This weekend, Lilly added a new caveat to her pantheon of peccadilloes. The rule – she won’t run agility at the training field unless no one else is there – morphed into she won’t run agility unless no one is there when we arrive AND the entire time we’re there. I thought if we just waited until everyone left she would be fine. I was wrong.
Being a full-time freelance writer means working from an internal stash of motivation and drive (and lots of chocolate) because there certainly isn’t anyone popping by my home office giving me pats on the back. In fact, most of the feedback I get from day to day, week to week, is about what needs improvement. That *is* editing, after all. So, it’s not like I’m the kind of gal who needs a lot of hand-holding. Yet, early in our agility career, derision felt like the norm in training. And, it wore me down.
Sure, Lilly knows all kinds of regular tricks like shake, high-five, and rollover. In addition to all the agility things she later learned, Lilly originally jumped through a hoola-hoop and snuck across the floor on her belly. But, I’m always looking for ways to up the ante. So, I got out my exercise ball last summer and came up with something new.
The one and only time Lilly did the competition-sized teeter I nearly cried with joy. It was a fluke that’s yet to be repeated. So, months of endless frustration followed those brief moments of happiness. Here’s how it happened …
“Your dog needs to drop 3-5 pounds.” So began our first-ever private agility lesson with a handler who has been on the AKC world team. I thought Lilly looked great at 39 pounds, so I must have made a face because the next thing she said, dropping her sunglasses just enough to make eye contact, “This is agility, not conformation.”
Devastating grief compells me to go completely off topic today. I’m sad to report the suicide of a long-time friend. She was a brilliant, funny, most excellent woman, and I (and many others) are crushed by her loss. As my way of coping, I often draft a list of lessons I’ve learned from friends and family who have died. Here’s my list from Jody:
People who do not know better talk about agility as a sport only for dogs, like the dogs run and work alone, like they magically do all these advanced behaviors without any input. Even friends and family seem amused (at best) at our continual pursuit of canine learning. At our peak, we took three classes a week (one obedience, one rally, one agility). I call them all “puppy class” as a recognizable phrase for Lilly, and maybe that’s where I go wrong.
Lilly is extremely travel worthy. She’s pretty quiet. She doesn’t throw up. If you’d like proof of her intestinal prowess, check out this video …
As our training saga went from days to weeks, weeks to months, months to (goodness help me) more than a year, people began asking me why I don’t just let Lilly stay home and get another agility dog to train and run competitively. It’s an interesting idea, which begs the question … Which came first, the dog or the sport?
Maybe all new handlers think the same thing, but I honestly imagined Lilly could be quite an agility dog. Her early learning curve and performance astounded me. As time went on and difficulties mounted, reality forced me to adjust my expectations. The question lately … “How low can I go?”
