I'm Listening With a Broken Ear

by Vicky Kaseorg

  “See?” calls Asherel.

  She is busy putting the new hat on Honeybun. This is one of the beauties of home schooling. When finished with math, the student can take a quick break humiliating little dogs with silly hats that she has so much free time to construct.

  “Look Mom,” she chortles, “She likes it! She’s smiling.”

  I glance up. I don’t see a smile. I see tangled plans to work in the operation, reduced money to cope with all the extra expenses of Christmas, and fishy anal glands exploding in my living room. I also see the limits of my patience for healing both behaviorally and fiscally reaching the end of a short tether. Honeybun does look cute in the hat, however.

  I email Malta and iron out the details. Will plans to pick Honeybun up Monday, take her to the vet Tuesday, and return her Wednesday. I can’t do it all myself, with my teaching schedule and how far away the vet is. Fortunately, Malta’s farm and her vet are very close to each other and Will works in Charlotte, very near me, every day this week. Malta insists it will be no problem for him to swing by. It is yet another one of God's incredible marvels of cosmic engineering, though I am still wondering why He feels the need to throw in that anal problem. Honestly, would it really disrupt His grand scheme for one more dog to be able to express her own anal glands? I suppose this is a problem for greater theologians than me.

  However, the logistics for the sty removal are proving to be a bit problematic. My Destination Imagination team field trip to Parrot University, a bird rescue is scheduled at exactly the time that Will is planning to get Honeybun. I cannot cancel the fieldtrip. While hating to impose on Malta further, I ask if Will can pick up Honeybun even though we won’t be there. He can call her to the backyard, through the dog door and the leash can be left on the front porch.

  "OK," emails Malta, “But I am afraid Sticky will bite him!"

  She calls our dog Stickybun because when she first met us, she could not remember Honeybun's name, but knew it had to do with some sort of pastry. She often shortens it to Sticky.

  I write back, "Well if she does bite him, could he punch her in the sty and maybe she won't need the operation?"

  I further instruct her to tell Will to just crawl in through the dog door if Honeybun refuses to come out. He is certainly thin enough.

  She writes back:

  "If Will can punch her sty off we will only charge you $15 for the procedure..... LMAO!! I am getting a dog with no eyes...... top that..... And another rescue is trying to get a stinky Billy goat in some poor unknowing fool’s car to bring here.....

  Never a dull day in the world of animal rescue..... I am laughing so hard right now I am crying and punching Stickybun in the sty was the topper...... my side hurts..... And I am picturing Will going through the dog door to get her out of the house..... Too much....

  At least there is something to get a good laugh out of no matter what. And don't feel bad about a $150 sty. I just paid $150 for a dog with no eyes! Perhaps she would make a good agility dog..... Frisbee dog? LMAO! And her name is Peepers! Too much..... Oh too much. And the one legged duck........my side hurts thanks to adding to the tears of laughter.... sty punch."

  My world crumbles over a $500 vet bill. Meanwhile, Malta soldiers on with her assortment of misfit animals, and finds laughter despite having written the previous week that there was no time or money for "human food", but the animals were well fed.

  I am certainly humbled by her response, but still sick of the stream of mishaps. How much longer am I expected to hang on? What new maladies are yet to appear? There are at least a thousand parts in a dog and any one of them could break. Many of them have, but there are lots more to go. She is still barking like a maniac at the door. She still wants to devour salesmen. She still can’t be trusted with other dogs. And she smells like rotten fish.

  I ask Malta if while she is caring for Honeybun she can teach her how to express her anal glands.

  I dream that night about being in college again, but unable to find my classroom, or my schedule.... It is right before Finals, and I have not even read the books. Completely unprepared for what awaits me, I am never going to pass on my own power. The meaning is obvious. If I go away to college, someone else can save this stupid dog.

