Agility Course
Watching dogs speed around an agility course is pure delight, particularly if they make the course their own, and run under obstacles instead of over them, or miss them out completely. Some dogs are natural comedians and respond to laughter, and they are the ones who steal the hearts of an audience.
We had a liver and white Dalmatian called Buddy, who was actually rather good at agility. He had brains and beauty, and wanted always to please his young owner, our youngest daughter, Bethan. She had spent a great deal of time building agility courses in our not very large garden, for Cariadd, our first Dalmatian. Bethan was three years old when we brought the small, warm puppy home, so Cariadd was around six when she started training her in agility. Cariadd was very obliging, but it wasn’t really her favourite occupation. She preferred cross country running.
Buddy was a different prospect. He would do anything for Bethan and did well in his classes. However, he was just too big to compete with the dainty little dogs that normally excel at agility and eventually the lessons ceased, and he reverted to being a proper Dalmatian, running miles every day with Barry, Cariadd and Dominie.
We have an agility course in our house. The objective is not to discover how fast we can complete the course, but to see if we can complete it without breaking our necks.
The first obstacles are the slow-moving, indolent cats, who weave their way slightly ahead of us, miaouing if we dare to suggest they could move a little faster, please. Every move towards the kitchen indicates to them that meals might soon be served. They have been heavily influenced by the dogs, whose major loves in life are us, followed swiftly by food. The rule is, ‘If the humans move, we move, too.’
Having negotiated a track past the cats, the major obstacle presents itself. This is Roxy, who prostrates herself before us like a living sacrifice. It is imperative that she is never more than twelve inches away from one of us. I fear that she suffers from the reverse ostrich syndrome; that is, if we cannot see her, we might deny her existence.
Preparing meals, filling the kettle, emptying the dishwasher/washing machine/tumble dryer, packing the groceries away in fridge, freezer or cupboard, Roxy is always there, at our feet. I don’t know how we don’t trip over her.
Gilbert is also part of the course, but his function is to help. He moves around us, bringing us toys if he thinks we need some encouragement in our pursuits.
When we have completed whatever footling task we embarked on, we retreat from the kitchen, but now the agility course has been altered. The recumbent Roxy has miraculously and silently blocked our way out of the kitchen. It would not be advisable to step over her, because she has been known to rise up, mid-step-over, and that is quite hazardous. Slowly, we navigate our path back, accompanied by our four-footed friends.
Nothing can be accomplished at speed in our house unless we shut the animals away. Hence, we have baby gates at strategic doorways, behind which dogs can be contained. They don’t work for the cats – they slither under or leap over. The gates mean that the dogs can still be in contact, but not as closely as they might desire.
It's not so vastly different to having toddlers and at least the animals don’t have tantrums.
