Otterpop hates all border collies due to frisbee theft. I believe he called Otterpop "Doggy" here. Like in the sentence, "Cute little doggy." I believe he even considered petting her.


In retaliation, she sent extra evil stink eye at him and he got really, really nervous. Although did keep petting Ruby and Gustavo. You can call them doggies and they do nothing evil.


There's Cheri, Mike's wife, and her young dog Jeepers. She uses the pointy finger like I do.


Kathleen came to practice, even though she has her very own agility grass at her house.


Barbara is the Vice President of the Bayteam. This is what Vice Presidents get to wear to dog agility. No shoes and sporty hat! I am pretty sure Vice President Biden always wears shoes, even to dog agility. And never, ever wears sporty hat.


Kidd belongs to Tania. She is President of Bayteam which meant she had to make all the cookies for the bbq. Kidd is a dog that totally knows his left from his right. Like I know 10 year olds that don't know that.


Also, she wears shoes.

Escaping the smoke by going down to some more smoke.

So maybe you heard. Big fire out our way. Maybe you are even holed up at your house with the hose on the roof and everything still packed up, just making sure that sucker ain't jumping Warnella Road. This is a big, ugly, scarey fire. Our home and animals and horses are fine, we're far enough from the fire zone to be safe but a short enough distance away that we're living in a giant smoke cloud. The helicopters are going over right now with their dangling water bags.


I had a rare Saturday afternoon free, and we drove down to Garland Ranch in Carmel Valley, hoping to get away from some smoke. We drove and we drove and we were still in the smoke. Even the smokestacks were in smoke.


Garland Ranch is a huge open space preserve, and being in Carmel, allows dogs to run loose in there on the trails if they're well behaved. Which meant Ruby hiked all afternoon off leash and the other two when it seemed appropriate to let mayhem unleashed. Garland Ranch isn't some deserted forest or beach. It's like upscale hiking. Clint Eastwood probably comes here. And there are mountain lions. Gustavo and Otterpop just don't hike. They RUN. Run run run run run and me and Gary and Ruby are like the boring grownups just walking and the runners just fly around even though it's steep and hot and other people enjoy using the trails without a flying fox and his sidekick flying fruitbat flying off a cliff like right in front of them. Sorry hikers in yoga pants!


It was hot. And just a little bit smokey which was a lot better than the really super smokey I've been working in for the last few days. Part of the hike has stairs going up the side of the waterfall, which probably looks like a real waterfall when it's not fire season and a million degrees outside and there is some water.


I have never seen Gustavo take a break and lay down on a hike. Ever. EVER! We are so coming back here for hiking again.


Maybe don't tell Gary you saw him on the internet, ok? Or he'll never come out hiking w Team Small Dog again.


At the top of the ridge was a water station for dogs and horses. I love Carmel.


Otterpop didn't get the memo that this was a drinking bowl. She just hopped in and wouldn't come out. Poor Ruby. There was also a river down where you park which was perfect for super hot dog swimming so you can put super soaked dogs back in the car. Also lots of poison oak patches for the soaking wet dogs to run in by the river! Right on Team Small Dog!


After we hiked in the valley, we decided to go down to Carmel Beach because, what the hell. Who wants to go to our regular beach where the smoke is? We took the sneaky way by the Carmel Mission because the downside of Carmel is super traffic jammy. Fancy, shiny cars covered in ash traffic jammy.


You have to pay to go in the Carmel Mission. We just stood outside the gate for a minute and looked at it for free. Sort of Bo-ring. Sorry mission. Father Serra built all the missions with slaves from Indians he captured and tortured. You learn all about it if you go to fourth grade in California public schools. And then everyone builds a torture mission out of sugar cubes and paste.


They did have some nice succulents. So we bailed and drove around til we got to the beach. Carmel is beautiful but a little creepy and hygenic and airbrushed looking. I believe this is called Upscale. Everything in Carmel though, a-ok to bring dogs with you. The beach is a lot like our beaches except we go to our beaches before most people are awake or just before they go to bed. When frolicking picnickers are usually drinking moldy beer from a brown bag and a dirty old sleeping bag and tend to have skinny pitbulls. Not like the frolicking, clean picknickers with their poodles and labs and brightly colored cashmere picnic blankets.


No picnics consumed, dogs made even more wet and sandy and brought to brink of exhaustion and everyone then returned to the smoke. The end.

I can barely stand the awesomeness of it all.

You guys ever go to Nepal?

Yeah, me neither. But this lady Michelle does and hires sign painters to paint Beware of Dog signs. Maybe kinda, sorta different than the ones you buy at the hardware store and staple onto your gate.


Gustavo's isn't really a beware of dog. His sign is a whole different thing.

We sort of live in a very yin yang dog world here.

Namaste.

Ruby's new hobby as Dirt Nite ringer.

I started bringing a friend with me to Dirt Nite. She's only 8. And she's Ruby's new agility pal.

Even though the 8 year old has never done agility, except to set up brooms and patio furniture in her backyard for her dogs, she can run all the sequences I dish out for my advanced beginner class at Dirt Nite. Some of the other ladies in the class watch in disbelief. I know. Not a nice feeling to have your ass kicked by an 8 year old. Tried to explain, Ruby a little bit of a ringer. And her handler, a very fast runner.

