Memoirs of an Agility Dog #1
Copyright © Amos T. Fairchild 2011
Memoirs of an Agility Dog #1
My name is Steve, and I'm an agility dog.
That's not my real name, of course, not the one given to me by my mother, but then my real name is really something just between us dogs I suppose. Steve is my human name, if you like, given to be by a very good human friend I live with. I'm not real sure what his human name is exactly. I have a dog name for him, but it doesn't translate all that well. I'll call him Hips-Guy for short, mostly because it does seem to be one of his favourite poses. I like to think my language skills are pretty good, but he uses that pose so much I'm still not completely sure what it means all the time. Sure, it all depends on the situation, so sometimes I get a clue. The rest of the time I'm really in the dark.
Of course since he's a human he does tend to just bark at me most of the time as communication, and I've managed to pick up a few words here and there. I have a feeling he's never going to learn dog, and it's not like they even have a tail to work with, so that's about the best I can do. He's a nice guy otherwise, easy enough to live with, and we have a pretty sweet little house in a nice neighbourhood. There is a Chihuahua next door, but he is pretty cool as far as Chihuahuas go and at least there are no Afghans in the area. Look, I'm sure there are some really nice Afghans out there, don't get me wrong, but they just creep me out somehow: the hair, the way they move... something.
I'm a border collie, of course, which is good and bad in my scene. Everyone who sees me thinks I must be some hot piece of shit out on the course, but I think there are a couple of Labrador out there who could leave me for dead. Well not really. Not a Lab. That's just a bit of a joke, but you get the idea. I have been beaten by a Papillon, and that was a little hard to swallow. She is damn fast though, and a cute little thing, so I can live with that. I'm not all that competitive, but I think Hips-Guy might be a little, so I do my best when I can. Of course he's really not that great himself; not exactly the athletic type. I can outrun him in my sleep. That's a joke too, but you get my point.
As I try to explain to the guy, although he never listens, I'm the one out there doing all the work. All he has to do is tell me where the hell to go. It's not really a big ask. I can do the jumps, crawl through as many damn tunnels as he wants, but if he doesn't point me in the right direction then I don't know what he thinks I can do about it. As I say, I don't do human, never learned their damn hieroglyphics, and I'm not about to start at my age. If he doesn't show me then I'll do my best to figure it out, sure, but most of the time that ends up with him standing there with his hands on his hips, of course. And sure, I've worked out what the pose means in that situation now...
Anyway. Today was a competition day, I was sure of that. It would be another chance for him to practice that pose and another day for him to get pissed off. Not that he's too bad. He's pretty cool even when he totally blows the run, and he does that a lot. He was dressed, had the crate stacked, leads in a bag, keys for the car in his pocket...
Then he tries to convince me we're going to the beach. I know enough human to understand when he barks things like that, but seriously, I'm no pup here. That may have fooled me once but yesterday's bath was a dead give-away. All I can do is stare at him with the best “you have to be kidding me” look I can muster. And he's no fool either. He's picked up enough dog over the years to understand. It's not like he's a complete idiot or anything. Sure, I know a lot of humans are, don't get me wrong. Some humans are just morons, lets face it. I wonder how they can sniff their way to a toilet spot some days.
He gave up and smiled, and went to the car with the crate and bag. He even told me to “hop in,” as if I needed to be asked. I loved the car. I know a lot of dogs don't like it; some are really nervous about it. The Chihuahua next door told me he pukes the whole time, but then I'm not sure he ever got over the trip to the vet. That trip. You know the one. It's not a trip I've ever made, just the ones for the damn needle, but I've never made that trip. I've talked to others and they say it's no big deal, so I've never been all that worried anyway. But it did seem to hit the Chihuahua hard. Of course he is a Chihuahua after all.
Driving is a lot of work, sure, watching out for all the nuts on the road, but Hips-Guy did a pretty good job for most of that. I tried to concentrate, but what I really wanted to do was stick my head out the window and feel the wind in my hair once we hit the road. I resisted the temptation, though, and kept my mind on the job. There was a lot of traffic and I had to wonder what was happening out there that was so damn important. Most of the cars didn't even have dogs in them, so it wasn't likely to be earth shattering. I think humans just drive for the hell of it sometimes.
And they were always in a hurry. A guy in a BMW pulled in front of us and was so close I could have jumped across and eaten his leather seats just for the hell of it. I barked a warning, but Hips-Guy just frowned across at me. I guess he already saw it, but I wasn't about to take the chance. After that it was a smooth ride on the free-way and I relaxed a bit and spent most of the time trying to work out where we were going – hopefully somewhere with a nice toilet facility. I hated having to go in some crowded little corner where you couldn't sniff out a spot even if you had a week to do it in.
The next turn looked promising, and I recognized the area. It was out of the city a little and had a nice big field down the back. I could live with that. Oh yes. I mean, seriously, there were a lot of dogs there, I could see that as we drove in, maybe even more than the usual. With that many dogs you needed room to toilet. Maybe I'm fussy, but a toilet area was my number one criteria for a good day, and I didn't care whether Hips-Guy insisted on picking up everything I did either. Humans really were a bit strange, although I've probably mentioned that.
I was glad to stretch my legs even though I did like the car, and was eager to check out the scene and see who else was there for the day. Mostly I saw the usual faces, some I knew better than others and some I liked a hell of a lot better than others. But then I'm a real live and let live kind of dog, so I get on okay with most – unless it's an Afghan. Did I mention those guys creep me out? I saw one of the border collies I knew from the area, but tried to not make it obvious I was looking at him. That was Max, and he could tell I saw him anyway. He really was one of those hot shit agility dogs, or at least liked to think he was, and he flashed a smirk in my direction. He really could beat me in his sleep, I was sure of that, but it wasn't something that really worried me.
There was a kelpie I knew of further on anyway, by reputation at least, and that distracted me. She was sleek and sexy and as cool as they come. Sheba. You couldn't help but like Sheba, although I doubted she even knew I existed. She really was the top of the pile, yet she acted just like she was one of the dogs. She would just sit there and smile as if it was nothing, and yet she could leave even a dog like Max in her dust. She was special, a goddess amongst dogs, and yet it never seemed to go to her head. Then I had to look away before she noticed I was staring.
After that I said “hi” to a few nearby I knew a lot better, many of whom had been on the agility circuit a while now. The old terrier, Rocket, was starting to show a lot of grey around the muzzle, but he was as fiery as ever.
“I'd like to get some of that,” he was saying, looking out toward Sheba, his tail going like crazy. He had probably noticed me staring.
I could only chuckle at that. “In your dreams,” I told him, but only half seriously. For some reason the chicks did go for the terriers, so he probably had more chance than I did.
He had a long career as well, and that would help. Sure, he was well past his prime, but in his day he had been a hell of
an agility dog. I'd been to his house, and no, he didn't have a trophy shelf like Hips-Guy and I did. Rocket had a trophy room. Yep, seriously. A whole damn room. I doubted even Sheba had that, not that I was likely to ever see inside her house.
I then thought to head over to see some other old friends, only then realizing Hips-Guy had put the lead on already. I mean seriously, did he really think he was going to get lost on the way to the camp spot or something. I paused and looked up at him, but he was busy with some other human. It was a girl, and I wasn't sure if it was a chat or some strange human courtship ritual, so I let him stay for now. I mean, as I
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