Nancy Drew and the Case of the Dog Agility Dead People-Episode 2, Se llama el Lowrider Fairie

It was one of those mornings, an autumn morning, when you wake up and you feel something wrong with the air. If I'm going to have wrong air, I want it to be sad, moody Nick Drake air, with a bite to it, an ouchy little bit of pain, and a soundtrack that follows me around when I walk. Not just the wrong air, sort of muggy and instead of a Nick Drake soundtrack, just all these moms with fat, plastic bike helmets shepherding their packs of kids off to school. Micro management shepherding.

"Excuse me! EXCUSE ME! HI! EXCUSE ME! My daughter is behind you on her bike, please move to the side. EXCUSE ME!"

I look behind me and there's a hefty 10ish year old, all blingy princess backpack and matching helmet and stripey leggings, toddling along on her $400 mountain bike on the sidewalk and the mom is in the street with one of those bikes that has a little bike car behind it for groceries or toddlers or maybe even golden retrievers. And the mom is all traffic queen and announcing to the kid, on the sidewalk behind me, when it's safe to cross the street. My eyes are all, rolling, because, give me a break. The kid is 10 and she can ride her damn bike. The mommy has her arm up to stop the car that's barely pulling out into the intersection, one of the low riders guys that has the orange sparkle and white modified lowrider station wagon. Vato dude is cool, he stops for frantic mommy, he's not in a hurry.

There's a lot of these moms in my neighborhood. There's no soundtrack for them. Bike helmet shrieky mom, totally bummed my soundtrack session here. I wanted Nick Drake for the moody cloud air and I have shrieking moms in coordinates from the Sundance Catalog moving people off the sidewalks. I need to walk the dogs even earlier, hate this autumn back to school crap.

A frenetic little hellraiser from down my block who I'm going to call Bucky here because isn't that wrong to totally bust kids from your block on the internet, they can't help it if their parents named them colorful and unique hippie names, is flying up behind me on his scooter. He's the kid no other kids are allowed to play with on our street because, good god. The child is INSANE. Dangerous. Eats wood chips. Breaks windows. Inappropriate child. Shitty manners. Stole the bike pump.

He loves petting dogs, though, and can tell Otterpop from Ruby and always picks up Gustavo and gives him a squeeze and Ruby a good scratch on her nubbin.

I'm all, "Dude, aren't you late for school?"

"Yeah. Maybe. No. I go fast." He has a skateboard scooter thing and it's kind of far from our block to the school. All the other kids were on their way to school like 15 minutes ago. He's totally the tardy kid. Only 9 and it's Jeff Spicoli. Good luck with this one, hippie parents, when he turns 11 and discovers meth.

"Dude. You gotta go, man."

He drops Gustavo and he's off. I keep walking home, trying to find my soundtrack. The Eels?

Field Mice Head Lice
Don't Think Twice About Whatever Keeps You Itchin
Flyswatter Zombie Walker
Dead People Squattin Walking
Flyswatter Flyswatter
Gonna Get You Through the Day

That works. We all march home to that in time to get in the car and do a little crime solving on the way to work.

We stop at my friend's practice field, where the dogs have practiced for years. It's dusty and a little chilly and I don't have much time before a busy day out at the barn. But I want to work on my plan, trying to see how my theory from yesterday holds up. I leave all the dogs in the car and go set up a course. Drag out a table, decide this course will start with a crookedy leadout to the poles, end with the dogwalk facing right towards the table where I'm gonna set out some treats in a tupperware.

Bring the suspect out of the cell. Innocent til proven guilty. I give him one practice, just a simple leadout over a jump, and reward him.

Fantastic.

I set him up to run the course. I hide a couple treats in my pocket. It's a long leadout to the poles, and off we go.

Uh oh, he's running super. This is a good problem to have, I guess. I do whip out one little treat by the time we get to the teeter totter, almost at the end, it's clattery and bangy and he stuck it like glue. That deserves an award, even if it tampers with the evidence and hampers the investigation. No one ever called Nancy Drew a cop that always plays by the rules.

We run to the end of the course, a fast straight line with the dogwalk. He sticks his contact for a second, then before I can do or say anything, he's off like a flash over a jump and off to the plastic patio table where the treats have been secured. Aha! We've had this behavior before, and rarely in practice does he blow off holding a dogwalk contact. Success! Not a freakout, but we've re-created a dog show moment.

I call him back. He stops and gives me that deer in the headlights look. He's stuck. Planet of the Recall-less. I am pretty sure the inside of his brain looks like a game of Pong. You played Pong? Now THAT was a video game. The ball goes back and forth. And back and forth. And back and forth.

And back and forth.

And so on.

I just stand there. We stare at each other for a while and he comes running back and hops his hairy hind toes back up on the dogwalk. AHA!

Wait. Why did I say AHA? Is something solved? I'm not even sure what this means. I run a couple more courses. Next one with a couple rewards here and there, the next one without. They're all good. Tables are stellar. Contacts. Poles. Nothing missing, nothing messed up. He goes and finds his leash after every course. There is some muffled howling coming from inside my car because no one else is getting out and having a turn and that's not going over so well.

Official Detective note:
Wait. There's no pens in my purse to take notes with. There was a chapstick but it melted the other day when it was a zillion degrees out and I have no pens and no chapstick and not that I could take notes with a chapstick but I have wrinkly lips and could sure use a chapstick.

Um, not sure where we're at with this. He ran pretty good without rewarding much, and without a toy or treaty bag on the field. Does this field even count though because it's beloved, dusty practice field? And this mystery is supposed to be about the dog agility dead people and all we got today was a few whole courses, executed with tight turns and lovely, waggy, table laydowns. Although, there were no distractions. I keep seeing that word in shiny, blinking lights. Like old Vegas signage. CIRCUS CIRCUS. NUGGET. NO DISTRACTIONS.

I stick the suspect back into his cell, and head to work. I wonder what the ugly bike helmet mommy would do, if it was her kid that saw dead people. Like if she was riding her bike down the sidewalk and had to slam on her fancy mountain bike brakes, grinding to a halt in the bike to school procession, couldn't possibly go on because of spectres in the sidewalk. Maybe so bad she'd toss the bike aside and rip off the hellokitty backpack and just go running the other way, back towards home, maybe crawl under someone's motor home, wedging herself down into the oily, stinking gutter where it was safe.

Maybe it would be one of the lowrider guys, circling the block in the super long station wagon, sparkly orange paint across the top and sparkling, sharp, pointy rims puffing out the tires. Just a couple inches off the pavement. Maybe would circle around another time, then slowly pull up to the gutter, and throw out a dusting of glitter flake on to her forehead, whisper, "Vaya con dios," and silently swish off. El lowrider fairie. In to save the day. Fix whatever it was that bike helmet mommy screwed up so badly.

Nancy Drew, and the Case of the Dog Agility Dead People.

All right. I am too sneaky of a detective to let this Gustavo freakout thing keep going on. I decided that I need to treat this like a mystery and solve it. Because there are a lot of suspicious elements to the Gustavo seeing dead people thing that just don't sit quite right with me. I don't see dead people. No one ELSE sees dead people. And he only sees dead people at dog shows.

Hmmmm.

Suspicious element No. 1:
Gustavo is a rockstar at practice. He knows his equipment, the teeters are his friends, and he has never, ever, ever gotten underneath a table. Should not be melting down under the pressure because of obstacles.

Suspicious element No. 2:
When he freaks out at stuff, it's stuff like stumps. Buckets. Things far away in the distance that don't move. Scarey noises. All of a sudden freaking out during dog agility shows doesn't fit that pattern.

Us detectives love patterns. Patterns make us stroke our chins between thumb and pointer finger and go, "Hmmmmm." It's sort of a detective thing.

Armed with this valuable knowledge, I set up a little test. Whenever you catch criminals, they always go, "I've been FRAMED!" when the detectives set up a sneaky enough little test. Right? So I had this idea of trying to re-create the dog show things that might freak him out. We always go practice the same way. With everybody. Whole team, dumped in a pen and taking turns. And lots of rewarding.

Always the dog show vs. the practicing. A reoccurring nightmare for my dog training, as far as I'm concerned. And we have to stop this madness.

I go up to forest agility and leave the dogs in the car and set up a course. Then, I remove one and only one dog from the car. Gustavo. Our suspect. I tell him it's his turn and off we go, and we are going to go down there and run a course. Just like that. Can he go from car to course and just do it? No warming up. No dog friends. No rewardy things. Nothing. What happens if I ask him to just do it?

He stays his startline, does a super teeter, gets 5 obstacles into the course and then freaks out!

So here I'm all SUPER DETECTIVE SKILZ! Dexter! I am Jimmy McNulty and I have totally just busted Stringer Bell! I OWN the city of Baltimore! Miami Beach! My dog is freaking out! I got my dog to freak out, just like that! Easy Peasy!

He is running up and down the fence line, totally ignoring me, as if there is a stump out there and stopping and freezing, then, just to make it even better and WEIRDER, he starts running up the a-frame and jumping off! Like he has gone certifiably insane!

YES! I am like way irritated and pissed but secretly excited about my detective hunch and I have framed a criminal! Because now I have a new weird agility behavior we have never, ever had and it's not even a dog show. A-frame madness! No one has ever been as excited as me to have such a major, horrible, screw up of dog fiasco! And I can't call him, he's checked out, gone to another planet in his little brain that no one else gets to visit, it's not even planet of the apes. Planet of the There is No Recall Because There is No One Home!

Theoretically, my non dog training friends, you should be extremely upset if your dog does something this bizarre and erratic. You would be almost slitting your wrists of bad dog training hari kari. Don't try this at home. Remember, I am a trained detective. Even though I haven't seen season 3 of Dexter yet, and actually, he's just a forensics specialist. But I do read Susan Garret's dog training blog and own a Greg Derrett video. You do the math.

