The time Team Small Dog had to move their blog via sonic motorbike or some such device and useful insight into how that's going.

Allright. So by now you all know about this moving project over here at Team Small Dog and how we are getting ready to move our blog somewhere. A sort of vague, undescribed, somewhere someplace that is known as a server but the specifics beyond that, misty and hazy, as if in a shouldn't have had tequilla before rum drink haze.


So yesterday, decided to work hard on this project by going and looking for new servers. Homes. For the blog, for all of you. Because by golly, if this blog is going to live on post-it's on my refrigerator, the least I can do is show you where all the motels are in my neighborhood.


There are bunches of motels around here, down by the Boardwalk. People come from miles around to stimulate our economy; ride the rollercoaster, do some surfing, buy a little meth, shop at New Leaf grocery store. I'd host the domain and all of you at my house, except it's really small. And I can't figure out what is a DNS nameserver. Also I am pretty sure Gary does not want me inviting the internet to sleep over.


He does know my blog has to move and I dramatically explained the whole FTP problem to him via expressive narrative dance about the futility of understanding how one makes a subdomain on a server to the mournful singing of Neko Case. Who is Canadian. The dance ended with a dramatic swoon onto the couch. SWOON. That's what FTP issues do to me.


I don't even have time to go into the whole part about the cop. This domain moving story, just going all over the place.


It was Superbowl day, which I was sort of whatever about, although it seems weird not one single person invited me to a Superbowl eating party? Isn't this what Americans are supposed to be doing? And instead me and the dogs are out on the streets trying to create a top level subdomain which may be called a CNAME and just a matter of pointing the domain nameserver there.


If I was a domain, I would probably enjoy being hosted at the Dream Inn. My sister's family stayed there last summer, and it's all redone in sort of swank hipster mid century inside. Think bean bag chairs, Nelson benches and vaguely Eames-ish light fixtures, all sort of light and beachy. Also, giant tv's!


Possibly no giant tv's at the Terrace Court. I bet their pool isn't even heated.


Now that this is turning into some kind of play by play, here the dogs are stayed in front of that newish bed and breakfast across the street from the Dream Inn. It's frilly. Someday, I would like to stay in a hotel like these of such grandeur and little mini bars with free beer and snacks. Where you don't have to wear socks at all time to avoid touching floor germs. And they give you towels. Just to use, but still.


Wait. Now I'm all messed up. Who is moving here? We used to be moving to a ranch and there was this whole thing with money and we didn't. Then the blog was moving but I don't know where and it's not realistic to move it to a hotel. I guess you don't have to actually move, but in case you wanted to visit the blog if it ends up on the refrigerator, living next to my internet which still lives on the kitchen counter, after I delete all the files when I'm moving it where?


So far, the closest I've gotten to figuring this out is the panic room. Welcome to the Facebook safety meeting place where everyone goes in case of file deleting emergency. Susan Garrett will be there, too, and I just learned me and her have the exact same birthday. Party on Garth!

Blog moving? I think this is going to take a while.

A Blogger tutorial, or Team Small Dog demystified, courtesy of the computer geniuses you know as Team Small Dog, who do have an ulterior motive.

Some of you probably ask yourselves, how does she do it, that Laura over there with Team Small Dog. Like maybe you tried to have a blog and you updated the time you made Christmas cookies back in 2007 and that was that. It's not for everyone.

So, many of these fine stories you read on Team Small Dog start out life as little scrawled notes on post-its or receipts from the feed store and Trader Joe's. I love to scrawl notes while I drive. I have a notebook somewhere but it's way more fun to dig around under the seat on the freeway looking for a tiny piece of paper and half dead pen, where I can write a little outline.

When I get home at night, I try to find those notes, which I have now lost, to type up a little story on my laptop. Usually I forgot whatever it was I can't find on the notes and then I just write something else. I always hit save. Unless I don't and then you should hear the yelling when I plug in my camera to move the photos that I didn't take because the batteries were dead and the camera plug crashes the iPhoto and everything is lost again.

With me so far? Blogging, not for the faint of heart.

Now, here's where it gets a little technical. Team Small Dog, the blog, lives on the teamsmalldog.com the website. This website lives on a mysterious computer somewhere, maybe in the Phillipines or my friend Steve's garage. I don't know. Actually, I have no idea.

When you live a digital lifestyle, kittens, there are a lot of invisible rocket sled spaceships that move your data around.


So the rocket sled spaceship called Blogger that makes my blog live somewhere on an island in the Phillipines or Steve's garage, no longer is friends with FTP the sonic motorbike. There was a spat. It involved Google. Google is a behemouth and FTP was exiled to Outer Mongolia, and the end of the story is, Team Small Dog blog has to change yet not change before March or we all turn into rotten pumpkins and the phone booth explodes. Or at least the links are broken and there are NO MORE PICTURES OF GUSTAVO.

Because I suspect that's why most of you are here. To see photos of Gustavo. And Benecio Del Toro.

So, here's where I'm getting to the point. Two points.

Point Numero Uno: The Help Team Small Dog Point
My nice friend Ellen has to move her blog, too and she seems to understand somewhat what this all means and all I can figure out is, good god. I have no idea what she's talking about. So if any of you use FTP and Blogger and you know what I'm talking about, understand the Google/Blogger/FTP Fiasco, and you know how to move my blog without it exploding and killing the president and losing all the files, please email me and I would even pay you to do this.


Point Numero Dos: The Team Small Dog Facebook Fan Point
Being pro-active here, and assuming that in March my blog explodes and I've gone back to writing a blog that is just scrawled receipts and post-its magneted on to my refrigerator where the only way you get to read Team Small Dog is in my kitchen which is also my living room, I have set up a plan. Where after the explosion, and preparing for the future when there is a blog that lives somewhere else with new links but also possibly zombie cannibals roaming the streets, you can find Team Small Dog and ask us, how do we get to your refrigerator? This place, is called the Team Small Dog page on Facebook, and every single one of you can become a fan and I promise to go in and update it all the time as long as you're not my high school boyfriend.

Team Small Dog Interviews Caninitarians Susan and Kraig Paulsen today.

I bet a lot of dog agility people have dreams of living on a beautiful 5 acre agility spread in the country. Lush grass agility fields and a view of the foothills and the wide open spaces. Walk out your back door first thing in the morning, and work on those contacts over a cup of coffee. Perhaps have a few adorable farm animals trotting about. Life is good. Restful. Quiet.


Bayteam's 2009 Caninitarians of the Year, Susan and Kraig Paulsen had that vision, and their agility spread, Workin' Paws, has become an important resource to the agility community in the Bay Area. Susan, a high school science teacher, Kraig, your typical Bay Area software engineer, and their pack of Aussies and Border Collies moved from Fremont down to the outskirts of Hollister, an area known for stock dogs, tri-tip and beer. Over the years, they've learned a few things about life in the country.


Susan and Kraig are originally from the East Coast. Susan grew up in the rural dairy country of Upstate New York. Kraig, originally from Long Island, was a yacht boy that grew up on the water. If you ever asked him, would he live on 5 acres with farm animals, he'd of said you were nuts. But now, he's got a whole new way of looking at things.


I was wondering what a typical day off around Workin" Paws is like for the Paulsens. They toted their camera around with them one Saturday so we could see.

Laura: So, did country living make you guys acquire any fancy new skills?

Kraig: Day off?? Skills: Tractor repair...boy I hate tractors because the grass grows faster than I can fix it.  Sprinkler man: working with irrigation.  It's not a skill but I've learned what not to do.

Susan: Weekends are feeding, mowing, watering, weeding, fixing, killing varmints, all the stuff we don't get to during the work week. The skills I've mastered are not what I expected.  I thought I would be mastering agility skills, but alas, my new skills include getting rid of squirrels. I was so proud I caught 13 in a trap once I mailed photos to friends. Upon reflection, that's just weird! They still like to get into the agility fields so it's a constant battle. Weeds are another OCD topic for me due to the endless fight against fox tails. I'm getting better at both with trial and error. 


Laura: Sometimes, do things go not so according to plans? Like remember when Lucy and Ricky moved to the country on I Love Lucy and what happened when Lucy rode the riding mower into Betty Ramsey's prizewinning tulips? This ever happen around your house?

Kraig: We put in the large field sprinkler system,  and we glued all the pipes together. All excited to turn on the water to see how it worked and when we did it blew..all the pipes blew.  We have 100 PSI pressure in the pipes so it was like a Las Vegas water show.
 