  At the sixth rally class, Lloyd watches Honeybun sail through the course with confidence, prancing attentively next to Asherel. It is his "Halloween course", designed to flummox all the unsuspecting novices, but Asherel does well. And Honeybun, focused on the cheese, is flawless. As she finishes the course, Lloyd reminds me, "Be sure to go online to our website this week. The applications come out for Performance sports, and that class fills fast."

  "Performance sports?!" I snap, “But we want to do Agility next."

  "There is some talk about requiring Performance before Agility class."

  Oh brother. My plan to sashay to an accomplished agility dog for less than $1000 is crumbling faster than our roof, which needed to be replaced at least a year ago. Each class is $100, and I had hoped we could get away with just one more. Vicci, Lloyd's wife will be teaching the Agility class. She overhears my reasoned, patient response.

  "Performance is a good class," she admonishes gently, “It will help you."

  So will a face transplant but you don’t see me racing off to get one of those do you? I am sorely disappointed. We cannot afford endless classes. Vicci had spoken with me during the last lesson about the agility class she was starting. It would be outdoors, at night, under the frigid winter stars, but I was willing to stand there in the cold for my girl. After one more class, we can apply for membership at the Piedmont Kennel Club, which hosts the classes, and future classes will be half price. That will allow us to take the final (I hope) class called Foundations 2, after which we will have a fully trained agile dog. We will then start traveling around the country with Honeybun in her gold plated crate, collecting ribbons like flies. Asherel will become rich and famous, and Arvo and I will retire and watch reruns of Star Trek while sipping expensive wine.

  Now yet another hurdle is being thrown in our path. Not only is there the added expense of yet another intermediary class, but Performance Sports class fills up within nanoseconds of being posted. If we don’t get in, that means we have to wait another several months for it to be offered again.... and then a good half year before agility. Dogs’ lives are short. Honeybun is in her prime now. I have to find a way to get her in agility classes. While contemplating how large a bribe to offer, I watch our dog distractedly. Honeybun is oblivious to the high drama swirling around her. Asherel parades her through Lloyd's "evil" course with slack leash. Honeybun's attention is fully on Asherel (or to be more exact, on the food Asherel holds tantalizingly close to her nose), and she prances like she is an AKC dog. Her tail is fully erect, flashing its gold and mocha blend like a sail in the sun. She is a gloriously pretty little dog. As she scampers off the course, Asherel praises her and she bows her head, and flattens her ears, the way she always does in her humble acceptance of lavish praise. Her sweet dark eyes gaze up at Asherel. I know the look of adoration has more to do with the cheese in Asherel’s hand than the attachment to her human, but nonetheless, it is touching.

  The huge Borzoi dog with its knifelike snout, wearing a pumpkin hat for Halloween, sticks his razor sharp face in hers. She looks at him and wags. Now before I grow too cocky about her progress, it is possible she doesn’t realize it is a dog, and mistakes him for a garden trowel. Still, her transformation is certainly advancing. The big hurdle remaining is how to get her in an agility class. Asherel doesn’t complain, but has asked when we will be able to take a real agility class. She tells me Honeybun can’t wait much longer.

  When we get home, I return to my trusty computer and do a Google search on Agility Training in the Charlotte region. The first facility has closed its program as the trainer has moved to Mexico. More jobs fleeing our punitive taxes on entrepreneurs, I grumble. The next one is further away- a full forty minutes. This trainer is a little more expensive,
and when I call, tells me that it usually takes a full year for a dog to be ready to compete in Agility trials.

  "You mean take a class, and then practice for a year?" I clarify.

  "No, I mean a year of classes."

  I do the math quickly. That will cost more than the original estimate for removing Honeybun's sty. What a racket this dog training trap is! These trainers are making more than the president of the United States on an hourly basis. I know there is no way we can do a year of classes. I look for the loophole, the shortcut, the lazy dog out.

  "Does everyone take classes for a year? How about if the dog and owner are really smart and really diligent? Could they just learn the rules, take a class, and do it on their own?"

