How Old is Old?

I have been reluctant to post a blog spotlighting Kaylee, as I fear I cannot sum her up that way. I may come to this eventually, but for now I will just say that she has been such an integral part of my life for almost nine years, I truly cannot remember what it was like before she came along. I choose not to imagine my day to day once she is no longer in it. Thankfully, as she approaches her ninth birthday, she constantly reminds me that she is far from old and frail.

Yesterday the gang and I drove to Daytona for one day of agility competition. I really enjoy this, as Buster and I were free to socialize with fellow human beings on Friday and Saturday night, he was able to go to class on Saturday afternoon while I got some chores done at home, and then Sunday was spent enjoying the company of agility friends and a day outside with the dogs. I only entered the boys, as I have limited financial resources and want to focus on trialing with them right now. Having briefly considered leaving Kaylee home for the day, she refused to accept that and so came along as well. When she was younger, Kaylee competed quite a lot. We attended between one and three shows a month on average for a period of time, and then tapered off when she earned her first MACH. She has been around trials since she was very young and is excited when she recognizes that’s where we are going. As an old pro, she really did not understand why she was at a competition and did not get her turn on course. Sure, she was able to come out and walk around the grounds, find some delightful stinky piles to roll in (one of her favorite things in life), and bark at the other dogs. But for her, this seemed to not be enough. I have worked hard at keeping both my corgis thin and fit so they can remain active and healthy, and Kaylee constantly demonstrates that she has the ability AND the desire to run and play.

After returning home from the competition, which was so well run, we were done by 1pm, the boys immediately parked themselves on the couch. They were tired. I was tired. Kaylee, on the other hand, was not tired. One of the toys that I had picked up as a prize from the show was a little blue stuffed chicken, perfectly corgi sized. Kaylee generally has a brief attention span when it comes to playing with anything that doesn’t involve food, so typically when she gets a wild hair, she will tug and retrieve for a minute or two and then quickly loses interest. Yesterday, however, she must have had so much pent up enthusiasm from having not been allowed to compete, that she tugged and fetched and played with me for over twenty minutes! What was even more hysterical was the mischievous grin she was displaying that lit up her eyes the entire time. She had me laughing and smiling so profoundly, just from a simple game of tug and fetch; a basic interaction we sometimes lack now that my focus has been shifted to the younger two. The boys both had their special time with me while competing today; Kaylee had to remind me to pay her the same attention.

Being my first real agility partner, Kaylee and I spent countless hours, just the two of us, training and practicing. We have a bond that was born through working to understand one another, which we have done effortlessly for so many years that I often forget she is a dog. There were special games such as “catch me if you can,” her reward for a successful practice which involved my trying to catch her as she dashed about like an untamed hare. I have never seen a dog experience such a pure, unadulterated joy from just running as fast as she could. She will still do this whenever the opportunity arises. She is virtually flawless now when I ask her to run any sequence, as we seem to always know what the other one is thinking.

Given that she still has an obvious love for agility; it is difficult to refrain from entering her. Aside from the cost, she is older, and I do not want to add undue stress to her body. Incredibly fast, even at almost nine, she still delights in running, climbing, and weaving. She runs almost as quickly as Kirby when we go to the park and will playfully steal the Frisbee from Xander and scamper away before diverting her interest to something else. Kaylee makes it easy to forget that she is not in her prime anymore. Then again, who is to say she won’t live to be eighteen years old, as one of her corgi relatives once did? If she is only middle aged, is it fair to treat her as an old lady if she does not act like one? Am I protecting her, or depriving her? These are the questions we struggle with, when we share our lives so closely with our dogs.

A Brief Update

Weekend wrap-up:
Kirby-Jumped on the coffee table four times. Spilled and or drank two glasses of Mountain Dew and knocked over two glasses of water. Ate a chunk of horse poop. Also earned his Open JWW title with a first place and got an Open Standard leg with first place. Go figure.

A Different Perspective

I decided recently that in the interest of being a better instructor as well as a better handler, I needed to experience class from the perspective of a student, rather than a teacher. It’s been roughly fifteen years since I participated in a true agility class, so I was both excited and a little nervous when Lauren graciously allowed me to join her Thursday evening class. Lauren runs a pair of rock-star Belgian Tervurens, and used to run corgis, so she knows exactly what it’s like to transition from running a small dog to running a large dog. I am new to the world of striding, collection, and controlled contacts. Corgis run at one speed, and for the most part, I can outrun them. I most certainly CANNOT outrun Xander.