Susan: Yep, that's was the worst! I bought the wrong glue!  It was a major disaster, not to mention let down!!!  Water shooting up in the air..everywhere.  That was our most memorable; and I can say it seems funny now but at the time..we were not laughing!


Laura: Can you give me a run down of all those dogs, and what they do?
 
Susan: I have Kolbe, an Aussie age 13, Surely an Aussie, age 8, and Kipper a BC, age 5.  Besides performance events, I really like to go hiking with my dogs. I look forward to going to the Trinity Alps each year so we can spend doggy time swimming and hiking. 
  
Kolbe was my first true performance dog and we did obedience, agility and conformation. Surely was my first working line dog.  I cried when I found out we got our WTCH I was so happy, which was the same week as our ATCH.  Kipper is my first BC, and of course Red Dogs Rule!
 
Kraig: Konner an Aussie age 15, he has Novice Open ASCA, CD and CH and he can open the freezer door and pull out all the TV dinners.  Kaz age 6. He's in Masters USDAA and a WTCH in ASCA, he loves to do herding.  He's won buckles in ASCA.
 
Susan:  Our male dogs all have "K" names because of Kraig's family.  ALL of his family names everyone with "K"'; so of course this goes with our doggie family as well. 
 
Laura: Any fancy titles or cool achievements? 

Susan: We've competed in ASCA, and some AKC.  My happiest achievement in recent memory was at a Turlock trial last year when Surely made her dog walk contact, which if you know "the princess", she likes to leap off super-gal style, anyway I was so excited she made it with a fast clean run!!.  I love that little black dog!
 
Kraig:  My achievement is that in my back yard I win "Worlds" everyday. I enjoy the journey.


How many sheep do you guys have?
 
Susan:  I'm not sure at the moment because we just got some new ones.  I have my favorites that we keep as breeding ewes such as Willamina, her daughter Mina, Arnold-ina, and Abby.  We have a bunch of new ones we just bought because we needed "fresh" working sheep.  If you work  the same sheep all the time they become knee knockers, new ones shake up the training.
 
Kraig: 20: four knee knockers, 1 mama ewe which is a pain in the ass, and two troublesome goats.

Susan:  Hey, my goats rule!


Laura: Do all your dogs do sheep herding (Not sure if using proper terminology here. My sheep experience is limited to making sure the gate is always closed and one fiasco of a morning involving 3 humans trying to move one sheepie away from it's pals into the back of a pickup truck. That was a mind opening experience to the way of sheep thinking for this interviewer)?
 
Kraig:  They all do it (laughing), but what you consider well is relative.  Konner roam and barks, Kolbe doesn't care at all about sheep.  If you need to get a job done, then Surely is my choice.  But if you want it done with style and grace then Kaz and Kipper are the ones.
 
Susan: Can't add anything to that.... pretty much sums it up. 

Laura: Did you two start agility at the same time, or was this one spouses idea and the other one just got pulled along into it?

Kraig: I intinally thought that my dog could be trained by another handler, and then and I would just run him on on the weekends, but I slowly learned that it's a dog handler team effort. Then when I got Kaz I got hooked.

Susan:  I got started into agility because of the ASCA club, and a member took us up to Power Paws Agility, and of course here we are!


Laura: What are some cool things about having your own dog agility pad? Since we should probably be encouraging people to say Goodbye, city life, and help further our sport like you guys have.

Susan:  Truly, the great people!  It's given me the opportunity to create new friendships, and train with amazing people.  I really enjoy fun matches, fun days, and seminars.  It's wonderful to watch people improve, not to mention it's fun to just hang out at the field with a bunch of friends on a sunny afternoon.
 
Kraig:  It gives me the opportunity to go out and play in my backyard and be able to share with others. 

Laura: Any good advice for people wanting to move to the country and build their own dog agility mecca? Or perhaps, warnings?

Kraig: Make the choice and don't look back. Just be prepared for a lot of work, and make sure you have help. We got a lot of help from ranch friends.  It's also a slow process.

Susan:  Use the right glue when putting pipe together! 

Cerberus sleeps a lot on the job, if anyone needs to get into Hades.

The rain started again, caught me out at work, and it was one of those days that ends damp and cold and muddy. On these days, the dogs huddle on old saddle pads in one big plastic dog crate, a pile of small black dog that looks like a singular form, with the occasional open eye watching your every move. You look in there, and it's hard to see where heads start and legs end, nothing but a tangle of black fur. They sleep in there, rarely moving, until the end of the day, when half chaps and boots are pulled off and it sounds like time to head home.

Our little house is heated by one old wall heater, right there in the living room. On these dark, slow nights, you can hear the rain; we leave the music off. The dogs resume their huddle in the heater chair, dreaming to the quiet hiss of the dusty heater and the rain.

Today, a little fitness tip from our pal, Otterpop.

In the last couple weeks, random people have commented on how svelte Otterpop looks.

"Has she lost some weight?"

"Otterpop looks thin. She been working out?"

"Otterpop is getting skinny!"

Otterpop isn't really fat. Just unfortunately tank shaped. And she's been running less, although not as less as her vet wanted. Agilitying less. Eats the same amount. My dogs all eat this much food. Can you see my hand? It's all crinkled up like I'm holding a baby hamster. One baby hamster's worth of dog food. Not raw food. No lamb stomachs and turkey necks. I'm a mean, abusive dog owner that way. They just eat dried up old dog food from a bag. They love it. We're all ok with this.

So, as far as I can tell, there are 2 possibilities to her new flattering figure. The first being, the fatter my ass gets, the better hers looks.

Crap.

The other?

Otterpop does a lot of tricks. In case I ever need to send her off to live with carnies, she'll have a job skill. One of them being a little handstand where she kicks her back feet up against a wall or something, way up high above her head. Funny little party trick, amusing to watch, she thinks it's funny.

Except Otterpop, apparently having the mind of an ape, found a better use for this trick once she learned it.

Tools. Isn't that what makes monkeys different from dogs? They can use tools?

This is super embarrassing. I can't even believe I'm writing this down. She would kill me if she knew. Please don't tell Otterpop.

Both my girl dogs like to pee like boy dogs. As much as possible. Use your imagination. If you're still with me because I just wrote about how my dogs pee. But Otterpop's handstand trick gave her uncharted possibilities in this department. She sees a tree, does a handstand, and pee's like that, as high up on the tree as she can. I guess this makes her look tougher and bigger, next dog that comes along.

It's a little weird and disturbing to watch. No. It's a lot weird and disturbing to watch. I have to look away. It's just not right. But, now I think, has stomach muscle toning pilates effects that are making me wonder. Every time I see her do this.

Otterpop on to something here?

We are lucky.

The light stays just a little longer now.


If I hurry, some days I can make it on to the beach before the horizon fades to black.


I guess we do some dog training. There are recalls from the birds. You are welcome, birds.


We practice just being a team. One for all and all for one.


Mostly though, there's just running. By all of us.


Until some of us, have to stop and walk. It's a long, dark walk up the hill when it's time to go.


We are lucky.

The dictatorship of the proletariat-A short history of oppression under a cruel and evil and heartless dog agility lady.

When we went to practice yesterday, there was a stiff criteria for anyone that wanted to do stuff like this. And trust me. EVERYONE wants to do this.


However, under my heavy iron thumb, behind my iron curtain, anyone named Gustavo that wants to do fun agility has to prove a high level of responsibility, a level that never, ever runs off into the forest to chase critters. And, he must demonstrate zero meltdowns of monkey screaming, ripping apart of soft crates, pretty much anything that makes my blood presure rise, in my guilty until proven innocent, fascist regime.


When we go to practice in the beautiful forest field at Heart Dog Agility, Gustavo now needs to demonstrate rock solid crate games on a 20' long line before he gets to do any agility. As far as he's concerned, this is probably about the same amount of fun as running around the field. He can blast in and out of his space pod all day. This was one of his first party tricks from way back when.


Running around in a forest, whether there's an agility field there or not, is now prefaced with wholesome activities such as More Recalls Than You Thought Possible. Either In or Out of Space Pod, But Nowhere Else. Heeling Like in Fancy Dog Show Except While Running. While he's dragging along his nice long rope. The goal is that these activities become as cool and dangerous to him as chasing deer or racoons or smurfs or zombies or I don't care what, through the woods.

Today, proved himself innocent and got to practice a little bit of agility at the end of it all with that blasted black long line finally unclipped. And he was only sentenced to jail in the car once all morning for a single monkey screaming incident during Otterpop's turn. A benefit of this seems to be he's channeling the critter chasing drive into his agility. He was insanely fast. Yet, with more and more control instead of just flat out mayhem. Hopefully we're on the right track here.