  In my heart, I am sure I know the answer to that. I am a homeschooling mom. I know that teachers are a luxury, but that a motivated student can learn anything on her own, given enough initial guidance and resources. There are a few exceptions…. like brain surgery. It might be good to have at least a few classes to master that. But Agility training is not brain surgery. We can get the final few materials Asherel needs for her agility course out back. She has already built weave poles, dog walk, jumps, see saw, tunnel, and pause table. All she needs are the tire jumps and A-frame. The rules are all posted on line. I am confident that with one class, she could do it.

  "Some people do take breaks between classes," says Deborah, the trainer, “It just depends on how motivated the dog and the owner are in how quickly they advance." She doesn’t seem very convinced that anyone with less than a doctorate in Agility has a ghost of a prayer of entering a trial successfully though.

  I explain to Deb how exceptionally motivated Asherel is; how she has built an entire agility course herself. Upon learning that Asherel has done this at the ripe old age of eleven, Deb seems impressed enough that she suggests a half hour private lesson to assess whether Asherel might already know enough to skip right into Beginner Two class. Now she is talking my language. I would prefer she offer to put her immediately in the Expert Class, but am willing to back off for now.

  Meanwhile, as I plot her future, Asherel is out back with the dogs, developing her new "doggy play corner". I glance out back. Honeybun and Lucky are each sitting on a lounge chair, watching Asherel as she rakes a path in the small bamboo forest. The chairs are padded, and the dogs are leaning back eyes half closed. All they need is a cigar in their mouths and a Mimosa in their paws. Along the path, Asherel has set up a "doggy restaurant"- a tall table with snacks on it. The dogs stand on their hind legs, paws on the restaurant bar, choose a treat, and then are escorted to a clearing with a pad where they lie down and eat the chosen morsel. This is a far cry from the earth den Honeybun had probably been huddling in against the rain just a few months back. Some kids Asherel’s age are doing drugs and piercing places where sharp pins have no right to be poking. Maybe $1000 for agility classes is not a bad exchange.

  On our next free Saturday afternoon, with great excitement, Asherel, Honeybun, and I drive to Deborah's home, where she runs her small business with the agility course in her backyard. We pull into the driveway, and stretched before us is a field with nighttime spotlights, and agility equipment sparkling with the allure of diamonds. It is Nirvana to my daughter. Honeybun sniffs the air. Dogs live here, that is clear to her, and there are treats in Asherel's bag. No doubt this will be more entertaining than the recent vet trip. As we get out of the car, Deborah greets us. She wisely ignores Honeybun, and opens the backyard gate for Asherel. Honeybun sniffs the yard, nostrils dilated and sucking in great gulps of air, redolent with the scent of dogs having fun. Even treats don’t bring her nose away from the cacophony of doggish smells emanating from every blade of grass.

  Deborah first instructs Asherel to send Honeybun over the jumps. Somehow, with her nose hugging the ground, Honeybun easily hops over the line of three jumps. Next, Deborah directs them to the weave poles. The weave poles are six to twelve vertical poles closely spaced, and the dog needs to weave in and out of them in sequence as quickly as possible. Honeybun slowly weaves, with great difficulty. Deborah brings out a wire guide and everything changes. Honeybun whips through the weave poles. I snap several photos, knowing we will need to build a similar wire guide. Next she has Honeybun scamper up the A-frame. The A-frame is a steep inverted V structure, which the dog climbs and descends, being sure to touch all four paws on the bottom third (painted yellow) before leaping off. Asherel is instructed to have Honeybun sit as she reaches the bottom, at which point she is richly rewarded with treats. In a trial, she would be disqualified if all four paws did not touch the bottom yellow section. Honeybun rockets up the A- frame easily and fairly quickly learns to sit at the bottom of the descent. She shows no fear, which Deb seems to think is a good thing. Her only fear is that we might forget to feed her dinner, but I keep that to myself.