Ruby puts up with a little bit of unusual handling, but pretty much I have them set up a nice long leadout, and then just yell, "RUN RUN RUN RUN" at them and off they go, around the course. It's pretty cute. So far, Ruby holds all her running contacts just fine, we set the jumps teensy tiny at 8", and that team is the new envy of the new to agility set. I wish every new agility handler could have a school master dog to start out with. Boy would their dogs be happier.

Does Ruby care if some of the handling wavers somewhat from GD? Naw. There's a stick of string cheese in her handler's pocket. Ruby gets it. She knows what the course is. You just run fast and point and she's there. Her handler doesn't know left from right exactly, so front and rear crosses can be a little expressive and freeform if she forgets mid course. Ruby's running contacts a little bit of a liability, because the beginning class then would like to also have running contacts and you know what? We're not even going there. I got enough gray hairs.

Once school starts, Ruby's new agility pal may have to retire for a while. We'll see. I think 8 year olds do spelling homework and then go to bed instead of going out to dirty old horse arenas at night. Ruby's always happy to run with anyone that'll have her. And runs fast. Her classmates, while they enjoy the cuteness factor of the Ruby team, may breathe a sigh of relief. I mean really. That just ain't fair, that little squirt and her ringer of a dog.

The Handling Systems are at war and Gustavo receives a message from God.

I know. Everybody thought Team Small Dog was going to explain how to keep those rock hard No Go Zones looking just like Beyonce's today. Or threadles involving a gopher, a wheelbarrow, and a bucket of pudding. But wait. Change in plans. Who can think about the No Go Zone and threadles because when we were walking down to the beach last night, all of a sudden, Gustavo stops dead in his tracks, with a somewhat addled look on his face. Which can only mean one thing. Stump! Or, actually, garbage can! Or, message from the higher power and the higher power is driving a big white van and maybe has a message from Greg Derrett! Sort of like in Monty Python and the Holy Grail and the Sleestacks are friends with the monkey boy and then the talking ape is on the beach and so is the Statue of Liberty's head?


Whoa! Trippy! Actually, the van was parked in the parking lot of the grocery store. Like you guys are outside practicing your double box work, but around here we have to go the store after work and then run the dogs and we need to buy something healthy to eat because if we want our No Go Zone to look like Beyonce's, you can't just have quesadilla's for dinner every night.


Actually, we had quesadilla's for dinner last night. Don't tell Jay-Z. Wait. The important message about the War of the Handling Systems is to Help the Cops? What about conquering hate, fear, greed, lust, the flesh and innocent birds?


Have Official Handling System Representatives weighed in on this? Susan Garrett has thanked us for our efforts already. Not sure if Greg Derrett and Linda Mecklenberg are down with Help the Cops. And there's Marcus Topps. Where does he fall in all of this? Silvia Trkman? Do they have systems? Don't even get me started on Jenny Damm. There is NO WAY the cops need help with Jenny Damm. I am sort of worried Gustavo got his message wrong?


I guess if you're helping the cops, barking at Otterpop is a good place to start. She is probably planning something illegal. She is probably impersonating Sarah Palin right now in an unflattering and ungenerous way and should be arrested. Isn't Sarah Palin retired now? Totally ready to start dog agility! But you know what? Sarah Palin could do agility and she could even use the APHS and we would still be nice to her. We would lure her in with our niceness and then she could be arrested because she's been lured. Even though luring is actually not such good dog training. But could work for Sarah Palin. Is that like helping the cops?


How about Dick Cheney? If he used the GD handling system and showed up at a USDAA trial, would it be ok if a GD handler called the cops or according to Handling War Accords, an APHS handler would be more appropriate? Like you Oregon ladies? Aren't a lot of the Oregon ladies APHS? Or is it just wrong to utter the name Dick Cheney? Like sort of playing the Hitler card and cancels out everything that comes after? OK. Scratch him. Poor taste. Like he could even do agility anyways. Let's say Snoop Dogg. He's a little sketchy law wise. If he was at dog agility and started smoking pot at the gate before a run, who would help the cops? Do they need a warrant? But what if he supports the President's new healthcare reform?


This is getting pretty rhetorical here. Otterpop grows bored.


Here's how I can peak her interest. Just add the word frisbee to Gustavo's message from God.
Frisbee help the cops. Help the frisbee cops. Help the cops frisbee.


Uh, oh. Blasphemy. And the sky grew dark, and there was a rumbling sound and she had to start running for her life. All biblical and shit? Someone getting medieval on someone's ass? Otterpop needs to help the cops? Wait, did anyone even do a blind cross? Don't Ruby's good citizen points count for ANYTHING? And Gustavo speaks with God or possibly it's just aliens, but still?

An explanation of Greg Derrett's handling system from inside the handling system war zone.

The internet tells me a lot of things. High Quality Watches! Fast and easy way to enlarge your penis! Acai your answer for losing weight fast! And the war between the handling systems!