The many features and benefits of UKI Agility.

We went over to UKI Agility on Sunday.


I think UKI is going to be pretty popular around here.


We had a good time.


The match was at Anne Kajava's facility in Newark.


Gustavo had a hard time with weave poles first thing in the morning.


Like could not remember how to do them.


That went away later on. I think he did a good job.


Otterpop had a nice time, even though, as per our custom, I couldn't do the gamble with her.


I'll set it up today and ace it.


Ruby even ran a little bit. I see a future for her in Speed Stakes for Seniors.


All my dogs had some startline weirdness. I guess we're chalking that up to handler psychosis. Someone suggested I listen to mental management tapes. Apparently I just can't manage my mentalness.


There was a Starbucks practically next door.


Sure was nice to get out and run around with the dogs in the sunshine again. Thanks, UKI Agility!

Well what the heck did dog agility do before iPad?

I don't know how we ever stumbled through dog agility without iPad.


It's everything, and so much more. I love to snuggle iPad in my lap as we memorize courses together.


There's nothing to worry about out there with iPad. iPad finds the Starbucks nearest the dog show, dashes in, orders a mocha, tells all your Facebook friends you just had coffee, and gets you back to the dog show right on time. And ring conflicts? A thing of the past. There's an app for that.


iPad runs for 10 hours on a single battery charge, and has the accuracy of 3G + WiFi + rocket science Ghz processing. And at 9.7" tall, iPad is the star of the 12" division, especially if you kick up the clams for the 64gb drive. $829, kittens. But iPad's 1024-by-768-pixel resolution at 132 pixels per inch, not to mention bluetooth, assures you totally win Steeplechase every single time. You do the math.

Fitness for dog agility-some red flags out a flappin' in the breeze.

There was this time, some years back, when I sadly packed up all the little Size 5 pants and teensy, tiny tanks and t's and sent them away. I told myself I was giving them to a nice farmer and his family, where they would live happily and free, have a better life than I ever gave them. And maybe I would get to visit them on weekends.

Ha. What a crock. That was it. They were gone. And Size 5 and me, we never met again. Sometimes I cried. Size 5 never looked back, as far as I could tell. Moved on to greener pastures.

Then we moved into the Even Numbers of Size, and puttered along at 6. 8. 6. 8. Oh sure. I flirted with 10 once or twice, but never got serious. I had this whole era of buying really expensive jeans on ebay, dirt cheap, and wearing them to work. Dog agility. Super skinny little jeans in reasonable sizes. Built up quite a stack in my clothes cabinet. They were my friends.

Something happened a while ago. I like to call it Christmas Cheer, if Christmas starts sometime in the spring and cheers it's way through summer and rolls along into fall and by the time it's actually Christmas, well ho ho ho. There's some extra junk in the trunk where trunk equals maximum epidural surface area from all regions south of neck and north of ankle. Ho ho ho, little skinny friends, all lonely and folded in the cabinet. There was a trip to the Gap. Tunics. Puffy jackets.

I asked a newly svelte friend one day, how'd you do that? She said, "Had to stop eating like a man."

Oh lord. I always have eaten like a lumberjack. Food groups include the pizza, taqueria, bakery and fancy beverage. But being someone that runs around a lot, through the forest, around the agility, down the beach, up to the barn, down to the arena, never seemed like much of a problem. Until you are 44 years old and you get the Christmas Cheer.

So I cut to the chase now. I cut to it whilst wearing a long, man size t-shirt and granny Spanx undergarments. Besides the somewhat modifying the man eating, we have a fitness project. Every morning, while other breathers in the house are still sleeping, mad crazy dance party in the dark. Sun hasn't come out yet. I just fire up the itunes and off we go. There's no other choice. The stack of pants in the cabinet, makes me weep. The thought of dog shows starting up again and good god. The jiggling and slow running potential.

Front cross hip hop with OutKast. Rear cross hustle with Kool and the Gang. Gwen Stefani serpentine. You get the idea. Do this until you are sweating really good and your ass hurts bad. That may or may not be long enough. When done, leash up the dogs, rain boots on if neccessary, and walk run walk run as fast as you can all the way to the ocean. Try not to walk. Run back with dogs pulling like tiny little iditarods.

I'll let you know in a few weeks if it's working. It has to. It will. Otherwise, there will be trouble.

The real team small dog.

My friend Kelsey sent me this. With the cryptic note, "Vivian is in Kauai and sent this today."

Holy smokes. When pressed for a field report, this info came in, straight from the beach, via iphone, I guess. Sometimes I feel so lame. I liked Avatar. I have a plain old regular phone. I don't know how to cellercise.

"It was at the farmers market at hanelei bay, a man had them on a cart, the father looked like a real fluffy Pomeranian. Mom I guess a short haired blackie. Owner dude got the pack two coconuts, hacked them open with a machete then fed the meat to the yappy pups. "

Click here to make them talk.

Hello and welcome to the movie Avatar, which has at least 14 strikes against it, yet which, inexplicably, I loved even though giant blue cat aliens.

So if you were to tell me I would like a movie that starred giant, blue Smurf Cats in the future, created by Computer Graphics, I would say, ha HA. I am a lot smarter than that and never.

Then if you said was one of those bad white guy military industrial complex with racist overtones about the natureyness of the Other and the Myth of the Noble Savage, I'd be all, yeah right. Been there, done that. Would rather stay home and scrub grout.

And then if you said it was made by James Cameron and was kind of like Dances with Titanic Jurassic Wolves by Willy Wonka the Lost Lion King, I would probably just barf, right then and there. Oh, James Cameron. You and your buckets of money do floweth straight to the weepy noodle bowl of barfiness.

Except I was curious. Maybe, you are like me. Typical dog agility lady. Very, very busy trying to stay dry in the rain at work and keep up with life and you don't have time to go see a super long blockbuster movie plus you hate the popcorn and wall treatments at the blockbuster movie theater. The ceiling. It makes your eyes BLEED to go to that movie theater.

Except every single person you know is all, Go See Avatar! Go See Avatar!

They say it with a fervor. Like even the dentist. With a fervor.

Which is weird because they are all in consensus. There is no dissent. Everyone loves this movie.

Assuming there are some of you out there like me that slipped through the cracks (Susan Garrett, you are a busy dog agility lady. Did you go see this movie?), here is my take on it that will not spoil anything and then maybe you will come and see it with me at the even fancier movie theater on the other side of the mountain with the Imax 3D because that's where I'm headed next.


Right? Because I am going to see a movie again, perhaps even drive over a damp and stormy mountain to do so, which, on paper, sounds like the worst movie ever.

Michelle Rodriguez is a bad ass terminator airship pilot in the future. Earth is wiped out and the military/corporate bad guys including that little asshole from Entourage need to strip mine the happy treeland of the blue giant cat people in space. Ripley is there and she yells a lot and we can't tell if she's had face work or not. When the marine wakes up from the space journey to the future he looks somewhat like an Australian Greg Derrett and talks in very short sentences.

There is no dog agility in the smurf animal world, instead hair plugs are used for much day-glo forest frolicking and super easiest animal training ever. Many animals try to eat people! Then it is going to go boy meets girl loses girl and so forth for a while and there will be napping in the gel cushioned pods until the super rad mega battle led by Australian Greg Derrett now disguised as the blue guy and noble savage themes abound and before you know it you have to pee and you were just in the movies for good god, almost 3 hours AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE.

This is from someone who routinely falls asleep in the movies and prefers rockumentaries or films shot In Marfa, Texas or directed by Harmony Korine or where Madonna sings her way through Argentinian dictatorship. In that order. There is no logical reason why anyone should enjoy this movie. All points, stacked against it. Yet, I still tell you, I think you will like this movie.

Sort of like getting a Golden Globe, but actually, totally not.

Read about Laura and Team Small Dog on Bayteam Cool Canines!

Actually, Michelle Rodriguez, who maybe you know as Ana Lucia from Lost, she should really be the Cool Canine. Golden Globes all around. I bow down to coolest canine Michelle Rodriguez. She is James Cameron's new Linda Hamilton. You see Avatar? Holy smokes. Just go see it. I'm not kidding. Even though it is about a giant blue smurf army and their day-glo treehouses. Would I lie? I might be Cool Canine this week, but really, Michelle Rodriguez. I'm already practicing Michelle Rodriguez swagger walk. And geting a camo jumpsuit.