Having never actually seen Lauren teaching, I was not completely sure what to expect, although I had talked to one of her other students and heard that her teaching style was similar to my own. I was pleased with the flow of the class and the challenging nature of the sequences she presented. The other students in the class are people I have been around for years, so it was awesome to hang out and watch them run as well.

At times, Xander had trouble with the concept of “waiting his turn” considering that when I practice on my own, he comes out of the car, immediately goes to work, and continues until it is time for a break. I loved the fact that a class setting helped simulate the trial environment of keeping your dog occupied and focused in between runs. This situation also had the desired effect of recreating some of the nervous excitement we experience in competition where essentially our brains short circuit and certain criteria can fall apart. Training alone with no one watching, or even training casually with a friend who is not really judging your performance does not elicit the same behaviors as being actively watched and evaluated.

As a student of behavior modification, I also understand the importance of receiving feedback “in the moment” instead of after the fact. When I am being videotaped and watch myself hours later, it is much less likely to make an impact on my handling moves in the future. We learn the same way our dogs do; if you come home to a mess on the floor and yell at your dog, this will certainly have no effect on the likelihood of them having an accident in the future, as they will not connect the delayed correction with the problem behavior. While fortunately I do not have any potty training issues personally, being corrected for stopping in my tracks and grinding my dog to a halt should be corrected the moment it happens, and not considered on film hours later. Additionally, bending way over, pleading with my dog to execute a difficult front cross will have the effect of sending him FARTHER away from me, while alternatively, having someone point out that my body and shoulders should be facing the OTHER way, right as its happening, is far more effective. I left the class last night with more to think about than any training session I’ve had on my own in a long time.

Thus far in my life I’ve had this independent streak which insists I'm capable of doing everything on my own, but naturally, being human, I have a tendency to practice to my strengths and avoid leaving my comfort zone. However, the older I get, the more I realize that being able to accept help and criticism is a critical part of being successful in life. I am thrilled at being pushed to try different things, particularly exercises I had not come up with on my own with a built in idea of how to handle them. I also learned that in executing a wrap, my tendency to hang back in an effort to slow him down is actually far less effective than driving with him toward the target obstacle and then by making a sharp turn, effectively pull him with me in the correct direction. I have become aware recently that my love for handling at a distance has left us in need of learning more skills that involve working close together. The corgis were naturally comfortable running close by, Xander, with his much longer stride, is naturally more of a drifter. While I knew this and have tried to address it on my own, I am confident that Lauren’s feedback will speed up this process and help us sharpen our skills.

Overall, it was a fun, exciting, and refreshing experience to be the recipient of feedback, and I believe it will improve my ability to identify with my own students as well as the timing and nature of the feedback I provide to them.

After class, Lauren came to ask me, “How competitive do you want to be with him?” She wanted a feel for how critical she should be of our runs.

I considered this for a moment. While financially I may not be able to compete very often right now, I still would like our team to be the best it can be. Deep down, I knew the answer to this question, although my ego fought to protect me.

“Well, as much as I can afford to compete,” I said, knowing very well that wasn’t what she meant.

To compete is sometimes to battle with the nagging fear that I will never be as good as I want to be. That no matter how hard I work, I will never measure up to the handlers and instructors I hold in highest regard. To pretend to be casual about it, to act as though winning or losing doesn’t matter, is a protective mechanism. I can’t fail if no one knows I am trying. It is far more difficult to set a standard for yourself, and then work to achieve it.

“Be as critical as you can,” I told her.

Although I may never be the best, I will admit right now that I am damn sure going to try.

Don't Shoot the Corgi

My corgis eat poop.

There, I’ve said it. It’s disgusting. It’s repulsive. It’s a foul, unpleasant, apparently natural habit that drives me absolutely bonkers. Going for a walk has become a battle, one in which I have to remain constantly vigilant and prepared to react at a moment’s notice. I live in a warzone, and there are landmines everywhere.

The unfortunate side effect of living in an apartment community is that although you never have to mow the lawn, you do have to share the outdoors with everyone else. We were surprised to have found an apartment community that was so refreshingly pet-friendly it actually charged a low pet fee and even featured a little fenced in, off-leash “Pet Park.” Not surprisingly, ever other pet lover in Jacksonville found it as well. While some residents, myself included, are diligent in picking up their pet’s waste, many others are blatant offenders. “Poop bag stations” are strategically located in all grassy areas and provide residents with bags and a disposal bin. I am constantly astounded by the volume of waste that I find littered in virtually all areas of the community. Some piles are enormous, and some sit defiantly less than two feet from a clean-up station! I marvel at the audacity of someone who would allow their dog to eliminate and then refuse to take two extra steps in order to pick up the mess. I have witnessed some residents whose apartment homes back up to the woods, simply open their door, release their dog to run out and defecate, and then casually call them back inside. While I am no means a prude, this kind of rule breaking is not only rude, lazy, and irresponsible; it is also unacceptable and dangerous. I won’t even go into the several incidents that involved loose dogs running up to my reactive, leashed, dogs.