I am just super happy joy joy all over the place because he's plain old weird and spooky just like at a dog show and I got it to happen in one of his happy places!

Right, I KNOW, non dog training friends, this is backwards and demented and sounds WRONG. But trust me here. All in the name of solving the mystery.

So he runs back up on the a-frame, ready for launch (this is like the weirdest thing ever, but so is that hiding under the table-hooray for detectiveness!) and I snatch him off the top and don't say anything. Just quietly carry him to the car and get out the other dogs. I am kind of weirded out that I got such a weird and extreme reaction on my first try, since re-creating dog show at practice never, ever has worked before. I know this is EXACTLY how Dexter felt when he was on to the Ice Truck Killer. A little scared, a little excited. The girl dogs do some low impact teeter totters for a while, with Otterpop practicing them from far away, and their funny tricks before I go get the criminal again. They are totally normal and do not see any dead people out there in the forest.

So I go back and remove the suspect from the vehicle, and take him back to the scene of the crime. I then commence some Dog Agility for Dummies fun. Very edible paste and blunt edge scissors agility. Like lay down, get a cookie. Lay down, lead out, one jump, get a cookie. We are in kindergarten. We quickly move up to like 4th grade, and I put him in the pen with the other dogs. Passed 4th grade with a big fat gold star.

Official Detective note:
Regression to a juvenile state bring suspect back off planet Zombie.

The other dogs practice some tricks. Otterpop practices sticking in those weave poles with me a mile away no matter how hard I flail my arms or fall down or what. Sticking in. We'll be ready for that next pesky weave pole gamble, just you wait.

I bring the suspect out again, this time with his little treat bag, and set him up for the same course that caused the crazy meltdown earlier. I reward in some of the usual spots. Teeter totter. Dogwalk contact. Poles. Aha. He is lightening fast, accurate, super champion status out there. Interesting. You can see my detective wheels turning. Absence of rewards may cause Dead People. There are never rewards on course at the dog show, except for kind words of praise, which I do use lavishly, but still.

So we all have a little walk together then I put the hinky twins back in the car and Gustavo back in the xpen. Experiment time again. I change the course a little bit. I'm going on the scientific formula that he hasn't done this course, or practiced any of it. And the rest of his team has been banished up to the car. It's all on him. And I'm going to run it without any frisbee or treat bag or nothing again. Sort of like at a dog show.

So every time he sticks a contact, I'm all gushy good boy, but doesn't get an award for it. Usually in practice, I try to reward about 50% of good contacts and poles and even teeters, and just tell him "good boy" on the others, so he isn't always expecting a treat. I really try to save the good reward for the amazing ones. But on one practice course with zero rewards for excellent behaviors, he starts the wide turns and misses a weave pole entry that I let him go on with, and then, I get a successful failure. I get him to go under the table!

OMG. It's like the failure lightbulb isn't just blinking it's being smashed against my forehead. HELLO! Do you think he's confused?

Ya think?

I know he's confused. He doesn't know if he did the poles right or wrong, and he got nothing, zero, zilcho rewarded on that whole course and he doesn't know if he did ANYTHING right and when he's confused, it starts to build up pressure and that results in crazytown. And he is under the table, and I call him back up and I can just tell, the look is wrong in his eyes and he's about to blow. Have him do a couple easy jumps, reward him for finding his leash, then back in the pen and get the other dogs to give them some turns.

Official Detective note:
At the dog show, confusion sets in earlier, and to get the pressure off he just has to get OUT. Hence dead people or under a table or even running out under the score table. Like he can't do agility if he doesn't know he's doing it right. Why it only happens SOMETIMES, not sure. I think when he looks out and just sees a user friendly jumpers course and we do it error free, life is good. One handling error by me on a jumpers course though can get a modified Dead People reaction.

Detective conclusion:
Fix this problem.

TSD excluse-Interview with Otterpop, which is always a treat.

First a shoutout to Rob and his dog Wings, who is only 2 years old and got her ADCh this weekend. Which is the thing that 5 year old Otterpop still needs 3 Q's for and has for a really long time. Rob is my dog agility teacher and lets me run his dog Hobbes as long as I don't screw up with him too often. Ahem.

And now to our interview.

Laura: Hello Otterpop. What did you think of the dog show this weekend at Turlock?

Otterpop: Otterpop would like to announce that Axl Rose should never have gotten all that lame plastic surgery and he looks like a buffoon.

Laura: Um, Axl Rose wasn't there though, I don't think? In Turlock? USDAA dog agility show?

Otterpop: It is possible Otterpop saw Axl Rose there.

Laura: We did listen to Guns and Roses in the car. I think you guys were sleeping though. Because we had to leave at 5 in the morning to get there on time. It was dark.

Otterpop: Otterpop agrees with this statement.

Laura: So you sort of liked this dog show though, right? Maybe because I put you into performance and you only had to jump 8 little bitty inches high most of the time? And your leg was all rested and anti inflammed due to no frisbee or running or anything fun for the last couple weeks?

Otterpop: Otterpop is pleased with this name called Performance. Otterpop will now quote Mick Jagger, from the hippie film Performance. Quote. The only performance that makes it, that really makes it, is the one that achieves madness. Unquote by Otterpop.

Laura: You are such a poser. You totally got that off the internet. I know for a FACT you have never seen that movie. You are 5 years old and that is not a movie suitable for 5 year olds.

Otterpop: Otterpop ran fast this weekend. And went out to faraway weave poles in Masters Gamblers. And would have completed that Gamble had it not been for She in her stupid ugly skort squwacking "GO GO GO" and flailing arms about causing Otterpop to pop the very last pole even though Otterpop was already done with the hard part and on Otterpop's way to a stunning finish.

Laura: This is true. And we got out SuperQ'ed by a Boston Terrier. We were running though. I thought we had it.

Otterpop: Otterpop would like to announce there was much too much screaming in her dog agility xpen all day by a whining screaming Gustavo and Otterpop was displeased.

Laura: Did he mention anything about his runs? Like the ones he had to do in the ring right by the road?

Otterpop: Gustavo spent much time shrieking to Otterpop that he sees dead people. Otterpop would like to point out that only Otterpop should be allowed to make loud noises and no one else.

Laura: So this was why he decided that one end of that ring and it's contents were poisonous and could not run in there? Because he sees Dead People?

Otterpop: That's what Gustavo says although says in vile, shrieking tones that hurt Otterpop's ears.

Laura: He was so freaked out by that ring that on one run, he couldn't lay down at the start. He kept flipping over like a pancake to lay down so he wouldn't have to look at the supposed dead people end of the ring. Finally just let him start because I was like, uh, super weird here, and he just ran back out to the start and found a nice lady to hang out with.

Otterpop: You want Otterpop should rough him up?

Laura: I think he was truly freaked out. And truly freaked out and dog agility doesn't work for him because, oh the pressure of it all. He ran fine in the other ring, a couple handling issues and wide turns but not dead people freakouts of spooking and brake slamming and running in crazy circles. He got under the table again then wouldn't lay down on it. We never even got near the teeter totter. I'm not sure what to do with Gustavo.

Otterpop: Otterpop would totally kick dead people asses if they showed up in Otterpop's ring.

Laura: You know I was very proud of all your runs, Otterpop. You were running like a super champion. And Hobbes won his jumpers and somehow ended up with a totally unneccessary SuperQ in his Snookers, even though I screwed up what would have been a totally rad run at the end. AND I screwed up his Standard and he did total stink ass tabling again. I'm worried my days with Hobbes may be numbered.

Otterpop: Otterpop is a winner and Otterpop would like to announce that do NOT EVER LET Hobbes use Otterpop's frisbee.

Laura: Do you just sit in there all day and make Ruby crazy? It was like 100 degrees out all day. Poor Ruby. She never came out of her crate.

Otterpop: Ruby is LUCKY to sit with Otterpop. Jeff Tweedy of Wilco would be lucky to sit with Otterpop. Arnold Schwarzenegger would be lucky to sit with Otterpop. James Franco would be lucky to sit with Otterpop. And then Otterpop would decree that all border collies stay 100 feet away from Otterpop's frisbee at all times and Otterpop will own ALL the liquor stores FOREVER.

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Laura will end this interview just saying really, super proudness all around for fast running and super handling Otterpop and really a-ok without getting that stupid last SuperQ or the Gamble Q due to the proudness of it all. Although not proudness over Gustavo, more profound sadness, disappointness, and feeling really bad about his utter, complete meltdown in one of the rings to the point of sheer terror in going down to one end of it and just making me wonder what did I do to screw up THIS dog?

Staying in the moment, unless the moment is the kind that comes before a moment where something better might happen.

Walking around the neighborhood on leashes for short amounts of time, as part of the rehab that crappy leg of Otterpop plan, not our cup of tea. Not our large size tumbler of hearty tequila beverage. I never drink tea. Or kombucha. You know about kombucha? A healthy drink that tastes like moldy pieces of poisonous tree bark and supposed to cure every single ill and make you beautiful and skinny and wrinkle free and at the expensive natural grocery store there are whole aisles devoted to kombucha and I tried it and it almost made me barf and never, ever will I try it again. Just sucks.

My vet had the recommendation that perhaps Otterpop would enjoy seeing the sights on our daily walks by stroller. Like I would put Otterpop into a baby stroller, maybe even the bright orange cordura ones with juicy 4WD tires, and travel to forest trails or along the beach path like that. Like a lady who pushes her dog around in a stroller. A jogging stroller. A bright orange jogging stroller with a dog sitting in the baby seat. A dog like Otterpop. Who I guess at this point would probably be wearing a little costume, maybe a bear hat and a light green dress with a tail hole in the ass. Why not. Because at that point, I would probably be wearing a little costume too, like a light green dress with a hole in the ass and a bear hat with a long flowing racoon tail and heavy, cloven platform boots with pantyhose pulled over the tops of them, and in that costume I would be pushing the bright orange baby stroller full of Otterpop along the forest trail and likely at this point I'd be screaming the lyrics to Pink Floyd's The Wall out in time with the clippity clop of my cloven hoofed platform boots.