You see, my non dog agility friends, we have APHS and GD and the internet says they are at war. It is like Bloods and Crips. The Giants and the A's. Palestine and Israel. Everyone lives together in the same hood but they see things different and then they go to WAR! Since I live in a love bubble of joy and unicorns that barf up rainbows, I didn't even know I was at war, but guess what. I am. I am a disciple of GD and I keep a sharpened spear in my love bubble so when the internet points out to me that my leader and my dog agility boyfriend, Greg Derrett is flawed, you lookie outie.


The super cool thing about a war on the internet is that you have super experts duking it out with non super experts, crazy people, people who can't spell and pretty much anyone who has access to a typing machine that magically hooks up to the other magical typing machines via the magic of cables and super brain waves and rockets. This wasn't invented when I was born. But I would like to point out that cars definitely were. Although cel phones weren't. But the war can be fought here, in the bandwidth, and then you just go out to lunch! Sorry Bloods, Crips, Palestinians and Israelites, and all the other victims of dichotomies that I use here in poor taste. Your wars handled in an uglier and bloodier fashion and I will go bury my head in my love bubble for a while and think nice thoughts for you.


Done.


Every so often, I address an important piece of Greg Derrett's handling system here. I would like to say this is because he asked me to, but I would also like to say that my rock hard ass looks smashing in a booty butt bikini. It is actually because I am supposed to be doing some important work for work on the computer and instead I will address an important piece of Greg Derrett's handling system here.


Today, let's talk about how to change our dog's direction.


When I trained my first agility dog, Ruby, we didn't really get the whole handling system thing. We got about 1/3 of it. We learned many things together and some of those things, not so great. I just ran some courses with her today and while while we basically use GD, I know I tend to run in close with her and stay behind her a bit more than my other dogs and do a lot more rear crossing. Which Greg would say is ok, because he is super nice.

Tangent Alert!
Also, can I just tell you Ruby is SO HAPPY to still do agility at practice and is staying sound and speedy over 8" jumps.
End Tangent.


But a useful thing that we know from his system is one of my favorite things about dog agility. The ability to send my dog out where I want them to go, and lickety split reposition myself in front of them so they totally get it, nice and early, where we're turning. I am such a front crosser. I love to run fast and send and get my dog to turn so nice and tight and smart because I am clear and consistent! Because they see me head out there and they know a turn is coming and all they have to do is jump straight where I tell them and then turn where I tell them. I make it so easy for them!


I think I started to catch on to the total consistency thing with Otterpop. And then I started running Hobbes who is uber super trained to be consistent. And then I trained Gustavo who indeed, has been like training a rainbow barfing unicorn in a love bubble on speed, and had I not had a consistent system for him, god help us all.


When you're front crossing, you just have to make sure that you always get to the optimal front cross position, and that your arm switch motion is not giving the finger and please don't point your shoulders like a crackhead. An important term here is your front cross line. This is not a system you can color outside the lines on. Unless you're running snookers. Or gamblers.


If you are rear crossing because you can't get out there in front in time, make sure you are not running Hobbes because rear crosses make him sad unless they are in the place he likes them. And keep your shoulders straight! Straight! No swivel shoulders on a rear cross. Just step neatly across your dog's path and if it is Ruby, they will be happy. The other dogs will be pretty happy, but they would prefer you are front crossing them. Oh, and make sure no one, especially Gustavo, tries to go in the No Go Zone!

Disclaimers: In case you are from PETA, that's not a real gopher. If you worship at the temple of Linda Mecklenberg, Greg Derrett isn't really a gopher. I don't really have a sharp spear but I do live in a love bubble. And it's not my fault the unicorn was barfing.

Today we will sum up what I would like to call The Boring Weekend.

I think August is the month where my mind goes boring. Because in August, you are supposed to go on vacation. You see Team Small Dog being taken on vacation? You seen that lately? I thought not. We go to work. And then the next day we go to work. And then the next day we go to work, and so on an so forth. And I am supposedly the brains behind Team Small Dog and for that brain to function right usually it is useful for it to spend as much time as possible drawing pictures with very thin pens and doing useful activities like, say, glueing many small shiny things on plastic horse carcasses and then taking their photos and blowing them up really large. Or going on vacation. Frank, the guy with the accordian, he has enough time in his day to glue a million shiney mirrors on his pants and learn 2000 songs on accordian. I think every day he is on vacation. He is not boring.


This thing, it is not boring. I believe it even understands the whole new healthcare plan and if a super religious republican person that scares it comes over and starts reciting facts which it believes to be untrue about the new healthcare proposal, it can spout off a rebuttal in no time flat that knocks that super religious republican person flat on their ass and makes them shuffle off going, "I see. No old folks will be offing themselves because President Obama is not promoting soylent green or Logan's run and I won't believe everything I hear on Fox news." This thing is not boring AND is well informed about the facts of politics and doesn't run away from religious republican persons.


