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.
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?”
Having a shy or fearful dog in public is a lot like walking around with a screaming 2-year-old. “Dog people” and even the general public make the same negative assumptions. Beyond the dirty looks come really mean comments disguised as helpful suggestions. Two, in particular, stand out because they are entirely untrue … and incredibly rude.
My rotator cuff hurts. Shooting pains when I work out. Razor-thin stabs when I sleep. I blamed a mistake during a workout, until the real cause crept to mind. My shoulder hurts because I play so much fetch with Lilly. And, here’s the thing … As a pup, Lilly hated fetch. So, it’s entirely my fault.
