I'm Listening With a Broken Ear

by Vicky Kaseorg

  If the rules of USDAA classes are not confusing enough, the titles one can earn in competition will be sure to freeze the most nimble of brains. Perusing one website, I try to determine what letters our dog has a chance of lining up behind her name if she manages to win any class. The number of titles available convinces me that if Honeybun just shows up at the event, she will probably receive a titled award; something along the lines of Honeybun A.I.O.P. (arrived in one piece).

  This is a partial list of titles an agility dog can earn, and this list is just in USDAA competitions:

  AD

  Agility Dog (USDAA)

  VAD

  Veteran Agility Dog (USDAA)

  VAAD

  Veteran Advanced Agility Dog (USDAA)

  VMAD

  Veteran Master Agility Dog (USDAA)

  VS

  Veterans Snooker

  VJ

  Veterans Jumper

  VG

  Veterans Gambler

  VPD

  Veteran Performance Dog

  AAD

  Advanced Agility Dog (USDAA)

  MAD

  Master Agility Dog (USDAA)

  SM

  Snooker Master (USDAA)

  GM

  Gambler Master (USDAA)

  PM

  Pairs Master (USDAA)

  JM

  Jumpers Master (USDAA)

  ADCH

  Agility Dog Champion (USDAA)

  If we choose to enter Honeybun in AKC or UKC or NADAC contests, even more titles await her. I have innocently entered this world thinking it will be a nice relaxing and fun way for Asherel and her dog to bond. I can see now that it will require hours of study just to figure out which box to check on the application for her first agility trial.

  Her last Handler Class finally arrives, and Laura sets up a Novice course, complete with jumps, tunnels, and weaves. Asherel hands me the leash as she walks the course. She performs little pirouettes as she visualizes whether she will be doing front or blind or rear crosses, and she points to the jumps in the same manner she will be cuing Honeybun. This unselfconscious behavior in and of itself is worthy of a few letters after her name, in my opinion. She is the only one in the class who has never entered a single event, never done an obedience class, and never gotten an AARP card. I am so proud of her.

  She sits her little dog down when it is her turn to do the course. Laura announces the event, and calls out “Ready?” as though this is a bona fide trial.

  Asherel calmly walks two jumps away after telling Honeybun to stay. Honey sniffs the grass while waiting, hoping to uncover an errant meatball. She is still sniffing when Asherel shouts, “OK!”

  Like a shot the little golden darling explodes over the first jump. She flies across the next two, and then dashes through the tunnel. The lady behind me says, “Look at how she is so eager to follow Asherel’s commands!” I smile at her, recognizing the kindness intended with her encouragement. Next the weave poles. Admittedly, they are channel weaves and are opened so that they are not in a straight line as they would be in contest conditions. Instead they are zigzagged only slightly, but I am still amazed as Honeybun weaves through them, her front feet skipping, and doesn’t miss any. Over another jump and through the tire jump. A beautiful front cross maneuver by Asherel, and Honeybun streaks over the aqua jump, wraps around to the yellow jump, and then with Asherel shouting “Go!” she crosses the finish line with no faults (at least none that my untrained eye could see.) The class applauds as Asherel shovels the meatball rewards in Honeybun’s gaping jaws.

  As we all gather to hear Laura’s final words of wisdom, she reminds us that we need to attend our first contest with the mindset of the end goal. Don’t enter a starters or novice class with the intent of just winning a novice class. Always look ahead to competing for the end goal, and work with the dog in every contest class with that goal in mind. Never let the dog feel you are disappointed or reprimand her but keep it fun and exciting, and encourage the dog so she will want to enter trials for many years to come. Anyone can qualify in a novice class… but the reward is moving up to the harder classes.

  Not anyone can qualify, I think. For one, I am pretty sure I can’t. Secondly, I remember the wild swamp dog we snatched from the doggy gas chamber. That dog could not have qualified, not then. I sneak a look at my daughter who is tossing meatball scraps to Honeybun while Laura gives us our marching orders. Keep the end goal in mind always- both you and the dog want to love what you are doing for a long time to come. The process is more important than the result. I smile. That goal has been reached.

  As we head home from our last class, Asherel jumps into her seat and spritely chirps, “Mom, she did so good! She is so proud!”

  “How can you tell?” I ask.

  “Look at her! She is smiling!”

  I glance in the mirror. I don’t see a smile, but I do see long confusing forms we need to fill out and entrance fees, and hotel stays to schedule. And I still don’t see ribs.

  It is 97 degrees, and there are still at least 300 piles of poop to go. Asherel and I have computed that with thirty dogs defecating two times daily, that means there are 420 piles of doggy doo each week at Last Chance Rescue. It has been over a week since the last clean up, and while Arvo helps Malta and Will erect the new dog fence, Asherel and I are assigned poop detail. Malta has put out a plea to all the board members to come to "help erect the fence day". We have come, being promised burgers and beer as reward for our hard work. We pull in to the empty driveway. Will and Malta are already working in the sweltering sun that strikes the ground with harsh slabs of molten heat.