Greg Derrett Handling System demonstrates the Threadle for waterlogged, rainboot wearing people in damp cashmere.

The Greg Derrett Handling System for waterlogged, rainboot wearing people in damp cashmere, a continuing adventure with Team Small Dog.

Part 3-The Threadle, De-Mystified.


Threadling is best explained by Derretts. In a pinch, British celebrities. Certainly not Team Small Dog. It's swingy, it's sexy, and involves a footplant. Wear your fancy pants for Threadle. Today's Threadle lesson is brought to you by Austin Powers and Robert Plant, who I assume are close personal friends of Greg Derrett. England is small. Everyone knows everyone there, I think. Righty-o?


Thanks Austin Powers and Robert Plant. Supplies needed for Threadling? Get out your treats, and your toy, and of course the Twister mat and ideally, a vintage Herb Alpert Tijuana Brass on vinyl. I like the Herb Alpert album with the naked girl sitting in a pile of shaving cream. It says whipped cream. I think it's shaving cream.


Use that one.


I tried to get Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty, but they were in rehab. Also Pete Doherty and Kate Moss broke up, and Amy Winehouse tried to beat up Kate, and really, Greg Derrett. I hope you stay away from that lot. They'll get you nowhere but trouble. Poor Kate Moss. Maybe the Derretts can adopt her?


So let's say you are Robert Plant. Your shirt has no buttons, and you are running up a line of jumps, you are blue blue blue blue with your dog on your left, yellow yellow yellow yellow, and off to your right, and good god. It's a Threadle. Over there at red! And your shirt has no buttons. And she's buying a stairway to heaven.


Here. Austin shows you. You see his Threadle? Rrrrrrrr. Sexy box. 3 to 4. Classic. How you going to do this?


So as your dog commits to jump 3, you get the deceleration by Planting. You can wear a shirt or not, totally your choice. And then, here comes your arm change. Since you're going to be going to jump 4, you are going to arm change to your right arm. Down it comes, as if going to your left knee. Still with Austin, baby? Because Feeties is next. Off they go, backwards, right then left then right, cha cha cha. Cue Herb Alpert. And then left arm comes back up, and voila. Dog jumps over jump 4.


Um, on the Twister mat, that would be Robert Plant feet at blue-red, then the cha cha cha backstep goes red blue red. Got that?


Unless you're on your Twister mat this way. In that case, Robert Plant at green green, then yellow blue red, cha cha cha. This might be a little different than the way you learned Threadle. You thought I was going to tell you to Rotate! But you got cha cha cha. Because Greg Derrett has adjusted it somewhat for Top Handlers! Like Robert Plant! Or famous Canadians! Who may have had embarrassing flicking occur due to over rotation. So use your feeties, kittens.


See? You Threadled. Really, not that hard. No cause for panic. Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run. There's still time to change the road you're on. Cheerio!

When once again, in different words, I tell you about the giant rain storms and you can pretend you're listening but really I lost you days ago.

I KNOW that weather reports are super boring but I just can't stop myself. Dog agility is suspended in time for now, while we analyze the weather and try to calculate just how long we have until the water starts again. I read the radar map on the internet, and I fail.

The storms won't stop. We even cancelled Dirt Nite, which is held in a covered horse arena. Under a rain proof roof. Mud Nite wouldn't have even summed it up. Washed Away in Freezing Hail Nite might have.

If dogs could type, Team Small Dog probably would say that I am vile and evil and keep them locked up in the house while I go away all day to frolic naked at the Disneyland Tiki Bar to enjoy fruity cocktails and Country Bear Jamborees with Keanu Reeves. While they are subjected to the horror and torture of sleeping on a dry, landlubbing couch, chasing off the mailman and listening to the reggae station when the power is not out. The horror of it all, to be left at home when you are a go-everywhere-including-work-every-day dog.

Little do they know they are spared a flooded dog pen, falling trees, and hearing me curse all day at horses that are really so over having to patiently walk laps.

A more A-list dog trainer than I would surely come home after a day of this and work on new tricks and stimulate their dogs' brains and so forth. Over here, on the D-list, we all sit on the couch together and if they're lucky I'll read them a good sentence from the book I'm reading about street punks in Las Vegas.

I know some of you have winters like this all the time. You've moved your weave poles into the dining room and taught your dogs synchronized tap dancing and they helped you paint the bathroom. I should hang my head in shame. Although, maybe my house is cuter than your house. But things come in waves, whether it's the jet stream shoving the wild air across the Pacific, or teaching the dogs to sort the laundry. This week? We'll just keep watching the skies.

The water, it won't stop falling from the sky.

The storm banks keep moving through. When there are breaks, there are horses to walk, poor things much worse off cooped up in their boxes, their only break in the monotony, dreary walks around and around the road throughout the property. The dogs make due. There's always something for them, they don't much care if it's rain or wind or sun.


I stood out in the middle of the field, waiting for dark to hit and waiting to see how long it took the black storm cloud to move on top of us. I stood out there, not moving at all, facing in to the wind. Blew hard enough to keep me propped up, and so loud, moving by my ears. No one else out there. Generator drones and rattles from a shed out by the buildings. The Who song Teenage Wasteland swells up all operatic in my brain. Sometimes it's creepy, when you get a free soundtrack you didn't even ask for.


The dogs stayed occupied, digging through the underbrush, in the soft dirt. Frantic for something that was just beneath the surface. I let them dig so long, trying to see if they caught whatever it was tunneling away from them before the black cloud hit on top of us. Worst thing that would happen, we get really wet. Worst thing that would happen, the one inch diameter hails the lady on the radio told us about pelts our skin. Worst thing that would happen, was a lightning cloud like the ones in the morning, would appear and strike me dead.


The cloud, it's winning, and I turn my back to the wind and slog through what is now a slough, boots to my knees, sometimes slipping. Call in the dogs and they need to leave whatever it was they have now gone feral for, digging as if posessed, each in their hole. Sometimes they swap.


It's Gustavo and Otterpop who whistle in right away, and when I get through the field, out to the path, I turn into the wind again, and can barely see Ruby out there, a pouncing little speck. She has gone to heaven. I don't know if she can hear me through the wind. I doubt it. I wave my arm, turn my back, and keep walking up to the road. A minute later, she's alongside again, with a spark in that bad cloudy eye. I gather them all up, just as the first heavy drops start to fall from the sky.

When the magic of water falling from the sky just makes us all go kind of freaky.

We have been waiting for this bank of storms to hit us dead on. They come and go in waves, with thunder and pounding rain that floods the streets, then stop for a while, leaving the winds to dry everything quickly, in time for the next set to rinse and repeat.


Between the surf noise and the air noise, you can only hear noise from your mouth in your very own ears.


The beach is a bad, dangerous place. The surf hits the rocks too hard, and there are no patches of sand. When the water smacks the rocks, it sprays up top, sending showers of pebble and water and kelp across the road. At low tide, this is where my dogs run in the morning and evening, but during winter storm season, we head to the whale skeletons, on safer, higher ground.


Nothing much to do, but wait it out, and take advantage of every dry patch that comes through.

Mary finds the Luck Museum on the way home from UKI Agility.

So on Saturday night, I'm emailing with my 2 friends Mary. Mary is one of my most best dog agility pals, and we couldn't decide if we should drive through the Unprecedented Storm of the Century to get to the Historic First Sanctioned UKI Agility Match in California. My other dog agility pal, Mary, putting on the match, is of the opinion, Coastal Lands Will Be Wiped Out to Sea?  The Bastards! Because the UKI Agility does not bow down to some stinking rain.

And at 5am Sunday morning, the Mary's are conversing, before coffee even, and decide the show must go on, storm of the century or not, and off we go, me and Mary, over to Mary's and some UKI agility in beautiful, scenic Turlock. Maybe you've been there. Perhaps when touring the cheese factory in Hilmar? Or the nut packing warehouse in Gustine? You ever see me and Mary, we don't look like big hellraising daredevils. Mary is a mother of 3. Kids in graduate school. Very well read. I wear striped track bottoms with frayed cuffs and don't always brush my hair. We are always punctual, drive sensible and well maintained vehicles, and say please and thank you a lot. And we both decide the same thing. To HELL with you, Momentous Predicted Weather Event, we're going to dog agility.


The facts. 2 courses. Jumpers, in UKI, called Speed Stakes, and Standard, in UKI, called, Agility. There was an ulterior motive, besides having a fun agility day. Turlock is where Gustavo has had some major freakouts, so getting him in a ring with rewards, today our good pal Tupperware, worth risking the Individual Storm Event Jet Stream as Powerful as They Come on This Planet, Anyway.