This guy, we are pretty sure he is not boring. My dogs might say he is boring. I would say he is not, because I rode my bike over to watch him and his friends who seem to be 17 year old hippies from Canada doing all kinds of tricks and flips and airs above the ground in the circus show. And he has a giant suitcase so he is probably a world traveler, because, duh. Hippie, Canadian, Circus performer. Like maybe is boring but let's just say not. Although my dogs are going to say so because they got left at boring home when I wanted to go see the flips and flops. And bored dogs, potentially howling dogs and howling dogs, I'm just going to pretend not my dogs.


And these guys, we don't even know if any of them were boring but the tote bag guy was a friend of the balancing act circus performer and the tattoo guy had this eye problem and a toddler and the circus guy, well, see above. You don't want to get to close to circus guys though when they're off stage because clown makeup and nasal strips. Just try to stay at least 10 feet back and you'll be ok. But you won't be bored. I paid for the boring later, paid dearly. Because after the accordian show and the circus show and pancakes were involved, I heard there was a tomahawk and knife throwing contest for the Mountain Men. Hola! And I started organizing the dogs because, Hola! That is so not boring to bring Team Small Dog to a Mountain Men festival in the genuine mountains with a tomahawk throwing contest.

But, here's where we take a turn for the pathetic, everyone get ready to get weepy for us. It was hot and I was tired because did I mention the whole go to work go to work go to work thing? And I lay my head down for just a second, only a second and I fall asleep and dream of the day I live in a log cabin with sliding glass doors near Death Valley and have a barn full of old deer mounts and 100 cases of hot glue sticks and a million opals that I've dug up myself with my own tiny hammer and a million very thin pens and big sheets of paper and all the time in the world to sit in the quiet and glue opals on molding taxidermy and also Team Small Dog was there and I had a border collie puppy. And I woke up and the dogs were still bored so instead I took them to the forest and 2/3 of Team Small Dog decided not to listen to what we like to call in the dog training world, The Recall, because did I mention the go to work go to work and apparently that is not useful for tuning up dog training skills and got their skinny and fat little asses put on leashes and marched out of that forest on a walk of shame.

A short outburst on the history of taxidermy that quickly shuts Otterpop up.

Otterpop looks like she has a manifesto coming on. Never a good thing.


What's the matter Otterpop? Crappy taxidermy freak you out? Moldy and badly sewn stuffed cat got yer tongue? You have a vision of your future and you are now in touch with your inner feelings on the aging process? How you like them apples? Mortality looks you in the face like a little pony girl that asks if they invented cars yet when you were a baby, back when Sleestacks roamed the earth and were friends with Josie and the Pussycats and then you flash forward up to the future of nasty ass cross stitching with a few sequins super glued on here and there where the seam is too bumpy and too askew?


Social relationships between animals and humans, sort of complicated. Maybe you are like the marriage counselor between the girl and her horse and they're in therapy together so no one ends up in tears after every single ride. Maybe you got a pack of dogs and everyone has their power trips, but someone needs to step up and act like a grown up and teach everybody else how to behave with nice boarding school manners. Sometimes you got your deer hunting guy and his big truck and he pops that deer good, and SLAMMO. Nature and culture collide in a big, bloody way and Mr. goes home with a big fat rack to hang up in the dining room. Or maybe your beloved pet burro dies and you find a way to skin that carcass and you soak it in nasty toxic acid and and wrap it onto a bunch of big foam pillows and sew it up with gut string and a smile across it's lips. Now you got one helluva cross road between relationships held together with cross stitching. Dead owl on a fence post makes it's way into the nature exhibit about birds. Any way you slice it, there's something to it when people like their animals fully contained and controlled and then how about preserved and staring out at posterity with fake glassy eyes.


Aw, hell, Otterpop. Don't give Ruby that look. She ain't never ending up taxidermied. I can tell you that right now.


A long time ago, like Charles Dickens and shit, they would shoot squirrels and taxidermy them up in little costumes in dioramas having boxing matches and dental procedures and cocktails amongst the hoi polloi at the squirrel party. Playing badmitton and lacrosse and ice skating. Lovely little velvet costumes and genuine boxing gloves and tiny little shoes made from the softest kidskin, displayed before precious handpainted trees with special squirrel sized furniture and tiny fake cakes. I'm just a lady that talks way too much to her dogs, and hell, doesn't even eat meat. But what I wouldn't give for a squirrel army, poised in mid flight, running around on the moldings high up above my head in my creaky old wooden living room.


So wait, Otterpop. Did I just step on your manifesto train here? Beg your chubby little pardon, all sour and dour. No one really wanted to hear your yelling, anyways. Hate to break it to you. But I suspect you were going to yammer on about your tennis balls. Yammer, yammer, yammer. Sometimes, you just need to do something more quiet. Observing nature, maybe? Or taking up the hobby of sculpture? Reviewing stinky old texts of Mr. Levi-Strauss? Heck. I just like dogs and busted up old taxidermy. End of that outburst.

This is not a description at all of Dirt Nite.

So Facebook emailed me, although it was really Elayne in the guise of the Facebook. And it was one of those taggy bloggy barfy sharey things. Which meant opening Facebook which kind of freaks me out. But the idea was, you write down 15 songs that your ipod plays on it's shuffle. Which I thought was sort of cool, because my ipod loves me and it always knows what songs I want to hear. Because who doesn't love Christmas music!