  "Where are the hordes?" I ask.

  Malta barely glances our way. Will shrugs. Despondency may be knocking at the door.

  So we are the work force. I had told Malta we could spare two hours, since I try to keep my hard working husband's weekends free.

  "Not me," answered Malta, "I don't get weekends off so neither does Will."

  I detect some bitterness. Frankly no one should be working manually in this heat. I don’t blame anyone for not showing up.

  The dogs mill around us briefly as Asherel and I enter the sun bath, but even their attention- starved bodies cannot bear to be in the direct sun for long. They languish under the porch, tongues a mile long and watch us.

  Asherel is noble, silent in her suffering. Sweat pours off of both of us. It drips steadily from the end of my nose. If there is anything worse than an hour of shoveling poop it is doing so in 97 degree hot sunshine.

  Finally, every mound we can find in our growingly incapacitated state is shoveled, deposited in the green rank container, and scoopers put away.

  "Ready for water and peach break?"

  Asherel nods mutely. Her cheeks are bright red. We sit in the shade guzzling our drinks, when Malta walks by with her nail gun.

  "We'll be ready for our next job in a minute," I say, "Do you have a job in the shade?"

  "Wimps," she mutters.

  A little dachshund stands nearby at the fence watching us and barking.

  "Hush Hotdog!" screams Malta.

  He continues barking, a little happy face beaming inexplicably in the stifling miasma.

  "You notice he never shuts up?" says Malta, pausing to wipe her face in the shade.

  "I did notice," I agree, "But he certainly is a happy little dog. Is he new?"

  "He's a boarder till Wednesday." She sips her gallon size cup. "He's one of our adopted dogs."

  Hotdog looks spritely at each of us, then happily begins wagging his stubby tail and barking again.

  "He was about to be euthanized when we rescued him," continues Malta.

  I nod. It is the story of nearly all the dogs there.

  "He bit the humane society vet."

  "That would do it."

  "He was being examined in the intake room."

  I nod, watching the happy little dog. He doesn’t look like a vicious dog at all. He had been very happy for us to pet him when
we were back there scooping poop.

  "He was being examined in the same room as the bodies of the euthanized dogs."

  I stare at Malta. She cannot be serious.

  She nods, taking out a cigarette, the poison of choice to cover a shield of smoke over the images that fill her life.

  "At the humane society? They examine the dog in a room with dead dogs and wonder why it bit?"

  The appalling evil sickness of that makes me want to gag.

  "Happens all the time at that humane society," she acknowledges.

  I ask which one, and ask if this is common knowledge.

  "Of course not," she replies, blowing a stream of smoke that obscures her face as it stalls in the dead sultry air.

  The next evening is the on-line board meeting. I have come to dread those meetings because we are usually presented with a litany of rather discouraging news along the same lines- too many animals, too many needs, not enough time, and WAY not enough money. I always feel inadequate, and that any input from me falls so far short of what is needed that it is disdained. Our family is nearly always over-budget each month, and has to draw on our retirement funds. I am determined this year to try to change that so can’t be a large funding source for the farm. The physical work there is very demanding, and especially in the hot sun, as we have discovered, beyond my capacity to endure it for any meaningful length of time. That evening after our hot day of work I "watch" a dog show on TV with Asherel. While there in body, in mind I am unconscious, passed out on the couch for three hours. I never nap and sleep is difficult, so know the day of 97 degree oven conditions has felled me. Asherel wakes me up to watch the terrier group. I open an eye long enough to see the group announced, and then the next time I awake, the dog show is over. No, I cannot be a significant source of physical labor for the farm, either. I am not strong enough, nor are we close enough. I can’t drive two hours on a regular basis to help them.

  Even our work with Sadie has plateaued and it is clear that to successfully train her, she needs daily and regular work. Once or twice a month of bribing her to stick her nose in a halter is not going to do it. At the board meeting, Malta updates animal news with the dispiriting announcement that Sadie will be put on "horsy Prozac" so that they can halter her and provide needed vet services. It feels like my failure, though I had known from the start that our limited ability to get out there would be unlikely to produce overwhelming results.

  Sometimes one's best is not enough. Sometimes despite doing all one knows to do still leaves the goal just out of reach of clutching fingernails.

  If my best is not enough, do I just give up? I think of our journey with Honeybun. My best was not enough then either. I doubt I would have made it without Malta's not so friendly kick.