Since I am currently not in a position to move out of the apartment community, although though this is my ultimate goal, I must find ways to live within the parameters of my environment. Unfortunately this is not a new problem, as I have walked in many neighborhoods and front yards around town that are also plagued with poop. This is not a simple problem either, as my corgis seek out feces with the kind of tenacity exhibited by contestants on a game show trying to win large sums of cash. They are like pigs rooting for truffles, or a bloodhound on the trail of a murderer. Once they have picked up the scent of a precious nugget, they will pursue it with unparalleled determination.

Because I find this behavior to be not only disgusting, but also dangerous, as they could become sick from eating excrement, I have engaged in a number of different tactics to address the problem. Karen Pryor, in her incredibly insightful book, “Don’t Shoot the Dog,” outlines the essential eight methods for eliminating undesirable behavior.

Method 1: “Shoot the Animal” Despite the degree to which their behavior annoys me, this would be decidedly drastic, and I have yet to resort to this method. Yet.

Along these same lines, she describes physically preventing the animal from exhibiting the behavior. At a certain level of frustration, I resorted to purchasing muzzles. At first, this resulted in the most dramatic displays of flipping and rolling as they tried to remove the affronting devices. When this was not successful, I was given the most pathetic looks of indignation you could ever imagine. The way they looked at me, you would think that I had never done a single nice thing to them in their entire lives. Hating to feel that I was emotionally abusing them, I abandoned this strategy fairly quickly.

Method 2: “Punishment” Only when at my most frustrated and least patient have I resorted to this method and the resulting guilt is enough of a punishment for me to avoid employing this tactic very often. Besides, it doesn’t work. Apparently kicking your corgi in the butt will not discourage it from gulping down the treasure it has found. In fact, punishment will only increase the speed of consumption, as the corgi tries desperately to gulp down its prize before being yanked away by its leash.

Method 3: “Negative Reinforcement” I tried this tactic years ago by filling a metal can with pennies and bringing it on our walk. Each time a corgi would attempt to lunge at a mound, I would either violently shake or throw the loud and scary can down on the ground near them. What happened as a result was that Kirby simply refused to walk. I would attach his leash, pick up the can, and he would immediately put on the brakes and refuse to budge. While this was essentially effective in eliminating the poop eating behavior, it also eliminated the walking behavior. Method 3 was therefore a failure.

Method 4: “Extinction” When you do not give attention to a behavior, it will disappear. Ha. Can anyone tell me why this wouldn’t work? Somehow, although I’ve used denial to cope with the problem myself, ignoring the poop eating will not make it go away. They don’t do it for attention; they do it because they think poo is delicious.

Method 5: “Train an incompatible behavior” This one is feasible, although difficult, as my corgis completely lose the ability for rational thought in the presence of food, and poop, since it was formerly food. In order to capture non-poop-eating behavior, I was forced to carry a massive number of highly valuable treats in an effort to reward behaviors that didn’t involve eating poop. Our walks consisted of taking one step, tripping over the two small dogs that are dancing and twirling while trying to solicit the treats from me, getting up, and attempting to take another step. They didn’t eat poop, because they were too busy to look for it, but they also didn’t walk, and couldn’t go to the bathroom themselves for fear they would miss out on a treat. This was a counterproductive endeavor.

Method 6: “Put the behavior on cue” The methodology here suggests that if you put an undesirable behavior on cue, reward it, and then cease to ever give the cue, the animal will discontinue the behavior due to lack of reinforcement. Well, this would be the easiest trick I could ever teach them. Unfortunately, they would engage in the behavior in spite of me never giving the cue again. It is again a matter of crap= awesome and delicious corgi delicacy.

Method 7: “Shape the absence” My corgis work for food. It is their only true motivation. Their entire reason for existence is to eat, and to eat as much as possible. As I mentioned before, I have attempted to bring treats on walks (this time hidden in my pocket) in order to reward poo-avoidance behaviors. Unfortunately, since they view fecal matter to be the highest form of culinary delight, no treat imaginable is worth more to them. The food I whip out of my pocket in an attempt to lure them away is no match for the value of the magical treats they find littered on the ground for free.