So I wrote down every single song it played on the way to work the other day. Which was extra exciting because writing during driving! I love this! I do this all the time because I think of things then I write them down in my notebook on the passenger seat and then it's an adventure to try to read what seemed so brilliant at the time and is scrawled sideways across the page.

You may not want to drive near me.

On the same page in my reporter's notebook it also said:

Meth lady smoking with a shih tzu.

These are the important types of things I write down. On the way to work, I stopped at the beach and I talked to a very methy looking lady that had a shihtzu with her and she was having a smoke and speaking in tongues. She demanded, DEMANDED, not asked, to know the exact ages of all my dogs. I told her and went on my way and hoped she didn't break into my car. I don't think people with shihtzu's break into cars usually, but there was just something about her.

So here's a play list of one drive to work that ipod picked for me the other day. Sort of like when you look at someone's bookshelf when you go over to their house. I'm not sure what my songs say about me. You tell me. Then you write down yours. Send them to Elayne on Facebook. Or just stick em here and I'll judge your book by your cover for you.

CALEXICO-Prisoner on Rte 41
WHITE STRIPES-Yer Pretty Good Looking For a Girl
JOHN DOE AND THE SADIES-Fool Such as I
HER SPACE HOLIDAY-The Truth Hurts so Much This Should be Painful
JOHNNY CASH-Washing the Blues
JENNY LEWIS W RILO KILEY-Handle With Care
LEVON HELM-Little Birds
SUBLIME-What I Got
WHITE STRIPES-Your Southern Can is Mine
MADONNA EVITA SOUNDTRACK-Gentle Eva
THE BLACKS-Fake Out Jesus
SUFJAN STEVENS-Concerning the UFO Sightings
CALEXICO-She Lays in the Reins
LCD SOUNDSYSTEM-Give it Up
NAT KING COLE-Chestnuts Roasting on a Open Fire
OZOMATLI-Cumbia De Los Muertos
ELVIS COSTELLO-Pump it Up
ROLLING STONES-Dead Flowers

Today you will be weeping the tears of joy.

This is, I believe, the best website EVER. EVER. EEEVVVEEERRRRR!!!! Thanks, Laurel. I don't want many things. A ranch. Some more tattoos. Sunscreen from Kiehls. And a Victorian diorama case with a taxidermy monkey riding the goat with the little saddle.

http://crappytaxidermy.com/

You will go here. You will never leave. You may feel like your life is complete and you are so not worthy. Game over, and Crappy Taxidermy wins.

The time that the fox was sighted at the pond and all the rabbits were just fine.

So I'm running the dogs around at the pond the other night, which is sort of a mix of practicing Good Dog Training by calling Ruby and Otterpop off all the cute fuzzy bunnies that are clearly insanely stupid to hop around the pond while dogs are running, and Bad Dog Training, which is watching Gustavo madly chase bunnies around with no hope of "Leave It". Sorry, dumb ass Little Thumper, but on the sunny side of the stick, be happy Ruby didn't getcha. The Good Dog Training becomes tiresome because I just spent a week with pony campers and an ex football playing, somewhat clairvoyant horse chiropractor. I can see that down by the water are a couple guys in fishing and and they're wearing fishing vests. I am pretty sure that fishing garments are code for We're not Drug Dealers Therefore Not Packing Heat so I'm not too concerned about if the dogs run amuck near them.

It's when you see the guys fishing wearing all black ensembles with a bright red ballcap that you sort of want dogs not running amuck there. Just saying. Keep your head low and keep walking on by.


There's this thing about the pond that inspires insane dog racing. It may be that it's shaped roughly like a race track. Or maybe just because when my dogs go on activity, they just do insane dog racing. I dunno. But they go racing down to the fishing vest guys.

Footnote style aside:

My dogs are naturally drawn to guys in fishing vests because I think that they've been awarded bait snacks by kindly fisherman down at the beach. If by kindly fishermen you mean shrieking Filipino guys screaming and kicking at the dogs who are snorfling around in their bait bags that they've left unattended while they're reeling in their catch of the day. Reel in or save bait? Reel in or save bait? Existential question asked by many a fisherdude except with loud screaming.

Let's not even mention the time the guy was dragging a flipping, flopping, still alive fish back to the path to the top of the beach in the surfline, I guess to prolong Moby Dick's agony and keep him fresh tasting. Natural tupperware. Tupperwave. But to my dogs, it just meant fresh tasting dog toy on a leash. Hence the loud screaming and dog kicking from rubber wader boots up to his man parts. Bad dogs.

Anyways.

So I kind of hear some commotion, but I'm sort of not really noticing it because I am appreciating wildlife and secretly hoping the commotion is perhaps caused by something other than Team Small Dog. Birds could do that. Right? Big birdsplosion and commotion ensues? The commotion is being shouted in what at first I assume is shrieking Filipino but then realize it's sort of twangy english language like you don't normal hear in our parts out here. Lahk yew don't nor-mall hee-yer en our parts out hee-yer. But louder.