Now we all have something to look forward to.

So since that plan not working out quite yet, we endure the little short walks and no running around at the beach and I yell at the dogs' ill advised plans to race around the house instead and launch themselves off of tall furniture at each other in single bounds. My plan is if one of us has to suffer, then we all have to suffer. So Otterpop can't run, none of us are going to run. We are all just going to walk and on leashes and we're going to like it, dammit. Or actually we're not going to like it, we're going to somewhat stomp around the neighborhood and perhaps do it with a scowl, a big ugly, wrinkle enducing, squinty eyed scowl on our faces.

OK. The dogs actually, perhaps not scowling. They're pretty happy to just be out and traipsing along, they think we're heading down to the beach and they're pulling me along so I forget to stomp scowl. The ruckus they throw, just for the chance to be the first one to have that boring old leash snapped onto their collar. Make it into a funny game and it's the quietest, stillest one that gets that leash first. Sister Mary Ruby. Gustavo is spinning in little circles to the right and Otterpop is barking her head off and finally they clue in about the quiet, laying down thing. And they lay down as quietly as they can which is quivery and even their eyeballs shake.

The days got short all of a sudden, so when I get home from work it's pretty much dark and when we're walking, the lights are on in the houses and people are inside, feeding their kids and watching giant tv's the size of my couch with shows about giant cakes. People don't think that it's dark yet because even just yesterday this time, it wasn't. They don't know I'm out there watching in their windows and they should pull closed those curtains now, because winter's set in.The dogs stop to pee on a tree and I watch the giant cake show on the giant tv through a giant plate glass window for a minute. The fog is rolling in, big damp wafting wads of it, and I have 2 jackets on, and when all 3 dogs have their fill of tree peeing, I tear myself away from peeping tom cake watching. It was a million layers and about 4 feet tall and covered with ugly little stars and squiggly lines of cake frosting. A cake of such grandeur that it's on the biggest tv in the world. Not sure who would even want that cake, but there it is. Back we go to traipsing along and that's just what we do for now.

Some fine wishes for today that aren't whining. Really. Wishes. Not whining.

I wish Gustavo would run at dog shows like he runs in class.

And I wish that people would actually pay me to have hair like Jennifer Anniston. Like real money.

And then while we're at it, global warming emissions would stop and the polar bears wouldn't be floating anymore and so on and so forth.

We interrupt dog agility for a good hair day.

My new hair cutter, which I say like I had an old cutter but I think it's been a couple years, at least, since anyone's cut my hair. Which maybe was that girl at the place behind the parking lot by the car dealerships and the bbq hog house. Years. Anyways. She said I had hair like Jennifer Anniston's, but better. Sportier. Like people would PAY to have my hair. PAY to have it. Because you know what's in right now? Sporty, messy, Jennifer Anniston hair. That's right. We're on an upswing and it's all starting with the in hair.

I LOVE my new haircutter.

Teaching old dogs new tricks but not how to turn tricks except unless if they could bring home some extra cash?

So the reason it's good to have a pair and a spare of dogs, minimum, for dog agility dogs is that your pair could be sitting out on doctor's orders, lollygagging around in their underwear, playing cards and having a smoke on the sidelines, for an unspecified amount of time. Maybe the rest of their careers. Maybe a few weeks. Who knows? So you need that spare dog for running around with, while the other pair relax and work the system to the best of their abilities.

At practice time though, we have this dilemma. Everybody wants a turn, but some dogs, not supposed to be doing much agility. Any agility. No running allowed. So some of the turns today, learning funny tricks ala clicker training.

Ruby loves to learn tricks, even if we never quite end up with quite what it was we were starting with. There was the classic push Timmy around on the skateboard by bashing her head into the skateboard. Faster. And FASTER. Timmy would just sit there, sort of frozen in horror. Her weird spin flip thing, and weepy sad chihuahua with insane bobbing head are perennial favorites. I'm teaching her to run around my legs right now, maybe faster than is good for her, while I hop up and down. It's sort of like canine freestyle dancing with the stars, Go-Go style. Ruby likely missed her calling as a circus dog. She has the most weird tricks of anyone.

Otterpop's trick repetoire revolves around more useful tricks. I can send her to her bed when she's barking. A rock solid leave-it, a nose touch to my hand when she's uncomfortable. Utilitarian, but she thinks they're fun and they help her be a good dog. While she's in her hinky leg detox rehab, I thought she should get a few cute circus tricks just because. Live large. I've been teaching her a gun finger BANG dead dog except our version is I shoot her while she's running and she flips over and gets up and starts running again. Partly because it's funny and she's an unsinkable Otterpop, and partly because I'm not sure how to teach her to lay there quietly. I guess that's the next trick. I have to scratch my head and think about how to do that one before we start. I think we have time. She LOVES learning tricks.

So they actually had a swell time, every time their turn came up got that clicker out and worked on their tricks in the shade and they had a lot of treats and life was good. No one seemed to notice no manic frisbee games or running around the agility course. Maybe they can be somewhat crippled pagent performers and I'll make them wear hats.

Gustavo and trick teaching. Oh my. Gustavo likes to run fast. Tricks have proven not to be his thing. He wows them at the nursing home with a really good sit, lay down, nose touch and rollover. That whole routine took like a year. If his sensitive little soul gets confused, he stands there looking like he's going to cry. And if I push the issue, even nicely, like make him try to do the thing that confused him one more time, meltdown. This goes for teaching a trick, or anything in agility. AND, if something scares him while he's a little confused, lordy me. Melty, melty, meltiest meltdown of a tuna melt.

Gustavo likes to run fast. Running doesn't confuse him. Not confused is happy. Confused is sad. Gustavo operates on a whole different level than his overachiever sisters, practicing their backflips and plotting to overthrow the dictatorship in their spare time. He barks at stumps. But did I mention he likes to run fast?

He had a stressed out trial. The weight of the world seems to close in on him while he runs around those courses. Things worried him there and he got confused about weave poles and scared of the teeter and who knows what else and confused and stressed out and Gustavo equals the tuna melt recipe. And nothing stinks worse than a tuna melt. So today when we practiced, found a mixture of fun running and working to destress his teeter and poles.

Teeter, fine. If he isn't worried or stressed out, the teeter is his beloved. He runs across the field to it. It was a beloved teeter today practicing, so that's good. Not perma poisoned like before. Same with the a-frame, always a beloved practicing, but can turn foe in the stressful dog show ring. The poles were ok from easy entrances and lower speed, but turning up the heat is where the poles start to betray him. No longer friends. Harder entrances and lightening fast speeds and he misses the entry and gets confused and then he might stop, deer in headlights, and look like he's going to cry. Too much pressure. Happened once today, when I kept turning up the heat on the difficulty level of hitting those poles.

When the pressure builds too much, you can almost see his little brain start to ooze out his ears, and today, one hard, fast pole entry repeated one too many times, and he took off, ran across the field away from me, as if chasing the Brangelina and their multiple spawn across the French countryside. I call to him, and am not answered. I go to him, gently scoop the wounded lambie up, and replace him in the car to decompress for a little while. Teach the smug little rocket scientists some demeaning party tricks.

When I go and bring him back out, start with his favorite thing, his special talent. The 100' snooker recall across the field. He loves this, and we even got to use it in his snookers this weekend. The pressure is off, he is happy again. No Mark Ryden dour faced girl, squirrel on her head, ready to claw out eyes. He's a dog. We go back to that pole entrance. Just one time. Just to see, can he do it? Just once, then he just has to play, play and play?

Yep. Just once. It was a gamble. Probably not the right thing to do, since I wasn't sure if he could. But have to find some kind of balance of enough pressure to push his learning, gently, and enough of setting him up where he won't fail. It's a tough one to figure out.

He got it. And that's my cue, that he gets to just be a dog now and class is over.

TSD exclusive-Interview with Gustavo before he runs outside to bark at the garbage can.

Laura: Gustavo where did you go this weekend?

Gustavo: Vacation!

Laura: Really?

Gustavo: 6 Star Resort with blue carpeting that smells like possum butt!

Laura: This is Motel 6 you refer to?

Gustavo: Gustavo did not pee on anything!

Laura: And then where did you go?

Gustavo: In the dog cage! It is dog show so he has to sit in dog cage!

Laura: Gustavo, you won Masters Jumpers!

Gustavo: The Butthole Surfers have a song about Pepsi!

Laura: And you had a super Advanced Snookers until that little weavepole meltdown at the very, very end.

Gustavo: Because Gustavo was finished with the course and runs to the score table! Millie's lady has a Hellokitty lunchpail filled with meat!

Laura: But then there was the sort of crazy Starters Standard run that had a No Way Jose teeter totter and then you did another one of those run underneath the table things then pulled a total Hobbes no lay down on table then refused the a-frame. You can win a masters class but act like Starters Standard contact equipment is poisonous.

Gustavo: Gustavo decided to not go to the bathroom all day!

Laura: Well, you had stunning weavepoles in that Starters class but we probably should have called it quits after that. Because you forgot how to do weavepoles in your gamblers class later on.

Gustavo: Many ladies let Gustavo lick their faces and Gustavo licked possum butt blue carpet the night before!

Laura: Did you get to play any frisbee with Otterpop?

Gustavo: She just layed on top of it under a shady tree and you said No Running Otterpop and Gustavo ran away to some dumpsters for snack!

Laura: By the way. I let Otterpop run in Performance Jumpers at 8" for an experiment, which she ran super fast and made me go, hmmm. And then in normal Snookers at 12" which should have been that last stinky old SuperQ but she hit a bar and I got screwed up and so nope. No SuperQ. We call this science experiment for crappy leg.

Gustavo: Otterpop likes to get in the bathtub but do not make Gustavo get in there!