Method 8: “Change the motivation” The theory here is that when your animal, or child, or spouse, is engaging in an undesirable behavior, it means they are deficient in some basic need. When that need is met, it should help alleviate the problem behavior. For instance, if your children throw temper tantrums in the grocery store because they are hungry, feed them a full meal beforehand. Without hunger driving the bad behavior, the temper tantrums will disappear. Sadly, if I fed my corgis as much as they desired to no longer be hungry, I would have two fat little walking ottomans with heart disease and diabetes; if they could still walk at all, or breathe for that matter.

So there we are, eight methods later, and still no solution. But perhaps I am looking at this wrong. The underlying problem in all of this is not just the corgis’ behavior, but the negligent attitudes of my neighbors. Perhaps I should target THEIR behavior. Is there a book called “Don’t Shoot Your Neighbors”?

Can You Feel the Vibe?

vibe  (vaɪb)
— n
slang  a feeling or flavour of the kind specified: a 1970s vibe
[from vibration ]

From the outside, my 2003 Pontiac Vibe didn't look like much, but people were always amazed at how much room it actually had on the inside.  It was classified as a "sport wagon" which means it looked like a cross between a small sedan and either a station wagon or SUV. The Vibe had four doors and a hatch back as well rear seats that were backed with a hard plastic akin to a truck bed liner, so that when laid flat, formed a very tough and utilitarian cargo area.My two previous vehicles had been a 1990 Pontiac GrandAm and a 1998 Ford Escort.

The Pontiac was purchased used for my mom by her short-term second husband, and given to me when I left for college after graduating high school. He did not appreciate this, and I believe may have cursed the car with a voodoo hex. The brakes got so bad that I almost had to employ a Fred Flinstone-esq method of sticking my feet out the sides to slow it down. We had a lifetime warranty with Allied Tires, which meant that every time I took it in, they told me my brakes were fine. They were lying. Their lifetime alignment guarantee also meant I ended up with five blown out tires, all on the front right. I got really good at changing a tire. The headliner inexplicably fell down and after I got frustrated enough to rip it out, the air conditioning died as well. This resulted in little yellow puffs of insulation being blown into your eyes and hair while traveling with the windows down. Finally, the driver side window ceased to function at all (even though it rolled down manually), which left me with A. no means of cooling myself off while sitting in traffic in Southern Florida during the summer and B. the inability to utilize drive thru windows, ATMs, or to comply with the nice policeman when he pulled me over for speeding. Luckily, I was eventually rear-ended and the resulting insurance was used to purchase my next vehicle.

The 1998 Ford Escort was found in the paper by my mother. It had been used as the fleet vehicle for the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints. Somehow, they forgot to bless it. Within a month, the radiator died and had to be replaced. For over a week beforehand, I drove through the Florida summer with my heater blasting in order to keep it from overheating. A useful trick, although difficult on your sweat glands. The air conditioner died once or twice, and had its windows broken out one week after a new CD system was installed as a Christmas present. The Escort met the same fate as the GrandAm, although when I was rear-ended this time, it was by a young kid in a large pickup truck. It was raining, the roads were wet, and the traffic was heavy. Kaylee was in her crate in the backseat when I felt myself losing control. We spun around and hit the guardrail, and the last thing I remember was telling Kaylee to hold on. I woke up in the hospital with staples in my head and a neck brace on. Miraculously, although the trunk was mostly in the back seat, Kaylee survived unharmed. She was understandably reluctant to get in the car for a long time afterwards.

The insurance settlement this time purchased a 2003 Pontiac Vibe at auction. Nearly new when it came to me with only 23,000 miles, I marveled at its power windows and doors, upgraded sound system, and power sunroof. Even at 2 yrs old, this was the closest I had ever come to a new car. My family had only driven a series of hand-me-downs from generous aunts, uncles, and grandparents which were already on their last wheels, so to speak. My parents would drive them until they no longer functioned, at which time we would receive another "donation". I grew up in terror of the inevitable breakdowns, panicked strandings on the side of the highway in the dark of night, and the very real potential for car fires. The Vibe was therefore a luxury vehicle in my eyes. It was fast, fun to drive, comfortable, and got awesome gas mileage.

Sadly, having never been taught to care for something, given that we had never owned anything worth caring for, I took the Vibe for granted. She endured being driven hard, stopped suddenly, and forced to haul an unimaginable amount of stuff. My friend recently referred to it as the "rolling sack of crap." He was convinced that I was going to be decapitated by my set of metal weave poles should I ever in get into an accident (which was likely given my aggressive driving tendencies and history of being rear ended). He also thought that if I gained even one extra pound, I would no longer fit into it amidst the tunnels, jumps, extra clothes and shoes, dog crates, towels, grooming equipment, loose paperwork, and food at various stages of decay. He would marvel at the bi-annual occasion during which I shoveled it all out and reorganized it. This generally only happened when the smell become overpowering, or I had some new piece of equipment I desired to puzzle in there. Over the five years we were together, I washed her two, perhaps three times. The passenger seat was used maybe a dozen times, after being excavated from the mountain of assorted trash, and the back seats were probably only upright half a dozen times. It belonged on an episode of "Hoarders."