So I sort of saunter runnish down there and actually Otterpop has not freaked out on anyone and isn't even near the fishing guys and Ruby hasn't eaten anyone's bait or bitten into someone's fresh caught dinner or anything. Can you eat what you catch in that pond? Toxic waster? The commotion was due to the Fox! The Fox! The black kind! I can hear this from up the hill from the little fishing spot, behind the blackberries. A black fox is running around the fishing spot and this is very exciting to our bevested fisher guys! The black fox just happens to also be wearing a red plaid dog collar from Target but in the wildness of the wildlife moment, this little cute and plaid detail goes overlooked.


The fox is likely looking for bait snack and maybe, just maybe, has chased a bunny that way so seems to be in quite a speedy little running tizzy down there. I decided best to saunter by because, HELLO! Good Dog Training and we are working on a very thin margin here with the bait eating karma. The other dogs kind of speed their way down there and 2 + 1 equals 3 and fishing vest guys figure out that the fox was actually just part of Team Small Dog and I'm just the tennis ball carrier that goes along with them.

"Is it a FOX? We thought it was a FOX!" Sort of sounds like Whey thaught ee-yit wuzzz ah FAWWWWXX!

There are perplexed and bemused and boy do they have a lot of fishing equipment for the toxic waste pond. I am a this point 100% certain they are not fishing drug dealers and hopefully someone has filled them in that they might want to give up their fishing spot should any unsavory fellas come along.


Because I watch way too much tv and this is what someone does on tv, (maybe Top Chef?) I pull my sunglasses down onto my nose, and tilt my head down. I pause dramatically, and go, "It was a fox."

And I use the power of the Good Dog Training, slap my pants, say "Come on dogs," and away we go.

Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Woodrow Blood Splatter Track

So as I'm walking the dogs down to the beach yesterday morning, I notice these drops of blood, every so often, on the sidewalk. Not paint. Not berries. Definitely blood. I keep seeing them. Creeoy and weird. I stop following them to go down the cliff to run the dogs, but the whole time they're running, I'm thinking, what would Dexter do in this situation? There is BLOOD on the street and a lot of it and it makes a trail and, goshdarnit. This is a mystery and it needs to be solved. Nancy Drew!


So back we go, to try and track the whole trail. Me and Team Small Dog, highly trained search and rescue blood tracking dogs and their detective owner. Where highly trained is possibly on the job training. Actually, on the job training. I learn a lot of stuff from tv. Dexter knows how to read those blood splatters and now I do too. Because, what if somebody was murdered and the body is hidden somewhere, and maybe I could solve the crime? There is a weird Westside murder mystery happening right now, and I dunno, just seems like if you see a track of blood you should follow it.


Hey, this house is for sale in our neighborhood. Right by where I believe the blood trail begins. Just in case all this makes you want to move to the Westside. Hotbed of dog agility! Weird murder mysteries! Blind elderly lady assaulted and robbed on Seaside Street! $435,000 for a house the size of a potato across the street from the church where they let people sleep in their campers and their big dogs run out in the street after small dogs that are just walking by!


Clearly, it started up on the corner by the other church. There are 3 churches in our neighborhood. This one is my favorite. When I was sleuthing around out front, there were some church ladies getting out of their big red Caddy out front. I pretended I wasn't a detective because I didn't want them worried that someone had been stabbed or something in front of the church. It seemed sort of inappropriate to mention this to them right when they're heading in to church. The chuch ladies always dress up in fancy dresses and giant hats at this church.

I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find any droplets going anywhere but down Woodrow Ave., starting at the church.


It was pretty easy to follow the trail. I had the tracking dogs and my eagle eyes.


Maybe this isn't how most people train tracking dogs, but I would show the dogs the blood spatters and they would sniff them. Then I'd whisper, "Go find more blood!" Whispering seemed like a good idea because, I dunno. Sort of weird.


Something I learned about teaching blood spatter sniffing to the dogs was they also like to sniff everything else at the same time. Also, don't mention that you are tracking a blood splatter trail down the street to random people because they are going to look at you like you have 3 heads. Even if they are a groovy hippie picking flowers out of someone's front yard. I can't believe no one else was freaked out enough to try to solve this mystery though. I thought the whole neighborhood would be out there with me. Not.

Like why is no one else all worried that there is a blood trail going down Woodrow Avenue? HELLO!


Gustavo may have been the best blood sniffer of the group. I think he was getting scared though because he was worried he was going to see dead people. I wasn't sure what was going to happen.


We almost lost the trail down where Woodrow hits the ocean. But we found it again. I found it again, with eagle eyes. So, OK, not to brag, but I am a better tracker than certain tracking dogs.


At least they LOOK like good tracking dogs.


The trail seemed thinner down here, with the spatters fewer and farther between, but ever so often there would be a little grouping of them, as if the bleeder had to stop and rest for a minute.


Not to digress, but this is Kiko. We helped keep him from running away. Kiko may not realize that's his name. Also we helped a guy on a bike find his lost husky! We felt like real K9 cops!