Laura: You guys must have drove Ruby crazy all day in the xpen. It was like 100degrees out there. Poor Ruby.

Gustavo: Gustavo could not see the dog agility from the 100 miles away you hid us at and there was no screaming fun joy joy screaming!

Laura: Hobbes pulled a super stinky table on me in Standard, finally laid down at the VERY LAST MINUTE. Did you talk with him about that or something, because I don't know where you ever got the idea not to lay down on the table? That was a new one.

Gustavo: Are we have snuggles yet?

In today's episode, Otterpop visits the doctor, if by visit, you sort of mean accost the friendly veterinarian on her day off.

Perhaps you have heard me mention things about my dog, Otterpop, once or twice.

I maybe mentioned that she may have plans to take over the world and enslave the entire state of Minnesota as her minions or that she's a cockroach and thus immune to global warming and was possibiy involved in a conspiracy to kill Michael Jackson, King of Pop, RIP. You may have seen her in her early agility days where she would stop on the dogwalk, give the judge a long, hard stare, then run off barking her head at him because he tried to LOOK AT HER. The nerve.

Maybe you've seen Otterpop in real life. Because you are my mom and my dad and my friends Mary, Karl, Deb and the nice people that come up to me at the dog show and say, Hi There Team Small Dog! Even though I'm just Laura and really the small dogs are the team part, which seems somewhat self explanatory, but whatever. Otterpop has a mack daddy deep chest, knobby stump front legs, and a hind end that's jacked up somewhat higher than normal on dead straight hind legs. When they were passing out parts, they said give her the bark and tail and running part of a mean old cattledog, chihuahua teeth and ears, a pitbull front, a weenie dog back and then let's just give her this dead straight hind leg part to tie it all in together.

They would be either God or DNA, depending on whether you are Creationist or Scientist. And if you're the blendy type, you can just say that God invented science so if they have the dinosaurs eating apples out of naked people hands in the science book, it's a-ok with you.

Hey, it's animal vocabulary anatomy time! These words possibly invented by God! Or a scientist! Or a naked guy feeding a dinosaur.

Hocks-those back bendy bits of a horse hind leg.
Stifles-those front bendy bits of a horse hind leg.

We're calling those bendy bits hocks and stifles on dogs, too. Possibly they were called this on dinosaurs although you might have to check with God on that. Or a Scientist. All my vets bear with me when I label the dog things horse things because I sort of think of dogs as tiny little ponies that are way better housebroken and fit into my car. So you noticed that 2 things on the back legs of a dog involve bendy bits and Otterpop, no bendy bits back there. Straight up. Straight down.

So one of my super beloved clients just happens to be a small animal orthopedic surgeon and gets totally abused when she comes to enjoy her horsie hobby and gets put to work instead. Patching up the barn cat the raccoon got. Looking at Ruby. Looking at Ruby. Looking at Ruby. Boy is she glad Ruby doesn't run in dog shows anymore.

But wait! Now it's looking at Otterpop. And today's look started with a jaw dropping, "OH MY," as she watched Otterpop trot and canter up the barn aisle. Do dog people who aren't horse people say trot and canter, and emphasize how perhaps one of their dogs doesn't like to trot, only canters on the right lead EVER, except in a weird haunches OUT right lead and then kicks kicks kicks her subluxating patella, ie Stifle from vocabulary break?

"Oh MY," she says again. Not what you want to hear from the surgeon who spends a lot of her day opening up dog parts, rearranging and so forth with little pins and stuff, and putting them back together again. I pull out a horse brush and tell Otterpop it's a frisbee and send her off in a run.

"Oh MY."

She pokes and prods and jiggles and pops in and pops out and flexes and bends. She has seen agility, some of the other vets from her hospital do it, and actually her daughter was my summer agility prodigy, running Ruby brilliantly, string cheese in hand. Her official orthopedic surgeon opinion of agility involves some head shaking and asking if we could just eliminate the a-frame completely. Job security, I ask hopefully?

Doc has some good news, and some bad news. The good news, that patella subluxation hasn't gotten much worse since last time she remembers looking at it. The bad news? That ligament, holding stuff together back there, working overtime to keep it's charges in line. Like a rope, that might be getting a little bit frayed, here and there. And the more ropes fray, the more chance they have of just going SNAP one day.

Snap.

She asks how much do you exersize the dogs outside of agility practicing? She is sort of like, HOW MUCH, when I tell her how I keep them fit running in the forest and on the beach and next to the bike and to the whale skeletons and swimming in the creek and the pond and farlicking around the soccer field and then there's the grassy lawns of the university building at night and tennis balls. Uh oh.

Would Otterpop enjoy perhaps, some nice 20 minute, light walks, on a leash, perhaps once per day? Quiet exercise not involving things like turning or jumping or running?

OH MY.

The team returns to agility, sort of.

Last night at Dirt Nite, tried to run Ruby. Set the jumps so tiny, at 8" and she was just careening around, knocking bars, launching herself crazy like onto the table. Train wreck. Ruby. Ruby. Ruby. She needs glasses and prosthetic legs. She sure wants to run, it's just a little frightening to watch.

Ran Otterpop some, with the jumps so tiny. Am a little freaked out to run her now, worried that left knee is just about to blow. Maybe she just needs to join a swim team. Her doc will look at that leg tomorrow and see what she thinks.

But little Gustavo. Who one year ago, could not do weave poles, and had his first ever agility lesson. I looked back in time, thank you blog! Ran around in the dirty dark like a champion star. I may be flicking away like a muthaflickah, a new bad habit of mine which we have just noticed which I do under the guise of rear cross. (No wonder Hobbes gets sad when I rear cross.) I may be continually late, as I struggle to dash into each new spot out there so he knows where to go. I am still figuring out how to run him, and not always figuring out well. But he ran like a star, then came home and fell asleep in my lap.

Thanks, Gustavo. Might not be the same as running up the path to the pond, but it takes a close second.

Behind the scenes with Team Small Dog on vacation.

I hate coming home from vacation. Aren't you supposed to come home from vacation all refreshed like you just blasted out your brain with a mint and fennel scented colonic? Ready to start a new day? Re-joov-en-ated? I come home glowering and irritated and stomping around all stink eye that vacation is over. Re-juvenile. Delinquent. Want to stomp someone and go back to vacation.


I'm pretty sure they feel the same way. Sun baking them that day into crispy, golden fried crisps. Some days just sat and stared at the sky, waiting for it to burst or bust out with the important information that we've all been waiting for about Michael Jackson's ghost. The meaning of 9-11. Heavy metal in Baghdad. How to cut my hair into a stylish and sporty new do that goes with my slothlike, vacationeer lifestyle.


On vacation, we just go somewhat feral. If by feral you mean you can eat grapes for dinner and ice cream for brunch and who cares what you wear and thus, I wear a skirt over pants ever single day. Viva la skirtpants. Is that very feral? And there is running and photoshoots and drinking and no one around. If you want, you can scream REALLY LOUD and no one will ever hear you up there.

I know. It's a little pathetic. I just miss you, my friend vacation.


For Otterpop, life is good and right on vacation. No UPS trucks. No people that ain't her people. No dogs that ain't her dogs. No leashes ever. No emails. Otterpop is the master of her universe. Our universe. Who the hell cares. It's vacation and at least I remembered to pack the wine and Otterpop is in happyland. And happyland for Otterpop is happyland for all of us. Like it is raining xanax and butterscotch and Kiehls scented shower gel, all in a soft mist and we are all one with the universe.


Waiting for the master chef to appear. On vacation, Top Chef follows us around with a gps video locating truck and serves seared scallops in a bucket of fava beans and roasted this and that. Or not. Or grapes. There are certainly grapes on vacation. Sometimes it depends on who packed the cooler. Laura is a feral packer and at least you can count on grapes and some bagels.


Vacation is a universe of sticks. Everywhere you look, glorious sticks.


I think I get Otterpop's relationship to swimming now. It's all about getting the stick to safety. The middle of the pond, not safe for sticks. Danger dog Otterpop to the rescue. She tried to rescue me out of the overly large bath tub, too.


She started to freak me out, how far she was swimming, all to save that stick. The only other thing that freaked me out on vacation, the cottage phage in warm tones of butter and eggplant. And some of the upholstery uses squiggle Joan Miro meets the '80's patterns. But that's about it. Basically, vacation should not freak anyone out. I'm over the bad upholstery. Really. I really am. Really.


Here is how much health care debate there is on vacation. The debate is sparked by an Event which I will call Otterpop Starts Freaking Out with Severe Pain Regarding her Ear. This event happens on a Saturday night, on a dark mountain that is separated from things like the rest of the world by, well, a mountain that is navigated by a skinny car sick road and at least an hour of car sick dark night driving. Like it takes an hour in the daylight when the road is not populated by sharp fanged animals and drunk mountain dwellers with machine guns. It coule be one long, grim reaper eternity freak out drive on the car sick road to save Otterpop.

The health care debate of vacation goes something like this:

"Oh my god. Poor Otterpop. Do you think we should go to the emergency vet? Shit. That is a helluva drive. But she is freaking OUT of the ear pain." I go pour another large glass of the wine that came free with the cottage.

"Whatever you want to do, hun," Gary says, but he is watching the game because one thing there is on the mountain, besides a giant bathtub and eggplant fabric to accent the butter colored Ikea chairs, is satellite tv and the Dodgers are kicking the Giants asses.

"I think she got too much water down her ear maybe. I dunno. GodDAMN, Otterpop. What is wrong? Do you think something else went down her ear? Stickers? Foxtails? Red hot poker? Something creepy from nature that we don't even know what it is?"

Otterpop is shaking violently and whimpering. Otterpop NEVER whimpers. She is totally freaking out. Which is freaking me out. I may have mentioned this once or twice.

Gary replies, "If you want to go, we'll all go. I'm driving to town to get burritos right now."