  The board meeting continues with Malta asking for ideas, and reminding us with each suggestion that she and Will cannot do any more themselves. Any idea has to be implemented by the board. Asherel and the dogs wait for me, leashes jangling. The meeting has been going on over an hour now, and shows little sign of ending. It was supposed to be a short one, and I have promised my family a walk. I tell the group I need to skedaddle, but leave the chat room open so I can read what happened while I am gone.

  I know Malta is discouraged. The wretched economy has slammed their donation base as well as their sound system installation business. They are fighting for their farm's existence and all those animals that depend on them. Dispirited, I know my pittance is better than nothing, but I am running on fumes of faith. Then, out of the stagnant doldrums, I have an idea of organizing an art show with entry donations, and dream of thousands of entries. It could work. I will work out some details and run it by Malta. You never know unless you get out there and try… and Someone sent me the idea. Someone will send the result too.

  Dear Heavenly Father,

  It is easier to have faith when you leap with a parachute. But most of faith is a free-fall. Of course, I know that you are standing at the bottom with infinitely open arms, but still……

  I pray for Malta and all the struggles she encounters every day. I don’t know how she can not be crying buckets of tears every waking moment.

  I have a sense we are nearing an end of our journey. I probably shouldn’t say that, since inevitably, you take the occasion to revisit lands I have no interest in seeing again. I often didn’t enjoy them the first time….. However, I trust that whatever happens, it is with your eye upon us. May we trust in your goodness, knowing that you have brought us this far safely, and ultimately, you will see us safely Home.

  Amen

  CHAPTER 16 Fulfillment and Redemption

  The week before Honeybun's agility trial, both Asherel and I are increasingly distracted. Asherel reads her school books, but this normally gifted student cannot seem to answer a single question about what she has read. I go to my yearly doctor exam, and hand them my insurance card, my mind dwelling on packing lists for the three day trial in Chapel Hill. There is a long silence, and finally I glance at the receptionist.

  "Is this your name?" she asks politely.

  I look at where her long red fingernail points. It says "Honeybun". I have handed her our USDAA registration card. The lady next to her leans over and looks, "I don't think we accept that breed," she quips.

  A few days before we are scheduled to depart, we decide it would be wise to do a brush up private lesson with Deb. I call Deb to remind her she had said long ago that right before we entered our first agility trial, she would help us prepare. I ask if she will let us know if Honeybun is really ready for the class, and warn Asherel that if Deb feels it would be a disaster, then we won’t go.

  Stoked with a baggie full of ham, we happily return to the first agility teacher Asherel had, and excitedly enter the field. The door clicks shut on a house of barking dogs as Deb emerges, and then directs Asherel to follow a specific sequence of jumps. I am buoyant with expectation as Honeybun has come so far in the year since Deb first met us.

  "Show us what you got!" she exclaims.

  Asherel removes Honeybun's leash, tells her to sit, and marches a few steps from the first jump.

  "Okay Honeybun! Let's go!" she calls.

  Honeybun glances up and sniffs the grass.

  "Come on Honey!" entreats Asherel. I am developing a stomach ache.

  Honeybun saunters slowly over and smells the jump. Deb looks at me.

  "That's what she's going to do at the trial," she warns.

  Asherel finally convinces Honeybun to jump and do the sequence. Honey trots slowly, looking around, sniffing at grass every so often, and finally lumbers over the last jump.

  "Normally she flies over the jumps," I claim weakly. I don’t even believe myself.

  "All dogs that are new to a place will act just like that," Deb consoles, "Until they understand and get used to going to new places. They are all stars in their backyard." (Aren’t we all , I sadly concur.)

  She sets up a second course and tells Asherel to try that one. She encourages her to "walk it" first. Asherel walks it once, and then claims she is ready. Honey is a little peppier, but around Jump four, Asherel is confused, and cannot remember the course.

  "You needed to walk it more than once," admonishes Deb," Walk it once to learn it, once from the dog's point of view, and then keep walking it until you can close your eyes and still see it."

  As she sets up to do a third course, Asherel walks the course diligently and Deb tells me, “She really is probably not ready for this. She doesn't have the handling experience."

  "Should we cancel?" I ask, knowing that will disappoint Asherel but so will her dog refusing to do a single jump.

  "No," answers Deb slowly, “If your expectations are just to go, have fun, learn what it is like.... and don't expect to win or even qualify, you should go. And she looks good- in good running shape."

  Well that is nice, but this isn't a beauty contest we are spending mega bucks on hotels and entry forms to attend. Still, I have not been led this far for this lo
ng, overcoming so many hurdles to be waylaid now. It is not pride propelling me anymore. It feels curiously like a calling, a destiny, a task that must be completed not for my check list…. but for my soul. And an audience of one eyed, three legged, discarded misfits of which I am an unworthy member are waiting and holding their breath to see if redemption is truly possible. Besides, I can’t get my entry fee back now….