I'm Listening With a Broken Ear

by Vicky Kaseorg

  The third run is better, and Asherel makes some good handling decisions. However, it is with humbled, and lowered expectations, we head home. Asherel is surprisingly not discouraged. She feels that this is how Honeybun will learn and tells me that she definitely feels we should still go to the trial. Some kids waste money and lives on drugs, fancy clothes, and makeup. My sweet child wastes money on a little dog doing happy things in fresh air, and sunshine. It is expensive, but I suspect of value I cannot begin to estimate.

  Despite some reservations, I pack for the trip. Two days before, I have the bag of dog food and bones for the trip on the table in my room, ready to load in the car the next day. Busily working at the computer, I glance over to see Honeybun lying on her bed with the bones, still in their plastic wrap, in her mouth. Laughing, I take them from her and run to my room. She has not ripped open the dog food bag, but it is on the floor. She follows me in and stands near as I replace all the food in a large bag. Lucky wanders in, hearing food package crinkling sounds. Suddenly Honeybun turns on him, a deep growl rumbles from her throat, and she crouches about to pounce. I scream and lunge at her, and claw her down into the almost forgotten "dreaded roll". She lies there, then goes limp in submission, and I remove my "claws".

  As if a disinterested novice dog on the unfamiliar course is not disturbing enough, now I have to wonder if latent aggressiveness is reemerging. I know that she is hungrier- the cost of getting her in "running shape". Still, food has not triggered aggression in a long time. Deb mentioned that most aggression she deals with is never obliterated; only managed. Are we just managing aggression? What will happen when the hungry dog is loose on the agility field, and all the other dog owners, pockets bulging with tenderloins, and rival consumers are lining the fence like a buffet? I refuse to give in to discouragement. These setbacks are blips on the radar. We will go and we will do our best, and when we return, we will smack the whip at any and every growl. If lifelong vigilance is required, then lifelong vigilance is what I will give. I only regret that I have but one life to give to my dog….. well, not really, but I do feel like I should start marching and singing an anthem of some sort.

  Since good news always comes in threes, the next morning Matt calls from college. He has just been to the infirmary and diagnosed with Swine Flu. It is a mild case, but he needs to be isolated. The doctor says he can either go home, or stay in his house at school, but only if friends are around to help him- bring him food and whatever he might need. He has surgical masks to wear should he need to leave his room, but classes and activities are out for at least a week.

  This is the final straw. Maybe the set back is more than a blip. I tell Matt we will come to get him as soon as I can find someone to watch Asherel as she should not be in the closed car with him for five hours, with his contagion. Very worried for my son, knowing swine flu can be deadly, I am horribly dismayed that we are so far away. However, Matt insists he does not feel bad, and has a very mild case, and feels he might be better off just staying where he is. He will call if things get too hard, or he feels worse. After a long conversation with the college doctor, it is decided that for now, Matt is better off resting and isolated in his room at college. We will go to the trial, but I know we might be called away to retrieve my sick son. That actually puts us three hours closer to him anyway should he need us. My own head aches with fatigue and worry, and my throat tingles the way it does before I get sick. This Agility trial that had seemed like such a fun idea is not shaping up to be the glorious end of our story that I had hoped. That night I spend more time than usual in prayer.

  The day that Asherel has worked towards for so many hopeful years finally dawns. On the drive to the trial, Matt calls. His fever has broken, and he is feeling much better. Is this an omen of the sun breaking through the worrying fog of recent events?

  We are among the first few people to arrive at the trial fields. Two or three other groups are setting up their canopies and crates. I pull in and ask where we should set up, telling them we are rank beginners and cannot even figure out this relatively simple task. A helpful older man points us to a shady spot across from the ring where all our events will take place. As soon as we unroll our $10 garage sale canopy, we know we are in trouble. We have forgotten a hammer to pound the stakes into the drought hardened soil. Nonetheless, we sweat and strain and try to erect the tent. About four temper tantrums and an hour later, Asherel agrees we are not going to succeed. A new group arrives to prepare their site near us and I ask if they might possibly have a hammer we can use. They do. So our canopy is successfully erected and we set out our chairs and table and crate. The club owner walks by and introduces herself.

  "For newbies, you sure have a pretty fancy set up!" she exclaims. She obviously doesn’t know my father who taught me that the first thing one should do when entering upon a new endeavor is look the part, get the equipment, and worry about the skills of the activity later. If you can’t be good, at least look good. Honeybun sits on one of the chairs in the frilly satin bandanna Asherel has made for her just for the trial. An aura of competence surrounds us, sitting under our huge canopy in our fancy chairs, obscuring the sobering reality that we are clueless.

  However, I admit to her that we are actually pretty nervous and scared, and if she has any advice, we are eager to hear it. I am surprised by how many people are so eager to help us, so gentle and forgiving of our lack of knowledge. Perhaps blustering my way through life is not the best tactic. Admitting weakness seems to bring out the best in others, not the carnage I expected.