Official Team Small Dog review? All systems go, UKI Agility. First of all. Not even raining. Due to UKI agility? Quite possibly so. Many people scared away due to Potential Prodigious Precipitation? More time for us to run before said rain drops started to fall. Very fun courses with a little different feel than USDAA. Right up our alley. No table in Agility! Fun Speed Stakes of much running which made me realize, holy smokes am I out of shape.


Gustavo? So excellent! Can you see me hopping up and down here? Just don't watch my stomach jiggling. Trying to get in shape starting now so I do not need to go purchase granny Spanx as part of dog agility underwear replacement for sexy thong, and also of the super joy of his excellence. No freakouts, runouts, distractions. Only a singular bobble in a speed stakes run where, very interestingly, I lost my visual peripheral connection with him behind a wing on a long straight line, and he went stressy for a moment, then after I gathered him back into sight, off like a rocket. He ran every run with his super rocket blaster speed, hit all contacts, missed only 1 pole entry, and teeter totters? No problem.


Otterpop? Good god, Otterpop. Keep running like this and I'm not kidding. We are buying a plane ticket in October to Kentucky, just me and you. On a plane. Scarey. Worse than snakes on a plane, bringing an Otterpop in a tote bag. Do they even let her kind through security? A quandry for another day. Otterpop, I couldn't ask for anything faster, better, tighter, than how you ran today. Running Otterpop at 8", like really. The funnest thing ever. EVAH.

Even Ruby ran around some, and loved it and will be happy to semi un-retire to make some UKI agility appearances while she can still can. She can run at 8" in UKI too, and was just so happy to get a turn or two with the other dogs.


After we ran and ran and ran, the rain finally came. Not too bad, as we drove into the storm for our long drive home. And remarked, many times, on how lucky we are.

Just the way it goes on some days.

Well. This was a day.

Before work, I quick snapped a photo of my $5 I was going to send Susan Garrett because her genius works over the internet and I am compelled to send her money for failing the challenges by not doing them. Susan Garrett has magical powers we are only beginning to understand.

But Holy Cinco de Enero, Susan Garrett! Gustavo has been demoted to Groundhog day of recall repetition and the rebuilding of our relationship and I had approximately 5 minutes on the agility field this week. There's no weave pole challenges. Contact challenges. Holy smokes. Drag the jumps around? This week, they were lucky to go out on a leash run down to check the surf before work. It was big, by the way, scarey and a little too powerful to be our sea's magestic beauty. Call them death waves.

So THEN, on the way to work I stopped at the car fixing place because the something something was cracked and loose on the engine and something about the bolt, so I took the dogs for a walk on the levee while they dug around fixing the whatchamacallit. The levee is the homeless corridor, on the edge of town, by the train tracks that wind up to the forest. The corridor runs along the river to the emergency shelter and near the greenbelt where the forest folk camp out under trees. It was about 8am and guys were dragging their cardboard out of the willows on the riverbank and dragging hefty bags with their aluminum around.

We walked with them, me and the dogs, sort of against traffic coming from the shelter. Quiet enough, even with the hum of the freeway nearby, that you could hear that there was a good amount of water down in the river. Our river, sometimes sad and pathetic by the time it meanders through downtown to splurt out through the sand by the Boardwalk. Lots of spots to sleep, if that's the only place left by the time the sun goes down. Everyone walks sort of slow, not sure where they're all going, with backpacks and pushcarts down the path on the levee.

Susan Garrett's $5 bill that I had stuffed in my pocket ended up on one guy's wet sleeping bag, still curled up on the bricks overlooking the strip mall car park. I figured he'd need quarters for the dryer at the laundromat. Susan Garrett, I will find you some more $5's. Or send you a special present. I think I owe you like $5,500 by now in overdue challenge fees. This is just the way we do it here, sometimes in the land of Team Small Dog. You gave us the rules and set up the plan, and then here we are, meandering along with guys dragging sacks of cans, under a gray, stormy sky, listening to the dirty river burble through the brush.

So THEN, to work. Everyone talking of the giant storm heading our way, the unprecedented event of dynamic lift of the jet stream, aiming ample wetness disturbances as powerful as they get for our planet, headed smack at our coast. Battening down the horse hatches and getting ready for the water to start pouring in from all angles for a week.

So THEN, when I got home, my email announces USDAA Nationals in Kentucky. Otterpop, you wanna go to Kentucky on an aeroplane?

And AKC sent me a nice email about how they're no longer dog racist and has enhanced itself by allowing dogs like mine to join, if we so choose. Otterpop, you wanna be an AKC dog?

That was about it. Someone wanted to facebook friend me, some spammers wanted me to sign up for all kinds of things. And I ate some dinner, and then called it a night, ready to get up early to start it all again today.

*BTW, we still love you, our old pal dog agility, and hope to UKI Matchit on Sunday if the Storm of the Century could please just hold off until Sunday, late afternoon, perhaps early evening, 5pm would be SUPER, to slam into us.

The day that the despairs didn't let me quite finish up with the Greg Derrett Handling System yet I believe I can muster straight lines.

Part 2.5 but really, that is pretty optimistic. Actually, let's say Part 2.25.


Do you know how to do texting on your phone? I do.

I didn't always know. I would hand it off to the nearest teenager for a while, and dictate to their frantic flying metallic nail polished fingers. But I practiced, and I got better. There are just some things you have to remember. They took a while.

Like that the "1" key also has the exclamation point and period and question mark and punctuation was born to my rambling style, unpunctuated texts.

That when someone sends you a text, a little envelope shows up on the phone and it makes a ding dong doorbell sound. And that means, you are supposed to read their text, not admire the tiny little envelope sitting there for a couple days.

Seems simple and dorky now but it took me a really long time to figure out those 2 stupid concepts and now I am pretty darn texty. Like when you text me, hypothetically speaking, IS IT GOING TO RAIN LATER TODAY? I can now text back a snarky manifesto about how if I could predict that I would have sold my magic powers to Weather TV and I'd be a millionaire by now and we'd never have to worry about the rain due to my giant covered arena and actually I wouldn't have to work anymore so you wouldn't even be asking me this question and does that answer your question?

Also, BTW, any time you are having black cloud of despair, you can text HAITI to 90999. Simple. Easy. And there goes $10, less than the cost of one Masters Gamblers class, to the Red Cross in Haiti. The more despair clouds, the more times you can send your $10 text.

I would also say, do not try to train your dogs to be search and rescue dogs in 5 minutes. A bad idea. And Otterpop will eat the whole ziploc bag of treats. Just send your money to Haiti. Not Otterpop. A bad idea in a moment of despair. Because really, not a damn thing a lady here with a pack of dogs can do to help out. Except send a money text.

So I would say, if you are smart enough to figure out texting, even if it took you a really long time, you are smart enough to figure out the age old question so important to the rules of GDHS.

Where is the Turn and Where is the Straight Line?

Important because, if your dog is heading down a straight line, you do NOT get to change arms. It is too late. Keep calm and carry on until the next turn, where you will have an opportunity to change arms. Using either our pal Front Cross or Rear Cross. If you can run really fast, with your dog chasing your reinforcement zone, and you have lovely sendy skills, you can get ahead and run to Front Cross position. If you can't, hang back and cross their path, slapping their ass on the way over. Rear Cross.

You can't meet our friend threadle til I feel less despairy.

Here is the most excellent remembering secret. A turn has 3 points. One-Two-Three. A straight line has 2 points. One-Two. It can have 5 jumps, but if you are holding a tape measure where it starts, a tape measure can't turn. It just stops at the end of the straight line.

You know when you have the tape measure out nice and long and you snap it back? Straight line. You look down some dog agility obstacles as if you are dogcam and you'll see it. Jumps don't have to be arranged all parallel to eachother, either. The straight line is just what the dog sees.

Your turn? One-Two-Three. Points. Sharp and pointy and jagged points of doom and despair and the polar bear is floating around on it's little ice cube which is almost melting and he will sink to his death in the freezing yet now warming polar sea of too much water even though in Haiti, no clean water and the horrors. Really, really f*cked.

Augh. So sorry. It's just that once the black cloud is up there this starts to happen. You get doom and despair earthquake death mania and dead polar bears instead of sister wives. Will go send more text.

To be continued.

Polar bears and earthquake interrupt Greg Derrett Handling System week.