His right now actually meant at the end of the game right now as in the taco shop closed because you can close your taco shop whenever you want in a town like where vacation is. And then Gary wanted to throw something through the door but he didn't. Because he thought about it, and hey. Vacation!

And so the health care debate ended with no one driving to the emergency vet and the ear emergency fixed by itself the morning and I think we had grapes and chips for dinner.

I know. You're all, THAT'S the health care debate? I love vacation.


Ruby only wades in the pond up to her chest. And finds acorns and carries them down to the mud and buries them there. Gustavo, he is just running somewhere the whole time of swim stick throwing. Running somewhere where there are miles and miles of sticker bushes.

After vacation, the first walk we take on leashes, walking down the street, a lady in a Jetta runs the stop sign and almost hits us all. Four lives almost splatto due to Jetta Rage of you, curly hair lady. She slams on the brakes and flings her arm across her teenage girl looking passenger to her right, and gives me a look like, FUCKER. All stink eye and road rage. And I'm just standing there, in the middle of the crosswalk and I stink eye back at her, FUCKER. And I try to tell her with my mental telepathy that godDAMN, lady. Don't you know I just got home from VACATION and I live in a vacation bubble and I am supposed to still be up on the mountain and you don't EVEN EXIST??


Because we have all gone feral, the dogs just are loose and running all day long and there are deer and pigs and turkeys up there in the wilds, but nothing is as dangerous and irritating as those sticker bushes. I sticker your ass, Jetta Curly Hair Lady. Pretty much for every hour of dog running there were 3 hours of convincing Gustavo that he was not going to DIE when I brushed out the burrs from his soft little dog hair. Because I am feral I don't brush my hair in solidarity of the sticker bush hair and also because I am just a big lazy slob on vacation.


There's a soft brushed Gustavo, lying on the down comforter. You have gathered that this is not a camp out, our vacation on the mountain. I don't camp. There are stereo speakers in the bathroom of the cottage. My own personal DJ brought a little shopping bag of cd's that sound like Bon Iver bearded guys in their own little studios like this, singing their sad man harmonies, but perhaps their rustic mountain studios use more rustic color schemes than eggplant and butter. And don't have dishwashers. One day when it rained and we just sat there watching the rain hit hard out the giant, floor to ceiling windows and listened to Bon Ivery guys with beards singing about prairies and I read a whole book about youth culture and pirate capitalism.


Vacation has a hammock.


Vacation has a porch. We'd just sit out there then meander around the property, following the sound of monkey screaming down to the stump. Gustavo spent a lot of time scaring off this one stump. Every single day. The same stump.


Now I'm super busted. Team Small Dog goes on vacation and you were ready to hear about dancing on the bar with the one eyed rodeo clown then getting a new tattoo from the shirtless guy that lives under the blue tarp canned ham trailer by the old airstrip. How the dogs single handedly took on the entire wild pig population of the Mendocino mountains and disappeared for days but luckily I found them due to the power of love and a really reliable recall. Not this boring, shuffling, walking to the pond crap. Even my dad is like, uh, sounds like you had a, um, quiet vacation? My own dad said that. His vacation had bears and the bears did things like pee in front of them and the dogs on his vacation had to keep the bears away.


I swear. I swear. If you just send me back there, send me today, I swear I will get my ass up off that sticker bush grass land hammock and set the dogs free near the razor wire compound and make a spectacle of myself at the big Apple Show that starts Saturday afternoon. I swear. Send money and pack the cooler with something other than wine and grapes and cream cheese and I am there. Hell, don't even pack the cooler I love grapes and have no issues with cream cheese, just send me back. Send me back. Please send me back.

Because it's always a barrel of laughs when the team takes a vacation.

Something about going away in the autumn is different than going away any other time. It's that light that's fading different, outlining everything golden and sharp during the cocktail hour, then dropping away over the mountain and fading much faster than it would other times. Something about it makes us seem more grown up and faded.


The way we get to the pond is like this. Gary bikes, I walk-trot. Or fartlek. Ruby walks and the other dogs run a relay between bike and me. There is swimming for the swim stick and the stick is part of the relay and the dogs aren't sure who to follow. Except Ruby. She knows how to get there. Just follow the path. The pond is always there.


We drove one day, up the other side of the valley, into the mountains that had previously just been a distant view. I picked out a road and Gary drove and we didn't know where it went. Past lots of houses where the houses were trailers and everything was made of blue tarp and and old boards and shiney, bright razor wire. We tried to walk in a forest but it didn't seem right, this time of year, to have the dogs out running loose in the woods, where people live in compounds amidst rusted up old cars, and one bright new truck sparkles in that sharp sun. The sign in the forest says, Please Don't Cut Wood or Chop Down Trees. It's nailed to a tree. We drove back down to town and stop at the berry farm for some tortillas.


It's a dark, old shack, roof covered in a black tarp. The hippies that work there move slow, and the milk is in an old icebox over in the corner by some cheese. The hippie girl behind the counter has gigantic boobs that are flapping out of her grateful dead smock and star tattoos all over her arm. She talks like a robot. Two gray people come in, old boots and faded check shirts buttoned up to the top. One is a man and one is a woman but both have old, wirey hair pulled back into soft ponytails. The man has on shorts. The don't look at us.


"You going to the fair?"

"Yep. My niece is coming in and I'll take her and I'm going to eat corndogs."

"Corndogs?!"

"Yep."

They buy some glass bottled juices and tomatoes and we leave and drive back up our dirt road.


Up on our ridge, every day is a new weather. One day it's baking like an oven, and I lay in the hammock, dogs laying underneath, and the hot breeze moves it only a little bit and I lay like that a long time. At night it rains after a thunder strike storm moves along on top of us and I wonder what happens if lightening strikes a fire on our property. Another day the first storm of the season takes it's time moving across the valley and no one else has just the whole view of it that we do, waiting for it to move south from the sea end.


There's a noise that sounds like muffled Harleys careening up from the highway below.

"Is that loud sound the wind?" I ask Gary.

He takes a minute to answer, because it had been so silent except for the tamped down roar that takes over the canyon, coming through the trees and the door blows open. I'm not sure, for a moment, if I even said that out loud.

"I guess. Maybe." He doesn't know.


Ruby's Restaurant of Dog Town.

Ruby's take out restaurant serves fish 'n' chips, corn dogs, milkshakes and grapes. Maybe tomorrow it will serve something else but for today, that's what you get. Go to the order and order from Ruby. Ruby speaks 8 languages and people from out of town aren't afraid of her.

Gustavo helps out by passing out forks. If you ask Gustavo what his job is, he says he serves love and joy to all passers by.

"So you're unemployed?" I ask.


"And I pass out forks," he answers. "I love you."

Otterpop takes out the trash and makes the change and runs the blender for the milkshakes. She doesn't sit in the takeout window, quiet smile on her muzzle like Ruby. Sometimes she mops the floor and maybe not with a smile. She growls while she mops the floor, and takes out the trash then has to run out back and scream some of the time.


That's how it goes with Team Small Dog. The last time they were here it was with Timmy, 3 months before he died. There's a book everyone who stays in the house writes something in. Usually about their dogs and wine tasting and watching the woodpeckers and the thing about the giant pigs. The last time I was here I wrote how it was his last visit and he dreams of being a dog again and feeling the wind and dreams of running. I drew a picture of him laying in his bed, although most of the time I remember him spinning in circles on the tile floor. He couldn't run last time he was here, and I wasn't sure he knew where he was.


I wasn't sure if I could ever come up to the house again after that time. But I did, and it was just different. I didn't walk the same paths as much as we did before. Mostly sat still or shuffled across the property, looking at the sky and the mountains and measuring time only by where the light hit in the valley.

The time Team Small Dog went on vacation and didn't take any of you along with us.

If you want to find us, just drive through San Francisco and go over the Golden Gate bridge. Pass Brody's house, pass the Birkenstock mother ship, pass all the North Bay agility places and cute ranches, pass the wine stuff with the really expensive restaurants.

Then keep going.

Then you'll pass the Indian casino and go west at the car sick road. Go over this just until you feel really car sick then you'll be at the brewery by the barn where the lady shoes all her own horses. You'll see the taco truck.

Start to look up into the hills. Higher. Higher.

You'll have to squint hard because it's very sunny and the hills are gold and look for 3 tiny specks dashing and running and dashing and running across the hills, up farther than you ever thought you could see.

If you get to the sea, you've gone too far. If you turn around to go back, it will already be getting dark and you won't see us. Because we'll be sitting still up on the ridge, under the old oak tree canopy, waiting for the sun to plop behind the mountains, and listening to the sound of nothing.

What a difference a day makes especially when it's almost a day before vacation strikes.

Doing the zombie walk of tunnel vision.

At the dog show, your mind goes to micro setting. Sort of like you are a Jr. Scientist microscope and your dog is a little slice of fingernail you put under it and you squint and stare and microview it until your brain just goes to a tunnel vision world that is tunneling down, deeper and deeper down, to the depths. Just like when the giant microscope would shrink you at Disneyland and the same guy that just talked you through the Haunted Mansion is introducing you to a water molecule.

And you're all obsessed with the most correct diagnosis of that fingernail and the cells, it has platelets and amoebas and little creatures with fangs in there and you cannot stop thinking about them. Little FANGS, I tell you. The amoeba's face looks like Keith Richards and he's trying to speak and GOOD GOD. How could there be that much to a dirty little slice of fingernail? Like your mind is FREAKING OUT because of the whole Keith Richards thing and can it cure AIDS or cancer or fungus and your skin is sort of crawling because you've been shrunk to the size of really, really small by the same guy that just prattled on about ghostly ghouls and so forth.

Dude. Am I still talking about the dog show?

Then, just like that, the dog show is over. You got normal dogs again that just want to go down to the beach and go to work and run around with a piece of god knows what is but it involves velcro and looks like it used to belong to a prosthetic device and do some tricks and leap up and down in the windowsill screaming at a plastic bag blowing down the street.