  We walk around the fields so Honeybun can sniff, hoping she will get her sniffing quota completed before the trial begins in the early morning the next day. We meet several people, and quickly ply them for information and advice. Everyone is very encouraging as soon as we explain this is our first trial, and that Asherel, not me, is the handler. Our $10 garage sale canopy only falls down once. It is double the size of anyone else’s canopy. I feel conspicuous, and not just because our dog is wearing a satin white bandana and looks like she is going to a wedding.

  Having done all we can to arrange our little corner, we head to the hotel. This is the real excitement of the adventure for Asherel. She has never been to a hotel with Honeybun, and she is gleefully anticipating all the new adventures, like riding the elevator with her dog. A lot of time and expense could have been saved had I known this was the big draw. We tug the sleeper sofa into position, and Honeybun quickly settles on that as her bed. As usual, when it is bedtime, Asherel pulls the covers up over her pampered dog, tucks her in, and Honeybun closes her eyes. Her huffing snores assure me she is not overly stressed by her new surroundings.

  At way-too-early-o'clock, we head back to the field in the morning, first in line to be measured. For the first three trials, Honeybun will have to be measured at shoulder height to determine jump height. The judge is a kindly Santa Claus type, and when we tell him this is Honeybun and Asherel's first time at a trial, he is solicitous and oozes geniality. I am nervous about how Honeybun will respond to a stranger touching her with the strange unfamiliar measuring apparatus, but steak tidbits overcome a multitude of sin... and keep her attention while the judge does his measuring.

  “Piece of cake,” he tells me, “You have done well preparing her!”

  “It’s just the food,” I laugh, “She’ll do anything for food. But thank you. I appreciate your kind words.”

  Polly, the dear lady from our club who had emailed us earlier in the week to tell us she would be there at the trial, and happy to help, looks over the course map with Asherel and they discuss strategy. There are fifteen jumps arranged in roughly a figure 8 pattern. In Agility work, the handler is the key to the dog's successful navigation of the course. The handler has to assess both her path to best cue the dog, and the dog's path to run under the time limit and give the best chance of not knocking the bar off the jump. The goal is to run the course with no jump faults (knocked bars, refusals, missed jumps, or jump out of sequence) and w
ith no time faults. Dogs at varying height levels are allotted corresponding time allowances to complete the fifteen jumps. That time varies depending on the complexity and length of the run, but is roughly forty seconds overall. Asherel's goals are more modest than most. She just wants Honeybun to jump, and not sniff, and not go after any dog or human with malice aforethought. Her class is blessedly the first of the day, so we don’t have long to freak out.

  The judge calls the contestants of "Performance Jumpers" class to "walk the course." Asherel hands me Honeybun's leash, and hurries onto the field with the flurry of others. She is the only child handler. Polly enters the field a few minutes later, and I see her walking and discussing with Asherel. I feel a flood of gratitude to this recent acquaintance, willing to sacrifice her own preparation to help Asherel. Is kindness suddenly being introduced to the human race… or is it possible I have just missed it?

  As the minutes tick by, other handlers leave the field one by one. Asherel remains, walking it over and over, pointing at each jump successively, until only she and one other handler remain on the field. The judge calls out that time is up, and Asherel with one lingering look back, is the last handler off the field.

  She returns for her dog, and stands in line, waiting for her name to be called.

  I balance my camera on the fence and hold the video camcorder. It is shaking like a leaf. Something must be wrong with this camera's stability controller.

  Honeybun's name is announced. They enter the field. Asherel tells Honeybun to sit and stay, and removes the leash. Honeybun looks bored, and sniffs the grass.

  "OK! Go jump!" calls Asherel. Not exactly like a bolt of lightning, but not as slow as a slug either, Honeybun canters over the first three jumps. She pauses near the fourth, and Asherel has to re-cue her a few times, but then she complacently decides to play along, and jumps, tipping the bar over. The rest of the run is clean, no other jumps down. She finishes, and lets Asherel leash her, and comes happily trotting towards me. I fall to my knees and stuff her with sirloin goodies.

  "That was great!" I trumpet to Asherel, who is breathlessly nodding.

  It is far better than what we had expected after her performance at Deb's.

  Asherel works as a leash runner volunteer for the next hour, and I take Honeybun for a long walk. My joy is a waterfall of delight splashing across all those hard stones of struggle over the past year, burying them in cascades of exultation. This may sound over the top, but I am remembering the impossible creature she had been and the troughs of despair, the hopeless desire to throw in the towel. The little dog prances next to me. I think she knows something momentous has just happened.

  When we return, Asherel finishes her volunteer job, and we settle down to watch the other classes. I meander over to the barn where the scores are posted. I have no idea what any of the scores mean, but want to see if Honeybun has come in last.

  I find her name, but there are several numbers written on it, none of which make any sense. A kind man asks me if he can help me, as I must have looked confused. He tells me the number on the upper right is Honeybun's time, and then he shows me how to determine the course qualifying time. She is four seconds over, which is admirable for her first ever agility run, he assures me. Then he shows me how another number indicates the number of jump faults. Just one jump fault, a five point deduction. The next number is the combined time and jump faults, which is how the final standing is determined. Finally, he points to a number circled in the center.

  "And this means she won second place."

  I blink.