The sun came out and the Team had a little break, while I did some surveillance where I thought I had lost the trail. Here's the thing when you're tracking a bleeder. They might make erratic moves. It had crossed the street a couple times, and it was Sunday morning and traffic on West Cliff and all.


It took a while, but I finally found the trail-the bleeder had climbed through those bushes by that guy's driveway. The guy was just standing out in his driveway for a long time. At first I was going to tell him about the bleeder that went through his yard sometime in the night but then I thought maybe this is something best not told? Sort of based on the reactions I had gotten when informing random people walking down the street about this. Also he looked super grumpy and starey, which might have had something to do with the fact of me poking around in his bushes then going across the street and photographing him. Sorry guy. But at least I picked the trail back up.


It was getting pretty faint by this time, and turned the corner and went up Columbia Street. No matter where I looked, I couldn't pick it up again at the corner of Columbia and Pelton. No more blood. I looked everywhere.


Sort of by this house. But not exactly. So then I'm just out in the street wondering, now what? Door to door asking if someone was bleeding? Anyone seen any bodies? This was a problem. I hadn't planned for this part. I just was planning that I was solving the mystery. Didn't really think about actually, how solving the mystery at the end of the blood trail. Not sure what Nancy Drew would do now. Phone a friend?


We walked back up to the church. Did some surveillance for a while, poked around in the bushes again. Could not pick up the other end of the trail. I wasn't sure, should I call the real cops? Would they send a Dexter? There was no body, just the blood splatter evidence. Someone had been bleeding for about 10 blocks. Lost a lot of blood. Someone, or something. A bloody dog?


So I walked home and told Gary how I just spent the entire morning. He gives me one of those eye rolling, head shaking looks like, You Did What? He didn't think the actual police want to hear from Nancy Drew and her dog sniffing team about the trail of blood through the Westside. Not unless I found a body or something. Actually he didn't really believe me but I had pictures! Then he was sort of freaked out, but we didn't call the cops.

So mystery, so not solved. I know, you thought you were getting an exciting ending because Team Small Dog has solved the crime with their sniffing skills and Laura with her shrewdness and cunning. I think all we learned is we are completely suck ass as detectives. And yeah. Something creepy definitely happening on the Westside these days.

Team Small Dog hangs out with their friendly neighbors.

Preface: Laura doesn't condone having dogs that run out and bark at dogs that go by their front yard fence. She slaps her Bad Dog Trainer self on the hand right now. Twice. Three times.

Then goes on to tell you this tale.

Do you know the crazy lady that lives by me? She lives in the light green house around the corner. She has a normal looking car and was one of the first people in the neighborhood to start the new trend of Growing Recession Vegetables in Your Whole Front Yard in Giant Planter Boxes. She looks like your basic, frumpy, dumpy lady. Doesn't have overly unusual garments, foil in her windows or a yard full of rocks in little cups. No toasters in her trees. No outward signs of crazy. Just an ugly haircut. But I should know better. You can't always see the crazy. But it might be there and then you better watch out.

She has a yellowish dog and a black and white spotty dog. They're both sort of overweight, hairy australian shepherd-lab-shepherd mix-cattle dog-husky blendy type dogs. That type you see every day. She's the type of dog owner that has pretty darn aggressive and scarey dogs but thinks they're just playing! Almost just ate someone but It's Just Playing! When I see her walking them around, I avoid them like the plague. No, worse than the plague. Because the plague you don't see coming. This, you see 2 chubby, hairy dogs tied together on the longest flexi leash in the world coming closer by the second. And one dog is all frothy teeth lunging coming straight at you, towing it's blonde sidekick and the whole thing being steered by a grinning vegetable grower.

Like I have had to run away before. Just tell dogs GO and run. The few occasions I used to see her down at the beach, we just left. Fast.

Flashback Alert!

Once she had them tied to her front fence, with them hooked together and hooked to a flexi leash hooked to the fence on the sidewalk. Kind of screaming, BIG RED FLAG OF DANGER and crossed the street to be as far away as I could and maybe sneak by unnoticed. Either this or take the long way home. Those two, nothing goes by them, real rocket scientist sleuths, they are. Three juicy little black hors'd'eourves certainly won't go unnoticed, and yep, they lunge into the street, as far as their flexi will let them go. Lunging, snarling, barking, almost to the sidewalk on the other side of the street. We are hustling by and they have that flexi cable stretched dangerously taut out in the middle of the street. Like, where the cars like to drive. When we cross the street, taking a detoury way back to our house to avoid being eaten, they run back in hopes of getting us and hogtied their tied together selves around a parked car and are double lunging now from that. What a mess.

From across the street, I yell, "HEY! Your dogs are freaking out and in the street! HEY! They're going after my dogs! And they're tied up in THE STREET!"

Dumpy lady doesn't appear so off I go and hope no lowrider guys or Prius ladies or Volvo moms go flying around that corner and take their bad dog asses out. Even bad dogs don't deserve that. And actually, the lowrider guys usually drive the slowest. Those guys, they're in no big hurry. Those ladies in the Priuses, watch out.

Flashback over.