Hell, life is good! And come Thursday morning, it's going to get even better because, oh yeah. I'm going on vacation. I am counting down the minutes before we leave to go sit in a tiny house made out of a shipping container at the end of a long dirt road on an old sheep farm in 102 degree heat for 4 glorious days. I can count them on my fingernails. Just not going to stare down at them too close.

What's the matter with Otterpop and cheesy dog show philosophy.

So before a bad run, Otterpop gives me this look. Hateful, spiteful, and mad. Saw that look on Sunday again, but also saw her left hind looking hinky and limpy and not what a dog hind leg that needs to go out and run and jump and climb should look at. Several people stopped me, and asked if she was ok. Now I don't know. Poor Otterpop. It's like deja vu of Ruby all over again.

Ruby was an erratic dog. She could be amazing to run, lightning fast and quick to turn. She could also pull weird stunts out there, stop and sniff the ground, fly off the teeter totter or table and sprint across the ring, slow down in her weave poles out of the blue on a fast run. She was my first agility dog, and I chalked up everything she did to my erratic handling and crappy training. But off and on for years, she'd come up lame, get rest time, and vague tendonitis diagnosises from the vet. I'd put her on drugs, give her vacations, try to run her, moved her to Performance, with varying success. But ended up, in the long run, with a dog that just doesn't hold up to do much in agility. Flat out, I broke her.

Otterpop has always had subluxating patellas-dog stifles are like our knees, and the patella slips and slides on hers, and it's been getting worse. I see her kick it back in a lot now. When she was young and it first started happening, surgery was the idea from the doctor, and I shrieked in a hyperventilating voice, "HOW MUCH to pin a dog knee back together??" and that was the end of that. At the time, couldn't fathom dumping all that money into a knee from a scrappy, mean little dog I picked up on the side of the road. Now I worry that at age 5, she might be blowing out her joint and some of her weird behavior is because, goddamn. It HURTS. And I still tell her to go out and run.

It's hard to know. Hard to see if she's running around after the frisbee one minute, then kicking it back into place the next. I suspect jumping, not the greatest thing. I tend to practice her with low jumps and do minimal a-frames because of it, but always have hoped for the best. But I'm really wondering if this weekend was her trying to tell me something, as clear as a dog can, about her pain level.

Sorry Otterpop. We'll have the doc look at it as soon as we can. She ran manic to the whale skeletons last night, pine cone in her mouth the whole time, flying around with Gustavo and barely saw any shaky kicks like I did over the weekend. It comes and goes, but has been coming lately more than going.

She had one good Standard run on Sunday afternoon, but was a wreck in her runs in the morning. Made me feel better to hear from some of you, people I didn't even know, come up to me at the dog show, tap me on the arm, tell me about your erratic dogs and issues and you feel same as me sometimes. Pissed off and frustrated because you just can't fix something. No one has a magic glitter wand to wave around around the fairy bubble pops and out fartlicks a thousand butterflies that makes your dogs just DO the agility the way it was in your dream.

Gustavo had 2 runs. One would have been his last Starters Standard Q. But the teeter totter was early on, and I just decided to do a sacrifice run to build up some collateral in his teeter totter bank. In the world of collapsing economies and banking debacles, I'm building up his little guy savings account. So he held his startline, came around 4 or 5 obstacles to the teeter, did it, and I just ran him out to a delightful reward of Gary's leftover carne asada and that was the end of that. Some day, he'll be out of Starters Standard. What the hell. I'm in no hurry with him. A sacrifical run here and there, seems like a good thing to me.

He had a great jumpers run. Although was sort of a freebie because I couldn't fathom running him in Masters at a trial like this so chickened out and left him in Advanced. And he became and officially, full measured 12" dog. Was painful and breath holding because he's been on the cusp this whole time and his Certified Measuring Judge, known for sticklerness to rules, futzed and twiddled that measuring device and finally gave an exasperated sigh and said he could be 12". Because for some reason, my little dog just won't stand up straight under that measuring bar. Hmmm. Wonder what ever gave him that idea? Now will get his very own little plastic yellow card to keep in his wallet and we'll see if he uses it to try and get into bars. Proof of his shortness forever.

So the big Regionals, kind of just like another day at the dog show. Some ups, some downs. Some sitting around, some running around, keeping a game face on when the day felt shitty and jumping up and down and braggy happy howling when something went right. Dogs all got some treats and a frisbee game at the end, but were pretty happy to just go around and chase rabbits at the whale skeleton at the end of the day. Really, it all comes down to that.

Might hold the dogs up to the squinty eyed microscope of WHY, WHY, WHY, but then you step back and extract head from ass and remember, oh hell. This is just a bunch of fun with my dogs, some of those little details just don't seem as important as everyone running down that path in circles, chasing after a bird, with the sun dropping fast in the sky. Always going to be another dog show. No matter what happens, got to enjoy every moment of them. Precious Moments. Wait. I think those are little plastic doll with big, weepy eyes. Those things all deserve to be chew toys. You know what I mean. A lot of dogs we know, famous and not so much, passed too quick and too early over the last few months. Could happen to any of our dogs. So no matter what happens, we just take it in stride and keep plugging along.

Bayteam USDAA Southwest Regionals Official Steeplechase Report

Since none of my dogs were running in any finals this time, I sat around and set jumps and took pictures of the Steeplechase Finals. Was a little sad and weird not to run any dogs in any finals at this show, but it's just been that kind of year. So instead, I'll provide the first official report about the Steeplechase Finals. You heard it here first.


Here's my friend Sue. Always matches her do-rags to her socks at dog agility. I'm not sure what today's theme was. It's hard to tell her dogs apart. I think that's Maddie though. But I might be wrong. Sue saved me a spot to put up my dog agility canopy thing this weekend. If it wasn't for Sue, I would have had to sit all by myself 100 miles away on the other side of the field. That's a real dog agility pal.


This is Karey. She is easy to find at dog agility because she always wears tie dye. Maybe Karey used to be a hippie? A lot of people in dog agility like tie dye, I've noticed. Because they were hippies? Or is a dog thing? Karey is also in charge of dog agility around here. If we didn't have Karey, I'm not sure if we would have dog shows. I heard she stayed up all night wearing a headlight lampshade making scribe sheets the other night. That's her dog Bump who is Hobbes's brother. If they start barking at the same time, you can tell they're related.


Here's Rob. Hobbes is his dog. Rob is running Wings here who is like Hobbes's sister but more like a Brady Bunch blended family kind of sister as opposed to Bump actual relative from the womb kind of thing. If it wasn't for Rob I wouldn't know jack about dog agility. I'm a lucky, lucky person to get to run Hobbes. I ran him in Pairs and Standard this weekend and Rob ran him in everything else. We were a little bit 5 faulty, but he did tables, dammit. Rob was wearing tie dyed socks and I wonder if they were a present from Karey? Or just that whole dog agility and tie dye thing?


This is Lisa. Both her dogs were in Steeplechase finals. I think this one might be Steamer. She is also a tie dye wearer. I'm not sure, ex hippie or just a dog thing? Maybe it's just how people like to dress up for Steeplechase these days if they don't want to wear a skort. Me and Lisa carried all the tables and put away the canopies after the dog show was over. Cleaning up the trial is the seedy underbelly of dog agility you never here about. You just carry and pack and carry and pack and carry and pack and don't pack it wrong or Jim gets cranky.


This isn't Jim. Jim is my other favorite dog agility teacher. I hold him partially responsible for Otterpop's Masters Gamblers win the other day. I thought it was Jim when I looked at the photo but it was Greg. Greg is married to my friend Tammy and I was sitting in his chair in the shade trying to take pictures when he was out there running dogs in the hot sun. I should put on my glasses before I write anything down. If I squint real hard, I can guess that he's running Tala out there. Not to be confused with Tania, who looked at this and was all, duh, Laura. That's not Jim.


This is Ashley and his dog Luka. Ashley is my tallest dog agility friend. I started taking lessons with Jim because Ruby could never beat Luka and Ashley took lessons with Jim. Jim thought that was really funny as in ha Ha HA funny and suggested I move Ruby down to Performance. Ashley takes Luka to Europe soon to compete in a World Team event. We're pretty sure they'll win.


That's my friend Kathleen and her dog JB. JB is Jim's dog Sweep's brother. Kathleen built forest agility, which is really Heart Dog Agility and is where I practice every single Monday. Kathleen is like one of the pioneers of dog agility in Santa Cruz. Except instead of a pioneer wagon now she has her own dog agility RV that even has internet. I don't think I've ever seen Kathleen in tie dye.


There's Debbie and Porsche. Porsche beats the pants off Otterpop on a regular basis. We still like them. Debbie is always very nice to us and is sure that we'll get that last SuperQ some day but she still beats us all the time just the same. Debbie was wearing a track suit with long sleeves. Probably so she didn't get sunburned.


There's Sandy and Quill. I don't know Sandy very well but Quill also beats the pants off Otterpop on a regular basis. There aren't very many 12" dogs in these parts. Even when Otterpop is running her fastest, she just can't beat Quill. I'm always happy when I get to run AFTER Quill in Snooker.


Actually this isn't even one of my friends. I don't even know him at all. I don't think he lives around here. But I liked his striped baseball pants and he had a dramatic falling down run the other day and just leaped back up and kept going. Maybe he's your friend and you can give him this picture. He's a sheltie guy.


This is Whitney and Cooper. She came over and introduced herself to me the other day so I'm just going to say she's my friend. Those corgis amaze me, that their stubby little legs can get them going like they do. Neither Whitney or the sheltie guy wore tie dye, and they're not from around here so maybe it's sort of a within a certain mile radius of the Grateful Dead kind of thing?

So that's the report. I missed a lot of photos because I was sitting in Tammy's big fluffy chair under her tent and then I got too lazy to get up to get any other photos and that's what kind of reporter I am. And actually, I have no idea who won or anything like that either. I know I saw Sue walking around with a fist full of cash afterwards. I'm gonna take a guess that most everyone in these pictures was. Fistful of cash or not, everyone's a champion, righty-o? See everybody next time.