  "She gets a ribbon?" I ask tremulously.

  "And a toy," he adds smiling. He shows me where the honor system self serve ribbon and toy box is. I hurry over glancing at Asherel in the distance, who is quietly holding her dog on her lap and watching the class in progress. Hiding the ribbon behind my back, I breeze over to Asherel.

  "Oh, one thing more I need to tell you…"

  She looks up and I pull the ribbon out, "You won second place."

  Asherel is struck silent for a moment, but then her face shatters into a million happy smiles. She shows the ribbon to Honeybun, who promptly begins to eat it.

  Day Two, we get to sleep in a little later, since Asherel's class is not until late morning. We arrive well in advance of her class nonetheless, on a hot sunny day. Honeybun languishes in the heat, panting, and surveying her kingdom from my chair, which Asherel appropriates for her. By the time her class rolls around, we are all hot and enervated. Honeybun's tail, normally a sprite flag seems limp, wilted in the heat. Asherel again walks the course the full ten minutes. This course includes a tunnel. I park myself at the same place along the fence as the day before.

  When Honeybun's name is called, it all starts well, but as she rounds jump four, a little wide, she notices me beside the fence. She pauses, and then trots over to me. Asherel remains surprisingly nonplussed by this defection, entreats her to return to the business at hand, and with a brief look back at me, Honeybun seems to shrug her shoulders, and leaps the next jump. At the tunnel, she blazes in, but is a bit long time coming out. Asherel later informs me that our little dog had decided to stop and clean her bottom in the tunnel. She speeds over the last few jumps, and tips the second to last bar. All in all, it is a good run, with again just one down bar.

  Again we are euphoric. Lowered expectations have a way of making life a pleasant surprise. She has obeyed Asherel, but for that fleeting and understandable desire to visit with me. She is probably a little slower than yesterday, but still not embarrassingly so, and only one jump is knocked down. We praise her and feed her treats, and are grateful to end the day with again not being disqualified for unseemly teeth marks being left behind on dog or human. When the scores are posted, we are astonished to see she places second again. She is nine seconds over time, but having only knocked down one bar still ahead of the competition. Asherel ties the ribbons on the crate proudly. Honeybun gobbles the treats and seems unfazed by our lavish praise, though she appreciates the extra goodies.

  That evening, as I walk her at the hotel, I wish we had only signed up for two of the three days. I am exhausted with little sleep, the early mornings, the hot days, and the stress. While she has come such a long way, she could certainly revert to what she had been in those early days in this new chaotic environment. We have been warned that under stress, many dogs do revert to earlier behavior. We have had a wonderful experience, she has done far better than hoped already, and I am wondering if it would've been better to dash away while we were still not in a hospital or jail.

  The next morning we are again the first class of the day. I am awake from 4 a.m., and finally trudge out of bed around 6:00. Honeybun is still snoring. Asherel is huddled deep in the covers. It all seemed like such a good idea, in theory, this dog agility business. I long for my peaceful quiet unhurried mornings of a typical weekend. However, by 6:30, we are all up, breakfasted, and ready to go. I pack our things, check out of the hotel, and we drive into the rising sun, long shadows stretching across a sleepy world.

  However, the agility fields are abuzz with scurrying course builders and dogs being walked and stretched. Asherel pours over the course map which she snatches as soon as we arrive. She has only a few minutes to scrutinize it before she is called to walk the course. This one is the hardest of the three days, with a "pinwheel" array of jumps midway through the course. This tight circle of four jumps challenges the handler to be very precise in her cues, and the dog has to pay close attention. It is very easy to miss the jump sequence as the tendency is to follow jumps that are in a straight line from each other.

  If Asherel is nervous, she does not show it. She walks the course, again with Polly advising, but Asherel has already determined what she needs to do to help Honeybun stay on course. Polly confirms her decisions. For the third day, she is the final handler to finish walking the course when time is called, memorizing her intended path over and over again.

  Honeybun is the fourth dog up. Th
is time, to ensure that I do not distract her, I hide near the Judge table behind the starting line. Honeybun won’t see me until she heads for the last jump. I am too far off the fence to film, so decide just to enjoy and watch this one. Honeybun was a full nine seconds over the time limit yesterday, so I know she has no chance of qualifying. This run is just gravy on our feast of happy triumphs. However well she does today, we will be content as she has already exceeded our expectations and garnered two totally unanticipated ribbons,

  A dog comes off the course and marches by Honeybun. From the back up, he looks just like Lucky- same golden tan, same wild terrier explosion of hair. His much shorter legs are dachshund length, but even I do a double take, wondering what Lucky is doing here and who has absconded with his legs. Honeybun apparently thinks it is Lucky too. She swings her head around and begins tugging at her leash, straining to reach the dog, wagging her tail. She has ignored the other dogs the whole weekend. It is clear she thinks Lucky is here, her brother, her friend. She wants to say hello. I thought dogs have a great sense of smell. Surely this dog doesn’t smell like Lucky. If anything needed to convince me that Honeybun has developed a love for Lucky, this does…. but her timing stinks. This is not where her attention should be placed at this moment.