So this morning, my front door is open and all of a sudden there's a mad barking rush out there, I follow out fast. The Bad Dog Lady has her dogs parked, in front of my house, noses and fangs through the fence, laughing. A maniacal laugh, I guess, in as much as a dumpy, glasses wearing, overweight in a stretched out t-shirt advertising something green and organic, can be. Dog words are being exchanged. Potty mouthed, them-is-fightin-words dog words are coming from all sides. Squirrel! Cat Poop! Mailman! UPS GUY! Otterpop involves herself in this, which is now the battle of Team Small Dog on one side and Fat Evil Dogs on the other and a lot of barking but with lungy snarling coming from her side. Extra points for Fat Evil Dogs! So NOT a good thing, and I go down to the fence to just pluck Otterpop out of the mix before I call everybody in.

Seether's about to blow her gasket and I grab her up, and glare-hiss, "What are you DOING??" Directed at the lady. Not Otterpop. I KNOW what Otterpop is doing.

The lady is laughing. Like this is the funniest thing in the world. I'm always trying to think of funny things, and this is not on my list. The time Lloyd invited all the naked gays to Ari's house for a pool party on Entourage is on my list. The time me and Joel Warner painted our house is on my list. Hand stirring up all the fixings of a dog fight not even on Kathy Griffin's D list. Maybe just a few line items above defending a creepy child molester in court on the list that has Rwandan genocide at the bottom.

"Your dogs have gone after my dogs before and this is not a GOOD IDEA!" I go, sort of weirdly calm actually because, I'm kind of confused that is she really so crazy that she's doing this? Like front yard vegetable boxes, while noble and cost effective, might be sort of ugly as front yard decor, but not really indicators of the completely bad judgement of the mentally ill.

She looks up at me, in my pony jammies, standing there on my gopher decimated front patch of dirt, and goes, "Your dogs shouldn't do it either." But she's not budging. Because this is Fun!

"They're in THEIR YARD! Can you just KEEP WALKING?"

So I have snarling Seether now, tucked under my arm, call Ruby in and Gustavo who generally is so HAPPY to see new friends out front, has begun the monkey screaming and I'm juggling dogs and pulling them in with me. Being a crazy lady, she's still not moving along. Her dogs, totally unglued.

"Are you CRAZY?" is what comes out of my mouth. Later on I think of many, far better things I could have said. Because actually I know from experience, asking Crazy People if they are Crazy doesn't always yield productive results.

She doesn't answer, and not until all my dogs get herded back into the house, does she pull her dogs back on their flexi leash and continue her stroll down the block, grinning.

Useful tips for dog exercise during pony camp.

When there is a plethora of small children, ponies and dogs, one must exercise great creativity to exercise one's dogs. Here are some ideas if you find yourself overrun with pony campers.

Dog Dressage

Dressage is sort of the like obedience of horse stuff. It's a nice idea to dabble in it for better, stronger, faster, funner agility, but you know, wouldn't want to spend too much time there. However, it's made funner if you just leave the ponies back in the barn and let the small children run around the dressage ring with the dogs. Much galloping-you never see THAT in dressage. Use sits for halts. Switch dogs a lot. Word has it that Gustavo is a really good dressage dog due to cuteness and speed. Otterpop is popular for the speed element but sometimes freaks the kids out due to her sheer, Otterpopness. Only the bravest kids do dressage with Otterpop. Ruby is sort of popular with the slower kids because she likes to dig holes in the dressage ring looking for racoon poop and likes the shady tree near letter F.

Storytime

If storytime happens near the boring pen, then letting dogs out of the boring pen to sit on laps alleviates the problem of howling during storytime. Misty of Chincoteague is not supposed to contain howling. There isn't usually howling at work, although there isn't usually storytime at work. Small children can go to blows about who Gustavo gets to sit with and Gustavo equals We Are All Friends and We Are Sharing. Ruby sits with anyone eating snack, and as usual, only the bravest among the small children enjoy having an Otterpop stare at them. Because Otterpop truly believes that all small children are armed with tennis balls and have the ability to produce them out of breeches at any time. Storytime is just a lot of on the couch, off the couch. On the couch, off the couch.

Frog pond

Frog ponds are useful places for dog exercise however, it's not nice to frogs to feed them to the dogs. Don't feed dogs frogs.

Bike racing

At the end of a long day of pony camp, the only exercise available to dogs may be drag racing in Lighthouse Field behind the bike. Hopefully this is a sport that homeless campers sleeping in bushes enjoy, because there is shouting. To get the fastest racing, you have to yell, "RACER RACER RACER!" It's best done when it's nearly dark so that there's no rangers and so that you can almost hit unsuspecting park walkers who didn't realize they were walking on the drag strip. Sorry old guy with your sleeping bag on your back! The rules are pretty easy. The fastest dog to race from Trashcan A to Trashcan B n the field behind my bike gets a cookie. Then you go Trashcan B to Trashcan A. And you do it again. And again. And again. Until dog tongues are drooping and Ruby just sits and waits at the startline for a few more heats to go down and back at 100mph and it's time for her to climb back in the racing basket. Gustavo and Otterpop are a pretty good match for drag racing. They usually tie.