I was having too much despair over the Haiti earthquake which quickly turned into more polar bears on melting ice despair which then somehow veered into the despair over the state of US immigration detention centers.

Greg Derrett Handling System, very important stuff. But just not despair causing. Happens on some days.

Hey. I have an idea. In the time it would have taken you to read the whole thing on footwork and straight lines today, you could find some places to donate money to Haiti. Personally, I can suggest the Red Cross and Yele.org. How about the cost of one Steeplechase run? Polar bears, probably too late for them. But to be in Haiti right now, they are f*cked.

Greg Derrett, to be continued.

The Greg Derrett Handling System for people who may like to wear non matching plaids together but shouldn't do this without professional help.

The Greg Derrett Handling System for people etcetera and so forth...

Part 2-The Big Love of Commitment


So, I am a happily married lady. Have you met my husband Gary? He brings home takeout food for us because I have cooking allergy and mows the weed patch out front and always buys coffee and toilet paper. He prefers to NOT be on the internet, due to, I dunno. Is it haunted? Let's check. I do this all the time.

"Hey, Gar! Do you care if you are on the internet?"

He's not answering.

"Hey, Gar! Do you care if you are on the internet?"

"Huh?"

I'll just rephrase that question. "Do you care if you are on the internet?"

"Are you bored? WHAT is wrong with you? In what context?"

"Um, like if I'm talking about the Greg Derrett handling system and I'm talking about commitment which is when the dog actually takes off at the jump but I'm saying it's because you're so nice?"

The look is quizzical and perhaps, a scooch impatient.

"Like, for a dog agility thing!"

He just gives me modified stink eye look and off he goes.

Being unteachable, I always find this the best moment to say, "Hey, do you wanna get a new truck and a cool retrofitted vintage fiberglass dog agility egg trailer with a shower?"

He's gone.


Anyways. I can have a super nice husband. But still have a movie star boyfriend. Let's say his name is Keanu. A career spanning Bill and Ted's Adventure through Matrix sequels and all kinds of poofy, lite romance pieces of crap. And he's mine. All mine. Remember when he saved Los Angeles by driving the unibomber bus around on the freeway for 2 hours? Thanks Keanu!

And, most people have a rock star boyfriend. You all know my boyfriend, John Doe. He is totally ok with Keanu. That's how we do things on the compound. And then, of course, I have a dog agility boyfriend. I call him Bob. But you might want to call him Robert. As in Downey Junior. Maybe you hated him during the Ally McBeal years because of his junkie ways and bloaty face and frequent bad press. But I think if you met him now, you would like him better. And his slow mo dog agility brain cam!

Maybe I used to have another dog agility boyfriend, except for the potential confusing Tiger Woods scenario involving all these Laura's running around in California doing dog agility and if some are married to Greg Derrett and some claiming that he's their dog agility boyfriend, then, um, really uncomfortable situations ensuing at the tiki bar. Like just picture tiny little parasol eye poking. Not pretty. All the Laura's, we are all pals. No eye poking.

So I can tell you this, doubters, don't think I can't see heads shaking through the interweb. If Bob was doing dog agility, he'd totally follow Greg Derrett handling system. And I can tell you this. I am not now, or never have included Tiger Woods as my golfing boyfriend. Just to clear the air.

Sheesh. As IF I'd have a golfing boyfriend.

So you are sort of following the whole commitment thing now?


Good. Because actually, Greg Derrett, Husband of Laura Manchester, who we could call here Laura 1 or actually call her Dr. Laura because Manchester Derrett spells out MD and wouldn't that be convenient, has another way to explain commitment.

When the dog is lifting off to a jump. Takeoff, as we call it in the horse world.


John Doe is all, Huh? Why is this important to me?


Because your goal, in general, in GDHS, is to get ahead of your dog to help your dog find the fastest line. Unless of course, you need to be behind them and rear crossing but that's for another day. And sometimes, running around out there, actually, most of the time, you have to switch sides to show your dog the fastest line. We like to call this an arm change, once the sides are switched.


Arm change, kittens, why we need to front cross. Or rear cross, as the case may be. But you cannot be too sneaky and try to switch before commitment.

Where can a cross be executed? Anywhere the dog has a change of direction, ie, a turn. Can we all repeat please? Not on a straight line. Say that 10 times while brushing your teeth every evening. And it always happens as close as you can possibly get to the next piece of equipment. Beginning when the dog has committed. Not after. And really not before.


Why? Because showing your highly toned abs to your dog early can pull your dog off obstacles, and just mess the hell up out of your consistency. Perhaps even eventually invited the dreaded....flick. Did I mention consistency yesterday? Whole reason for these rules? Oh, just wait til we get to flicking. Just you wait.

To be continued.

The Greg Derrett Handling System for people who may like to wear skinny jeans and boots but that probably shouldn't be wearing skinny jeans.

The Greg Derrett Handling System as explained by Laura3 in English translated for people who may like to wear skinny jeans and boots but that probably shouldn't be wearing skinny jeans.

Part 1

Who invented the word skinny jeans? How much do we HATE the name skinny jeans?

Part 1, try again.

So handling systems for dog agilty, let's say they're sort of like parties. You might go to one party, highly populated by Jewish lesbians. And then another night, many tattooed ex Christian aetheists in 12 step programs. And then another night, artsy fartsy aging hipsters who do art show oneupmanship and whine if they have to drive over the bridge. Very different parties, yet you ask the same question each time, the minute you step in the door.

Where's the bar?


So there might be a party you would rather go to, but if you are a party person, you can get along with everybody and just do your own thing. You follow your rules of life and no one gets hurt. If someone shows up in the middle of the party with the most lesbians at 9:30pm, dumps their toddler in the living room and goes in the bathroom to snort heroin and then comes out acting weird and sweating, well, hell, uncool in almost any venue. Let's not cause a ruckus here. We're not at Burning Man. Don't go all bipartisan. Free your mind from hatred.


Pretty much, you can wear the same outfit to all the parties. True, at a party populated by dog agility ladies in sneakers, 2 people might ask you, "Did you come straight from work?" Because they don't know that vintage biker boots are not work boots and these are the fancy party jeans, not muddy work pants.

But I digress.

Really, they're not all that different. A party is a party is a party. You just go to the one where the scenery suits your clothes.

So GDHS, my dog agility party. Dog agility is hard to explain to dogs if you are a spaz and having a handling system with consistent rules just helps everyone be a little bit less baffled.

Most other areas in life, I suck at rules and can't follow and break them and got deemed the Unteachable One in graduate school. In dog agility, I am highly motivated to be Successful and am trying, really I am, to become a rule follower. In that vein, here I shall re-explain them all to you.

Shall we start?


Let's begin with the your first rule. The Reinforcement Zone. Let me show you.


Ta-da! Everywhere you would want toned pilates muscles is your reinforcement zone. Reinforce the dog here with their award. Let's call this the Pilates Party Zone, just to be clear. Have you seen my dog agility boyfriend Robert Downey Jr. boxing without a shirt on ever in a Sherlock Holmes movie? Reinforce that.


Guess what. There's an Opposite Zone. Here's rule numero 2. The Blind Cross Zone. Also known as the No Go Zone. Booty Zone. I like to call this Don't Show Your Dog Your Ass. You know those sweatpants that say Juicy or have sorority letters swooshed across the buttock region? Don't wear those. Just try to remember where your Blind Cross Zone is. And really. You should keep this as toned as your pilates abs if possible.

So when you run around, your dog isn't criss crossing behind you. Your dog chases you to see your 6 pack abs. And not your butt. Reinforce a lot in your Reinforcement Zone for best results.


Next rule. Keep your eye on your dog.


Both eyes.

Use the arm and leg closest to the dog to direct them. This eliminates arm flailing and the dreaded Evil Arm. Um, sometimes in gamblers having Herman Munster disease, I actually probably break this rule trying to accomplish Statue of Liberty Arm. Sorry Greg Derrett.

And finally, for today, face the direction the dog is going until they are committed to an obstacle. OK? Easy to remember for now. You can do this. Everyone taking notes? You have made it through lesson 1. Tomorow, you will be looking forward to the issue of Committment.

To be Continued.

Laura Manchester Derrett has Jennifer Anniston hair.

We love a us some good agility hair. Like you didn't know that already. So we had a class from Laura Manchester Derrett yesterday about double boxes.


Um. So a couple important facts you should know about Boxes, Double Boxes, and English. First of all, in English from England, a box is not just a box. It can also be a lady part. So if you are talking about Double Boxes, well, good luck with that.