  The next apparatus is the tunnel. Honeybun has practiced on the much smaller tunnel we have at home, so despite the triple length, she easily zips through the tunnel. Well, she doesn’t actually zip. With how long it takes her to emerge, I suspect she was foraging for food somewhere in the middle part, but she does eventually saunter out. Next, she has to do the Dog walk- a thin plank suspended high in the air with an up and down slender ramp to get on and off. For months, every time we went to a nearby park, Asherel had practiced making Honeybun climb on thin metal bleachers there. I had had no idea she was preparing her for a Dog walk. I peer at this determined little girl. As a result of all that preparation with the bleachers, Honeybun gleefully prances across the Dog walk though it is the first time she has ever stepped on one. I watch Asherel with deepening respect. She has been doggedly working towards this goal quietly and persistently, even beyond what I had seen. Despite all her reticence and quietness, she has been busily building a bridge to a dream.

  The teeter is the most challenging. The dog has to walk across a plank until it pivots, where she pauses to let it tip slowly, and then walks down, again being sure all paws touch the yellow bottom third. Honeybun quickly learns the pivot point, and then cavorts down the slope to collect her treat.

  The final apparatus is the chute. This is a tunnel with a collapsed silk chute. The dog has to fly through the tunnel and then the chute, billowing it open with her body as she runs through. I thought this would disturb her, having never done it, but she passes through with no fear. I have always loved this apparatus- it is like watching a snake swallow and disgorge a dog.

  The half hour session is quickly ending, and Deb's husband has come out to watch. Deb turns to me, "Well, she has mastered the level one class already. She would fit right in with the Beginner Two class, starting in three weeks. If you are interested, I want to bring my dog out, and watch how Honeybun responds to another dog moving quickly."

  Deb emerges from her house with a delightful, exuberant border collie. The little collie races across the yard, flying over the apparatus. Honeybun is interested, but calm, and still. She shows no aggression, and remains peacefully, with slack leash at Asherel's side. "She is fine," asserts Deb's husband. Deb nods. Honeybun has passed all tests. Asherel, cheeks pink with the cooling evening and exertion looks confident and happy. Classes start in three weeks, and Honeybun has catapulted past the beginner class. All we have to do is send the check. We are one step closer to Asherel's dream. Honeybun is just happy to be heading home to dinner which is an hour overdue.

  Things begin to snowball now. The very next day, Carolyn offers us a tire jump, since her son's good intentions for agility training with their dog evaporated in direct relationship to his flood of interest in karate. Asherel and Arvo traipse to Lowes Home Improvement store with her drawings and list of the last few things she needs to complete her backyard agility course. She has gone on line to research exact dimensions. Arvo, off of a 60+ hour work week is less than thrilled as we head off to Lowes. We assure him that in the long run, making the equipment will save us money. He grumpily acquiesces. It is not his idea of a relaxing weekend. Ash
erel clutches her list and does not back down.

  "I will pay for it," she offers. She is nothing if not determined.

  Arvo studies her sketch of the A-frame.

  "This is 9 feet tall!" he exclaims.

  She nods.

  "No," he counters, "We can't have a 9 foot tall thing in the middle of our backyard."

  Asherel glances at me. I can tell she is fighting back tears, but she stands her ground bravely, "The dogs have to practice on the same stuff they will compete on."

  "Was the one at Deborah's that big?" I ask.

  "Yes," insists Asherel.

  "Well, she won't need a full size one to learn how to do it," I advise gently, “Look at how well she did with Deb's tunnel which was 3 times bigger than the one you trained her on."

  Asherel is silent. She knows how to use a pregnant silence to full advantage.

  Arvo sighs.

  "Let's go," he says resignedly, "We will find a way to make this work."

  Plywood pieces are eight foot long, so Asherel is willing to concede a foot. She has worked out her supply list with amazing accuracy, down to the eyebolts, hinges, and chains she will need. She selects bright purple and yellow paint.