So how's that fancy dog show working out for you?

Here. Enjoy some fluffy chute pictures I took during the Grand Prix while you hear my tale of whiney whingey woe from the dog show.

Otterpop stood there on the startline. She comes prancing over there from chasing her frisbee and flying over a practice jump. She's ready. She's leaping around, she's tugging on her frisbee. All perky and happy and dog agility face on. Barky and frisky and feisty and focused. We put frisbee down on the score table, go out to that startline, and she stands there, motionless.

I've walked, I have a plan, I'm ready, we're going to go out there and ace that Masters Standard course. It's going to be a good one. I can tell. She's been practicing this, she's been running fast and furious and we're ready to go out there and compete against all these good dogs. Lots of speedy short dogs from all over California and Arizona and I dunno where else here and we're gonna see how she measures up.

And she cocks an eye at me, and gives me this eyeball that says, F*%k You. Looks me dead in the eye, and right there on the startline gets back at me for all the mailmen I don't let her eat. All the barking I put an end to. All the times I demand the stick back. If Otterpop had fingers, that middle one would be slowly unfurling, right there on the startline, as the robot voice from the timers goes GO.

Go. She just stops. And gives me the icey cold stare of a sociopath. Or at least a sullen teenager when you take away the crackberry and the car keys. Not sure which is more dangerous.

Revenge. REVENGE. Revenge by horribly embarrassing me and taking all the fun out of our run because I just pull her out of the ring because I cannot bear to run her when she isn't trying, when she's just dialing in something other than everything she should be. It freaks me out and she knows it and she's found my hole. The dog show is valuable to the human lady and if you really screw up the dog show, you will stab the human lady squarely in the heart and ha HA! Because Otterpop is NEVER quiet and NEVER motionless and NEVER slow except for now, in dog shows and ha HA STAB through the heart.

And then an hour or so later Otterpop goes on to win Masters Gamblers and earn another precious Gambler's Q. Running gleefully and steady and no problem handling that hard to handle line from so far away. The crowd goes wild because, good god, that was OTTERPOP that just got that gamble! I am freaking out of the joy of it all. I just imagined that whole revenge scenario. Too many Clint Eastwood movies. She's a good dog and she tries hard and we just got another one of those Gambler's Q's.

And then later on in the day, right before Steeplechase, the look comes back. That says, I HATE YOU and I HATE DOG AGILITY and I'll show you. Tries to walk through some weave poles and I run her out the back side of the ring and don't even look back and carry her out to the car to sit there because I don't even know what to do with a problem like Otterpop.


So that's how the dog show is going. Kind of like that. That's Kathleen. Her dog shows don't go like that.

Gustavo had some fiasco earlier in the day. A sloppy mayhem run, followed by a run with a jaunt right out of the ring to a guy feeding treats to his dog out of an ice chest and how could Gustavo pass that up? All the other dogs did, but not Gustavo. That's just my bad training and my Gustavo. Followed by a win in Snookers that included having to do a teeter totter. He looked at it, he hesitated, I told him he could do it and he did. So he's fine. Not great, but not terrible. Just Gustavo. Inconsistent. Very inconsistent.

Otterpop had a good pairs run Friday night. Her partner made a fatal error and that was that. Hobbes had an exciting pairs run when I ran him with Rob and his other dog. I think they got 2nd of all the 26" dogs. I was just happy he didn't go running after them on their part of the course. I had a 5 fault standard with him on Sunday, but it was a good run. Hard course. One that I had been very much looking forward to running Otterpop on if she hadn't flipped me that bird off the startline and gone to the dark side. Seether. We're both still seething.


Raymond and Tater in the Grand Prix. Tater and Ruby go WAY back.

My friends and dog consultants act baffled or won't tell me the truth of what they think. Ask if she's hot? Spooked? Sore? Maybe they have dogs that won't do the dogwalk contact at the dog show even though they practice every day and never miss at home. But no one knows what to do with Otterpop.

The fiesta begins.

Had dinner with some friends last night, as we were walking out, one of them goes, "So how's that dog thing going, anyways?"

"We have moments of greatness, and it can go from there to totally sucktacular."

After work today, I go flying out to Prunedale for the first classes of the Regionals. Pairs. Which means hopefully if I'm late my pairs partners walked the course for me and yeah. It's like that.

Behold.


Let's hope I don't make mistakes like this with Otterpop. Oh the pain of it all.


Or any like this with Gustavo. And that he gets that nice CMJ measurement.


And there's no tense moments with Hobbes.

We'll see you all there. Who's bringing the margaritas?

Crosstraining for peak agility performance

Last night when we got home from Dirt Nite, Gustavo made a dramatic, festive, monkey screaming exit from the house to chase something around our back yard. Screaming and carrying on and I'm all, "Go GET YOUR DOG!" to Gary because sometimes, Gustavo can be his dog, especially when it involves frantic running monkey screaming around the yard in the dark. This is usually when he gets to be Gary's dog, actually.

So he's out there and I hear him yelling something about the tree and the dogs are running apeshit and I figure it's the possum out there again and they have it pinned somewhere. So out I go too, ready to kick some dog ass or at least carry some small dog back in the house where there's no possums and what is the deal about the tree? Possums go up trees, with their tiny little fangs and blind little eyes and horrid, scaly little tails and noses?

Oh, no. That would be due to the fact that Gustavo has climbed up in the tree and is now stuck in the tree with the million scrubby old dead branches. Sort of a huge, giant shrub more than proper tree and maybe there are possums in it but for sure now there is a Gustavo in it who is now stuck and screaming for someone to get him out of the tree.

This is a dog who just did weave poles and teeters and handling and contacts and who everyone applauded for not going in the tunnel on that hard turn from the a-frame to the table. Who held all his startlines and had no teeter phobias and ran the courses with all the big kid dogs. Who may have barked like a maniac all night but that's nothing compared to the possum barking sounds coming from THE TREE. Where he is stuck. Good god.

Gary carefully extracts him from the branches and carries him in. Otterpop is sort of looking at him. Otterpop has never been stuck in a tree. Actually, none of the dogs have ever been stuck in a tree. Right? Because dogs don't climb trees.

Gustavo will be competing at the Southwest Regionals this weekend. His first time in a dog show of massive magnitude. Wish us luck. Because I think dogs that get stuck in trees sort of need extra luck.

Swimming with Team Small Dog for peak agility performance if by performance you mean like if the clowns declare fiasco day in tiny car land?

So we're a few days off from the Bayteam Regionals. Great big dog show fiesta extravaganza, and I want the team at their peak performance level. Stopped at the practice field on the way out to work, and just did a little bit of practicing, quick, due to the whole part about actually going to work. You know the drill. Train don't complain, practice makes perfect, and pancakes are delicious but don't eat like a man.

Then the dogs slept away the day while I worked. Was another hot one, so on the way home I decided to stop at Nisene Marks again, the redwood forest conveniently located halfway between my house and my barn. Deep dark forest, with carbon emission laden free parking down the hill by the yoga place. A state park, yet in our crappily governated, financially decrepit state, no rangers down there. Perfect spot for some dog running.

I like to go to The Swimming Hole by the Abandoned Car. Perhaps you've been there. More of a stroll than a mountain hike to get there. You walk up the park road, in the shade of the big trees, past the yurt and the hairpin turn where the guys that ride big clanky mountain bikes with motocycle helmets almost try to KILL YOU. Geez, motorcycle helmet on bikes guys. Downhillers, I think that's what they're called. Look out for those guys. They wear bullet proof vests and tin cans on their legs so they don't mangle themselves when they hit people or rocks or tree trunks, I guess.

Anyways, take the trail off to the left and let the dogs go and hope there's no joggers and the dogs know the way down to the swimming hole. We all run fast to get there. I like running through the forest, still in my work clothes which are also dog walking clothes which are also party clothes which are also exercise gear. You get those makeover Stacey and Clintons to figure that kind of shopping out.

Recently, my friend Kelsey told me my style of running has a name. Fartlicking. So there. Peak performance at the Regionals, here we come. Thanks to fartlicking. In skinny jeans.

Run down to where the trees get darker and taller and past the old abandoned car with everbody's names all scripty wrote on it, vines climbing through it's rusty black orifices. How a car got there, we'll never know, but it tells you you're on the way down to the high wall gulch swimming hole.

Swimming hole, maybe a stretch. It's down deep in a little gulch and I never see anyone down there. And actually, the word swimming may be a stretch. Not sure if the way Team Small Dog swims is what people mean when they take their dogs swimming. I hear people say, Oh, we took the border collies swimming. And I wonder, could they mean THIS? Is what me and Team Small Dog do when I take them swimming what most dog people do? Because, frankly. Team Small Dog swimming, just plain wierd.

I have no photos to show you because I just can't master the taking action photos with a point and shoot down in the deep, dark forest. Maybe you have some hints. You will just have to imagine the rest.

The swimming hole is maybe 3 or so feet deep at the deepest, darkest, slimiest part. Any water over about 10" high is swimming water for my short little pets. Ruby is a toe wader. She can't swim for shit, that one. Sinks. Only in emergencies or mistake entrances into bodies of water over 10" deep. Remember Water Hyacinth Goose? At the swimming hole, she busies herself digging holes in the mud and dropping her sticks in, and wading through the shallows, dragging things around on the slopey bank. Running around and with projects only Ruby understands.

Those other two though, sort of swim. Sort of like I sort of sing. You heard me sing? I do a mean Sean McGowan of the Pogues if I'm locked in a car for too long. Lots of spitting. Shouty. Carry a tune like I carry around those agility sandbags. By dropping them. Hard. On someone's foot. In flip flops.