Also, just so everyone is up to speed, in English from England, pants really mean underpants and if you are talking about pants you might actually mean trousers or track bottoms, not the pants you pull on over your box. And don't even get me started on fanny packs. You don't want to know. And you shouldn't. Because, good god, kittens. NONE of you EVER WEAR A FANNY PACK, righty-o? Let's not even go there.


OK. So all crystal clear. Where were we Laura?


Oh my. A whole day's run through of the Greg Derrett System, handling system used by many Laura's throughout the land. Invented by Laura Manchester's husband. Who just happens to be Greg Derrett. Used by this Laura, as in Hartwick not Manchester, who due to all the Laura's using Greg Derrett Handling System will now be referred to as Laura 3, and whose dog agility boyfriend will be referred to as Robert Downey Jr. just so we have no confusion here.

Geez. All this just for the quest for a decent front cross.


Greatest hits of Greg Derrett system were covered, as well as a couple new songs. And, my foot fetish friends, some of these are going to involve shoes! Here's the set list, if you can't wait to see what we'll be discussing in depth this week or whenever I get to it. Because Greg Derrett System, as translated from Laura 1 to Laura 3 via Laura 2, always a treat.

• The Reinforcement Zone and why we should all tone our abs
  
• No Go Zone, also known as Your Ass, which also, please tone
  
• Consistency except for when you are inconsistent which, not useful
  
• Eye on Dog But do Not Poke Anyone in Eye
  
• Arm and Leg Closest to Dog, for giving directions, even to Starbucks
  
• Face where your dog is going, except for when presenting your toned abs to dog
  
• Commitment we shall also call Liftoff
  
• Arm Change but don't change it into a toad or anything
  
• Straight Lines are Not Turns and vice versa
  
• 3 Footed Foot Fetish
  
• Flicking and Oh hell.
  
• Better late than Early due to, Oh hell.
  
• Positional Cues and their new little buddy named Deceleration Cue
  
• Robert Plant-A New Threadle named after lead singer of Led Zeppelin
  
• You should be able to slap your dog in the ass on a good rear cross
  
• Lead Out Pivots and touch the position stick
  
• Serps and is it time for coffee now?
  

Some important planning for the Big Dog Agility Challenge if by planning does sitting under a thatched roof and swilling tiki juice count as planning?

So I was planning outfits for what to wear for running Susan Garrett challenges. I am assuming Susan Garrett is doing the same. Because she is going to run the challenges too, right? Not sure what she's going to wear yet.

Planning. You see, kittens? Every process has to have the planning.

So right away, I realized that the guy with the net in the OfficeStaplesDepotMax the other day was dressed JUST LIKE VINCENT PRICE the time that the Brady boys tried to return the tiki statue to it's rightful spot in the haunted cave located a short bus ride away from from their luxury Waikiki hotel. You remember, right? The dissheveled, mad scientist in khaki safari wear circa 1972 look.

This seemed like a very important clue. You know how I always like a sign before I proceed with anything and how much I like clues. And cowabunga, I believe we have a sign! Just you watch, now how all the pieces fall into place.

Vincent Price meets the Bradys was sort of like James Franco being on General Hospital. I name drop this because James Franco was in a digital media class I taught at CalArts in another dimension. The dimension of 1995. So fashion inspiration begins at disheveled Vincent Price, or perhaps James Franco twisted soap opera serial killer as performance art? And, not to rule out, how about Alice in a mumu? The mumu, festive, yet flattering for Alice the maid who was likeliest of all Brady's to excel in dog agility, and all of these, leading me on the journey for what is the optimal outfit for dog agility challenging.

Raise your hands if I've lost you. Because in my dimension, I assume EVERYBODY knows every Brady Bunch episode by heart. Righty-o? This is sort of a given assumption of my life. Telling, all you chin scratching head nodders, are murmuring right now.

So for our challenge, Susan Garrett is like the tiki. I think it's name was Oliver. And the guy with the net is Vincent Price. And theoretically, that makes me Bobby Brady but it being my reality and all, actually I am switching over to Marcia. Marcia. Marcia. Because her hair is so very, very smooth. Except wearing Greg Brady's jumpsuit. Although maybe Nancy Gyes wants to be Marcia Marcia Marcia and I should be Jan Brady. Who kept her pony at my barn when I was a kid, if you can bear a name drop number two. Or three. Or four. Depending on how you count them.

Although Jan actually was more of a sweater wearer, as opposed to mini skirt Marcia. Really though, a white belted jumpsuit works for just about any type of Brady.

Except Alice. See above for mumu info.

James Franco, he's just going to stay in another dimension. After 1995 he ascended to a different reality and his path veers oh so far from dog agility. Although we wish him well.

So I think what I'm getting at here, raise your hands if I've lost you, is that the tiki made Greg wipeout in his big surf session. Cowabunga. But when everybody realized, hey, it's just a tiki, then all peace was restored to 1972, except for the little part when America finally got out of Vietnam which of course incited even more chaos and the vets came home to no mental health care and then it was Watergate and the hippies switched over to disco inferno.

Basically, a turbulent period involving both patchouli and backless jumpsuits.

Is this an indicator of the turbulence we have yet to see in the dog agility world? The net guy from the other day, homeless Vietnam vet with no health insurance and why wouldn't he need a net? Tiki torches at twilight a nice way to enjoy a jug of tiki juice? Wait. What was I going to wear? These, my friends, are just some of the details that we must examine on our factfinding mission, to help Susan Garrett help all of dog agility while helping Gustavo by helping Laura help Gustavo. It's all about the journey.

In closing, we offer up some exciting dog agility challenges from the beautiful and talented Nancy Gyes, AKC World Team coach and legendary dog agility superstar. Behold:

A sporty little number that she uses to kick tushes of potential World Team members. Nancy says tushes, I am just going to say it. She kicks asses.

A really, really hard European Standard course from one of the judges of World Championships this year.

A tiny yet evil one Nancy likes to call Nightmare Weaves.

This sort of sums it up, how it goes sometimes.

When the drink orders are taken, by a fetching young girl with visible tattoos, I order something that involves rum and banana liquor, served up with pineapple slices in a giant glass shaped like a tiki head. The same one Peter Brady found in that cave in Honolulu, so long ago. Peter Brady lives in Manhattan Beach now and is bloated looking. Maybe it was Bobby Brady. Anyhow.

Everybody else orders up quiet, sophisticated concotions of whisky and ginger, blood orange and vodka. In straight up, lowball glasses. When all the drinks come, mine is the only one with a name, Dr. Funk, and stands tall above all the others, in it's weirdo tikiness.

I was also the only one to arrive at dinner, still covered in mud.

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I stopped at a strip mall yesterday morning to pick up a January calendar book. It being January 6 and all. The dogs were in the back, and as I'm parking there's a backpacked, offbeat character lurking nearby. I make a mental note, let's just lock the car because maybe he's the type that steals barking dogs or dog training Robots out of soccer mom mini SUV's, driven by muddy ladies.

As I step out, and prepare to cut through some attractive strip mall shrubbery, he screams out, "Don't walk THERE, you'll step on my NET!"

I jump back.

"Don't want to step on any NETS!" I scream back atcha.

Too late mental note. Don't scream at crazy people, never a good direction to go.

"It's how I'll catch my bird!" he screams back. "Don't worry, I'll stand guard!"

"OK, thanks!" I scream back.

A couple people in the parking lot now sort of inching around both of us. We are screaming at eachother, me and the bird net guy.

I scurry off, hope he doesn't try to use the net to catch my dogs out of my car, and go into OfficeMaxStaplesDepot. I hate that place. I'm in a hurry.

When I come back out, he's moved further away, but I see him hiding behind a van. When he pokes his head out, he gives me a thumbs up. I wave back brightly.

When I walk by the little landscaping bit, I peer in, just to check.

Yeah, there's no net. Or any birds. But I give him bonus points for at least having a project.

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Gustavo ran around at Dirt Nite, really no problem. No dead, no undead, no shaking or quaking, bolting or jolting, just regular old dog agility. One $5 Challenge style weave pole entry, maybe gave us a mild headache. I posted it at Susan Garrett's. She's doing a brain experiment on us, that Susan Garrett. Share those challenges to make Susan Garrett throw rainbows at you quicker. Yikes, Susan Garrett! We are ALL about the sharing around here. But there's just these nets all over the place here, and the pineapple slices need to soak a bit longer in the rum first.

