Clean Run Magazine - May 2007 - 51

I t was the end of a long weekend of trialing at a NADAC show in St. Cloud, Minnesota. Our twelfth and final class of the weekend was Open Touch and Go and the course was nicely designed and challenging. Having been frightened by the teeter the day before, my little Australian Shepherd Ceilidh (Kay-lee) was slow to get on and off the apparatus, but she did what she was afraid to do simply, and only, because I asked her to. Triumphantly she completed the teeter, and I quickly sent her on to finish the rest of the course without any problems.When I left the ring, I was feeling good about our run. Living in the Canadian prairies we don’t have a lot of opportunities to play competitive agility, and this was only our ninth NADAC trial. So in my limited experience, all was very right with the world. I reran the course in my head as Ceilidh and I partied our way back to the tent, and I was quite pleased with my dog and also with how I handled the course with her. It was a feeling of accomplishment and success. It was a clean run and it felt good. After all the Open runs were completed, I went to check the results in the books, and found that we were .27 seconds over time—that was .27 of one second. How quickly my feelings about the class changed.We weren’t successful at all—we didn’t make time and so we wouldn’t get that nice purple Q ribbon, or the lovely homemade Q dog cookie. There is nothing about missing a Q by .27 of one second that tells me my training and handling are any poorer than they were before I knew our time. There is nothing about missing a Q by .27 of one second that should turn this nice, smooth, successful run into a meaningless exercise. S o the reality is that the Q really isn’t as all-powerful as I thought. Yet, despite my best intentions and the fact that I know better, I still occasionally get hung up on the Qs. I suspect that in that regard I’m no different from many people. After all, the Qs go toward titles and the titles and awards seem to be the destination that we all strive for. My mind keeps going back though to the concept that it is the journey that is important, not reaching the destination. So can I make this journey through competitive agility without losing my friendship with my dog? Can I make it with style, values, integrity, and grace? Will people remember me because of how I competed instead of what I accomplished? Will they look at me and think that my dog is lucky and happy? So if I say a hopeful “yes” to all those questions, why should an otherwise beautiful run, a run where my dog overcame a fear to try and please me, be marred by the fact that we didn’t Q? It shouldn’t, and I can thankfully add that it didn’t. My Dog’s Best Friend By Glenda McLarty M y feeling of elation turned into disappointment faster than you can say Fred Brattain. (Whenever I am disappointed I tend to think about Fred’s approach to agility and why we do this amazing sport.) No matter how noble I try to be, there are still moments that I become obsessed about the Q and what it means. I think of it as a momentary slip to the dark side. It must be the dark side because of how I feel when I am there. So what exactly did that Touch and Go Q mean to me? The Q meant that we would have earned our Open Touch and Go title. The Q would have meant that an otherwise slow Q weekend would have picked up a bit. It would also have meant something to brag about after I made the eight-hour drive home. The Q meant that my training and handling had passed muster. That's what that Q meant. So how much of that was really and truly part of my values that I have in doing agility? Honestly, for a couple of moments, it seemed like a huge part. But then “the Fred” started trickling into my consciousness.The title could be earned at any other trial I enter in the upcoming months, or years for that matter. The weekend had a lot of rewarding and wonderful moments without that particular purple ribbon. The bragging rights are empty when it is the look in your dog’s eyes that keeps you going. I determined that my Touch and Go class on Sunday was as much a triumph as any class I’ve ever been in. Some of the greatest classes I’ve competed in have not resulted in a Q, but have been memorable because I was willing to sacrifice to maintain criteria, or because Ceilidh needed something from me that I took the time to give her. They are the classes where the Q was secondary, and the relationship with my dog was primary, and I didn’t forget that fact. At shows I always take my ribbons whether they are accompanied with a Q or not. Each ribbon is a reminder of a memory I made with my dog, and an accomplishment that we shared together, even though they may not meet the criteria of “success” that others hold. I suspect that over time those third and fourth place ribbons with no Qs will count far more toward making me a better handler and friend to my dog than any title or award. Perhaps our accomplishments cannot truly be measured in titles or ribbons, but in the feeling that we have at the end of the day that we did well by our canine friends. And we know that tomorrow they will still be willing and happy to play agility with us and that the rest of it is just stuff. It is knowing that not only is she my best friend, but, perhaps with great luck, she will also think I am hers. May 07 | Clean Run 51
Clean Run Magazine - May 2007

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Clean Run Magazine - May 2007