So Otterpop, who usually swims in the forest swimming hole, obsesses on one stick. In a forest of millions and trillions and gazillions of sticks, she only has eyes for one, which is the one I throw in the deepest part of the swim hole. No other stick will do and she becomes this frantic, whiney, shaking, shivering chihuahua of a thing when that stick goes to where she thinks it's too deep until she LAUNCHES herself out to get it and swims back in with it and drops it for me to throw again. That stick. Only. Although she seems to not love the swimming, she will do it if it means she can GET THAT STICK. Many sound effects ensue. Special sounds that are totally reserved for this completely macked out, obsession over the stick in the water. Like sounds I think sound like a wheezing pitbull who can also hum but not hum in a happy way. In a shrill way. Shrill, wheezy, hummy sounding.

Gustavo's swim method involves running like some kind of freaked out meth head maniac up and down the banks until frantically LAUNCHING himself after Otterpop to get to the stick first. Although he usually misses the actual stick part and swims out and grabs any other floating object instead. A leaf. A slime moss. Brings it back to me and then takes off for a few mysterious minutes up the steep banks into the forest. Before flying back down like a machine gun bullet and relaunching as needed. Over and over and over again. Frankly, his behavior in the forest is completely insane and sometimes I wonder what goes on in his head. Like we are talking jacked up circus freak on a danger motorcycle just let out of prison during the hooker parade insane. I let him do his thing, as if there were any other options, and keep throwing Otterpop's stick out for her so I can hear her weird soundsand watch her go into obsessive compulsive repetitive motion hell until finally LAUNCHING herself out and swimming out to get it. I am thinking, this is the peak performance part?

Gustavo seems to hate swimming, yet can't stop himself from it. Otterpop seems afraid to swim, yet can't stop herself from it. They are more speed waders, but you get that stick in the mix and the swimming just happens. Inevitably, frighteningly, entertainingly. For some of us.

So this goes on until I throw a new stick into the other part of the swimming hole, down the river a bit, where the big log is. Off they go, another round of swim freak, until somehow Otterpop has wrenched her shivering, soaked chihuahua body up and onto that log. So Gustavo goes across too. The log is on the other side of the creek, I might hasten to add. Involved a short swim to it and then they are both up and running up and down that log. Otterpop because she can see the stick floating away before her very eyes and Gustavo because Otterpop is running around on the log and the whole circus freak just let out of prison thing.

An important fact to add emphasize at this point in the story is that they both swam over there. Swam little dog bodies across the river. A very small river, but still a river. You see where I might be getting here?

Because all of a sudden, they are both stuck on the other side. Me and Ruby are over here and they are over there and Ruby all of a sudden is like PARTY ON DUUUUDE and racing around on her own private dog beach while pitbull heaving hum whistling and monkey whinging meth running are full blast weirding out on the log on the far away side of the creek and they cannot figure out how the hell did we get stuck here?

I'm a nice dog lady, I'm calling and telling them what super swimmers they are, which is a total lie, but isn't that what you do to get your dogs out of a pickle? Lie through your teeth about their fantastic swimming skills because it's possibly going to get dark soon and maybe there are skunks in this forest?

Running up and down the log and then finally Otterpop LAUNCHES herself back into the water and swims across and like that was so hard Otterpop?

Gustavo however, is not using the same skills of reasoning that Otterpop did. Being that if you swim one way, you can swim back again. He is crying and whining and leaping around and flailing but not going to throw himself off that log into the water. And like hell am I wading across to go get him. Me and bodies of water that are not chlorinated and can feature sharks, snakes, frogs and slime, we don't mix. Never the two shall meet. He's on his own.

He's being creative. Can get out onto this other little branch that's lower in, standing like a 4 legged parrot there, screaming at us to come get him. I feel sort of bad, he looks REALLY upset. He's sensitive. Teeter totters make him cry and he's afraid of stumps. Now he's stuck on a mossy old log and everyone else is either having a private beach party or barking at a stick or shouting lies across the water. Life is pretty sucky right now if you are Gustavo.

I throw Otterpop's stick in so she'll swim over near him and he can see how easy it is. And I do that again. And again. And again. And again. Little buddy is just on an endless loop and is not rebooting. Frantic. I'm beginning to wonder. Has he just lost his mind now? Forest creature going to be stuck in the forest? Maybe where there's wilder animals than skunks that would eat him. And he'd get cold and hungry out there, on his creek log. Come ON Little Buddy!

Finally, with Otterpop out there, flailing around after her stick, he climbs as low as he can on that log, looks like a skinny little cat now, drenched and not the most athletic little dog out there. Fast, yes. Agile? Let's just say his talent at agility involves the fast running part. Not the most coordinated one in the bunch. Would possibly be the last one picked for any team that doesn't need super speedy running. But he does it, gets low, parrot stance on a branch and then FLINGS his skinny little self in and swims the very short distance back to Otterpop and runs away up the bank, back into the forest and the poison oak patch. Always poison oak patches in our forests. We just deal with it.

Back we fartlick, me and the whole team, along the trail, Otterpop stopping now and then to throw herself down into the dust and roll around and take off, and Gustavo happy to be on dry land again, and back out of the forest we go.

So this is what you guys mean by dog swimming? Just for clarification? Super exercise for peak fitness? I sort of have this feeling, Team Small Dog swimming, might be sort of, kind of, not.

Fixing up some dog training issues before the big show while the scientists try to fix the ocean before it's too late.

When we go to forest agility to practice, we stop in a forest on the way home. I live by the sea, you drive up the hill and right there are second growth and old growth redwood forests, that seem like they may have been there for a million years. These are the mountains. There are a few places to park that have trails dropping into Henry Cowell State Park. Technically, no dogs allowed forests. You know how that goes. We're in there anyways. There are steep trails winding down through massive old redwoods, thick around at the bottom as tanks that soar up to the sky a hundred feet. Maybe more. I don't know the way one measures how high is a giant tree. Higher than you think.

The trails drop down to where it's dark and ferny, only little strips of light spearing through in a dusty haze. Little creeks and brooks and fallen giant trees, down where it's dark and cool and we hardly see anyone. Only thing you hear are sounds of redwood monkeys and the sound of a low creek with water just trickling over logs. Just me and the dogs and the trees on a forest walk. Even if there are not so hot dog shows, on days like this, I can't believe anyone else is as lucky as me to have dogs like mine and a place to live with forests and beaches for us all to run through.


This was dog show damage assessment day and preparing for the big weekend to come. Practice mission of the day was to let Ruby do some agility, see if I could make Otterpop slow so I could figure out how to speed her up, and see how damaged Gustavo got. Not too much damage. Not as much as I just learned about watching my friend's documentary she recently made about acidification of the ocean. Did you even know that? We're ruining the water and the sea shells are dissolving and talk about some damage. It will be on the Discovery Channel soon. Here's a trailer. Should have asked her about the forest. Although we know. It's probably pretty screwed as well. Not many whole forests even left. Likely also dissolving before our eyes.

Some people fix the ocean. Some fix the forest. Just thinking about that immobilizes me and I'll just try to go fix my dogs instead. I am a bad citizen of the planet. I did sort out all the recycling at the dog show over the weekend. If that puts you in a cheerier mood. Everyone has their job. I'll be the ocean poisoner and dog ruiner.

Ruby agility was easy. She just did a little bit of running. Her weave poles looked wonky and uncomfortable, we left it at that. She chased around some tennis balls and did some microscopic jumps and some dogwalks. I miss running Ruby. Her coral reef, totally bleached and dissolved and barely any corals left in her. Too many carbon emissions already done their damage.

So if Otterpop only runs fast when I practice, I thought I should see what I can do to make her slow because maybe that's a clue to her dog show slows that I can help fix. I had some ideas. Mostly revolving around frisbee addiction. Sort of like addiction to fossil fuels. It's a lot easier to run Otterpop without a frisbee than it is to not use any fossil fuels. How do you think I even got to forest agility anyways? In the car. It would take me 12 hours to walk there, up to the forest that's a 25 minute drive away. Yep. That is me, acidifying the ocean in the name of dog agility.


We practiced without a frisbee. I am an enabler. She would rather do agility when I have the frisbee, and runs the fastest for it. So much of the time, I bring it with me on the field so I can reward her for the super fast speed. Today, every time for a reward we ran fast to the frisbee which was kept back at the xpen. For every fast start, a fast run somewhere. I don't know that this fixes the problem, but it seems like it can't hurt. Didn't really make a difference I could see. Maybe retraining, sort of like a 12 step program. You need to think and analyze and look deeper down. Down to where the acid poisons the bones and the exoskeletons, and when it gets so bad, the acid, someone tries, maybe too late to get it out.

It makes me think about how I practice. I always do something the dogs love, that's easy, first. Everyone gets wired and motivated and fast for the rest of practice. So we can build up to bolder, harder things. Try not to always practice easy things, just start with them then always move on to something that puts some pressure on, where we all have to learn. Life is hard, you have to be prepared. Otterpop should be prepared, but she isn't. We built this city. It was full of poison. Eyes downcast, no one can look up. Everyone has screwed up, and how many chances do you get?

How about Gustavo's damage? Really, he seemed very not damaged. We weathered the storm, saved his tree. Not an iota of scared at the dogwalk, at the teeter. Flew around in his manic gallop scoot, staying focused, using the handling skills. Watched careful for any clues of the damage. We just practiced easy things, impulse control startlines with long, long leadouts. Contacts. Some easy but fast weave pole entries. Big huge jackpots and no pressure. Just an easy day for him of agility love and super fun. Not at all like last time he got slammed. No lasting spookies or freakies. Just one little step back, baby step. And now he is back to forward. Some things, maybe not too late.


My job, very little in the bigger picture. Make the training better, more consistent, be smarter about what you let happen out there and reward. Fixing dogs, shouldn't be so hard when you look at what some other people trying to fix. The old, dark forest, the deserted strip of cold sand that I love, maybe not take them so for granted. These good dogs, that try so hard, not for granted.