For full effect, you run this on thick, heavy, damp, clumpy dressage lady dirt. I run in paddock boots because sneakers are no match for the stuff. By the end of the sequence, you should be muddy. Try it if you want.

As the little dog agility world turns.

Yesterday morning, went out to the field. Just thought, maybe we can run around and play a little, try to have a little bit of fun. I was hoping, but not sure what would happen, after our last couple of days. Didn't know if there was any agility, or if the undead would rise from behind the fenceline.

Only one way to find out.

Am happy to announce, G-man out there. Not sure how to figure him out, but he seemed so, dare I say, NORMAL, I brought out my little pocket camera and took some video clips for posterity. I am not kidding. The day before, could only tremble and bark at clouds, and today, a beautiful, happy, little agility dog.

Not sure if he's back again today, in our little soap opera world, I've learned to let the world of the general hospital turn one day at a time.

If you're good at squinting, note where he sits up on the teeter. A fancy new training move. Not. But today, I didn't care a scooch.

Maybe actually, Susan Garrett, do you know any Exorcists?

At the risk of sounding like a drama queen, I shall take a deep breath and tell you about practicing yesterday.

Oh no, I won't. Because I might sound like a drama queen. If you knew me, in real life, you would probably say, Oh Yeah, that Laura. One of least Likely Suspects of being a drama queen.

If you knew me, on the internets, you might think the Opposite. Oh that Laura, and her little Gustavo. Always one thing after another. The two of them, the QUEENS of drama.

So I will say this. Two dogs, able to do some ball crunching, gut flattening, twisty, pully super fun euro courses. Good GOD, the fun we had. Lordy, the Slovenian pole entries. The speed and the happies to be out running in the sun. The good times of having a litle break and the not lame running that can be had after one! I want the girl dogs to have happy, not lame legs Forever!


I brought out our new friend Robot, another story for another day, and we did some Distance Challenges! Super rad gambles. We had a blast. Ruby rarely practices gambles anymore, back in the day she did just fine getting masters gamblers Q's. Maybe not the super hard ones, and wasn't even really trained to do it. Otterpop, now highly trained to gamble, and just suffering from my Herman Munster disease, would have been winning us high stakes bills from gangsters, the way she gambles when I bring out Robot. The fun! The bliss! The agility! Attacking Robot!

And one dog saw dead people on the field.


Oh Gustavo. At least there was no bolting and running a couple miles and finding friendly strangers who now LOVE you to pick you up in their car and let you ride on their laps to your neighborhood and then let you hang out with Nathan the Surfer our Next Door Neighbor until we came frantically home to find you safe and sound.

No. Today just shaking and shivering when standing on the field, and barking frantically out at the trees. The kind of dead people where even the juiciest, most tempting treat gets cancelled out. Trembling, then nosing frantically in the grass as if the magic answer lay far below the earth and perhaps you could tunnel out. Then nose to the air, and shaking all over, and horrified barking at the trees again, ears pinned back flat and a look of absolute horror across his face.


There was no agility in Gustavo's cards today. No getting ready for UKI. No poles. No beloved tunnels. There was crate games. On a long leash. And he found a little bit of joy running in and out and touching his little nose to my hand. And this made the grass and the trees no longer horrible and some treats again edible and then we went home and made these really easy to bake, no possible way to screw up cookies in a jar that my mom's best friend from Catholic girls turned Los Angeles air hostesses with a jalopy days, gave me for Xmas.

I burned some of them. But some of them, turned out ok. I let Gustavo sit on my lap for most of the day. He is a pretty sad dog right now, and can't let me out of his sight. My new shadow. Like dead people could be around every corner and I'm the one armed with garlic, crosses, silver bullets, and flamethrower.

Personally, I don't see any dead people. But boy oh boy, can I just say, deja vu?

This story can't even have a name.

Gustavo was unspeakably naughty. Unspeakably.

The end of the story is, the lovely strangers, his new best friends, drove him home.

In their car.

I can't even tell you the rest of the story, except that I have hardly ever been so freaked out in my life, and I wasn't even really mad. Just freaked out and mad with worry.

The gist of it is, he ran away OUT of the forest. The forest where he has gone regularly, for the 2 1/2 years he has been my dog. OUR special forest. The dog who never leaves his Otterpop and his Ruby, his bestest forest running buddies. The dog who has been practicing focus and recalls and having a lovely, wonderful, superfun time of it and acting so, trained.

It's like he's tried crack. Escaping under fences crack. He's tried it a few times now, a new place, a new fence, came running right back. Tried it the next time, found a better fences, stayed out a little longer. Like maybe a whole MINUTE. Went under another one, gone a couple minutes.

And now he's an addict. It's unspeakable, but let me repeat the end of the story. The lovely strangers drove him home, in their car.

Goodbye to our lovely friend Sealy.

If you were sitting there thinking about global warming and antibiotic resistant infections, this little number will totally warm your heart cockles.

Out at the whale skeletons, it's never really bright and cheery. We go there all the time now, and what it tells you, is that there's no slapping a happy smirk into every single time and place. Nothing bad at the whale skeletons, it's just how it is out there. There's old, big bones out there, tied up on metal stakes. Maybe that makes a difference. How many places, you ever go, that seem like that?


The whale skeletons, it's a good place to go. Don't get me wrong. The sky is open, and you can hear the waves echo off the different sides of the cliffs. The scrub brush houses things the dogs flush out and they're happy running here. The light hangs on here longer than anywhere, because it's the closest spot to where the sun drops under the horizon. Otterpop isn't tied up so much, I am tempting her leg fate and letting her run. I just am. I will probably regret it, but something about the whale skeletons makes me stare into the darkness, and keep staring through it, until the staring comes out the other side.


Last thing I want to do, be sounding all Emo here. Lacing up black Doc Martens and trodding, eyes down. Slap my happy smirk back on. We are all blissfully, beautifully happy here. When I pack the dogs back onto their leashes at the road, I tell them, We are lucky, you guys. That was the best walk ever. But I whisper it. Because that's a good way to talk out at the whale skeletons. Hushy. Not freaked out hushy, like you are hiding out from bad guy aliens with razor tentacles in a basement, but just a little more quiet than other places.


Gustavo runs a hundred circles around us all, and then I pick it up and we all run together, as fast as we can, through the path through the scrub. Maybe I'm laughing. But the quiet kind. We wait until the last light squeezes out the end of the sky, and then it's time to go.

This is the closest thing that Team Small Dog gets to some kind of New Years resolution. Revolution. Aberration.

Allrighty. So you're probably wondering how that dog agility challenge is going. In case you forgot, since most of you woke up drunk yesterday and maybe didn't visit the internet, it being New Years Day and all, maybe you didn't even know about my challenge. Seems like New Years Day, a good day for beginnings. A good day to start the challenge. Lots of symbolism here, somewhere, stepping up to challenges, fixing up problems with expert help, taking some action on resolutions, because did we even have any resolutions? How about last year?

Something about vacuuming? My haircutter said I had Jennifer Anniston hair? Can anyone even remember my haircutter's name?

I'm living in my own Private Idaho. We'll just move on from that Fail portion of the How You Do A New Year Thing.


So I started on it by getting up at 6am to work. Ha HA! Take that, drunk people with lesser work ethics. But more glamorous, party on lifestyles. When I took a break for me and the dogs to have a walk, it rained on us. I stuffed my face with a bunch of chocolate, even though it is now January, The Month of Salad. I worked, worked, worked all day. Later in the evening, when I took the dogs out for a run at the Whale Skeletons, someone set off firecrackers and Ruby and Gustavo had horrid meltdowns and that was the end of that. So seriously hearbreaking to watch I just move on right now. And then my husband was making cocktails, and the DJ was playing all B-52's on the radio and you know, dance party. The dogs got so comfy on the couch, and I started wondering about whether Lisa Bonet was happy with the way her life has turned out. and what would have happened if she had just married Dwayne Wayne.

Another day. Gone and wasted and we just rebooted the whole year and everything.


I PROMISE, Susan Garrett. I am taking this seriously. I want to be a right on competitor with champion Gustavo, even if I am not signing up for Tony Robbin's class. I am getting right on it. It's just that being the new poster child for Who is Stressed out, the Handler or the Dog, or Who is More Untrained, the Handler or the Dog, is so stressful. Sort of like the mess that looms in my garage out there. In real life, I am supposed to dive straight in with all the techno full stream ahead of a Chemical Brothers song and attack.

In real, real life though, I am looking at the giant pile of Christmas wrapping paper and am just all, dude. What was I talking about?