Before we reached 150,000 miles, I had burned through a few sets of tires, realizing for the first time in my life that tires would go bald and needed to be replaced as a "set" and not just individually as they went flat. On one occasion, just before replacing my balding tires, I slid into a young man's trailer hitch in the rain. I thought he was going to turn. He did not. With only cosmetic damage to my car, I drove away with a dent and no insurance was involved.

At some point, all four door handles cracked. Three of them broke off completely, leaving me no access to the passenger side of the vehicle. Luckily, the driver door was left with a small nub, which when used carefully, allowed me to enter without having to climb in through the hatchback. Which would have been impossible anyway given the amount of crap back there. I had to beg service people to be careful when leaving it for an oil change, as replacement handles would have cost $200 each.

Later, my brother backed his enormous Dodge Ram into my front left fender and left me unable to open the door. In sympathy, I did not report him to my insurance, and he skipped town a week later. We were able to bang it out so the door could be used, but it wasn't pretty.

Finally last year, during one of the hottest summers I can remember, the air conditioner stopped working. The replacement part was on national back-order, and might never have been located. I suffered two weeks in the sweltering heat, determined to avoid car payments until I found myself in a heat induced delirium at the Honda lot.

With a cold A/C, working door handles, and enough cargo room to accommodate an army of dogs and gear, I love my 2010 Honda Element. But if you happen to see an old, dented Vibe with no door handles, give it a wave. She was a good car.

My Dogs: Spotlight Xander

Xander is like a marshmallow: he's soft, fluffy, sweet, and when he's on fire, he runs fast.
Ok, that last bit was maybe a stretch unless you've recently made S'mores over an open flame and know how runny marshmallows get when they are hot. And that Xander is a giant weenie in every capacity unless he is doing agility or playing frisbee, in which case he is on fire and runs crazy fast.
So perhaps not the clearest metaphor, but marshmallow is really what I think of when I look at him. He is a mush. He is a love. He gives you this look as you pet him that is complete, undeniable adoration. And most of the time he tries to pet you back.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

I had finally made it to a stable, self-sufficient stage in my life, in my own apartment, just myself and my two grown corgis, when I decided that life was entirely too boring. What's a good way to remedy this situation? Get a border collie puppy! I'd heard for many, many, many years that border collies could only be owned by those with acreage, livestock, and an endless supply of patience. The horror stories on the internet and word of mouth painted these intelligent dogs as willfully destructive when given anything less than optimal exercise and mental stimulation. However, they were also tauted for their intelligence, trainability, tireless work ethic, and reknowned as agility and frisbee dogs. Having only owned and trained small dogs, I was eager to try my hand at a "big dog," even though at 20 and a quarter inches and 39 pounds, I consider him a very good and moderate size.

At first, I was only toying with the idea, and still had cold feet about actually making the switch to the "dark side" (as border collie owners are referred to). I looked online at dogs available for rescue and was captivated by a small, red and white female named Bella. She had prick ears, which I love, and was only about 25 pounds and roughly 6 months old. I took Kirby with me to see her, as finding a playmate for him was also a large part of my motivation. Sadly, she had the same temperment as so many intelligent dogs who have had a rocky start in life. She had virtually no interest in me or Kirby, and was keen on trying to get out of the little yard and into the bigger one nearby. Given the time and motivation, I know she could have been rehabilitated, but I did not want this to be my first experience with the breed. At this point, I was told that there was also a litter of 3 week old puppies, kept a secret at this point but for a select few. Although I had been looking at older dogs, my eyes lit up at the mention of puppies.

I melted at the sight of a trio of three week old pups: 2 females and a male. One female was a striking black and white, while the other two had freckles to augment their black and white coloration. Jerri, who has been rescuing border collies for 25 years, decided to give me pick of the litter based on my history and interest in performace sports, and the fact that I was the first one to express interest in the litter. I made the trip to Daytona weekly after that in order to visit with the puppies, watch them grow, and make the difficult decision of which puppy to choose. From my very first trip, I was taken by the big, freckled boy and his comically loud vocalizations when it came time for dinner. I was also enamoured by the beautifully marked black and white female. In my weekly visits, I grew more and more fond of the boy, who was by far the most interested in visiting with me. He would plant himself across my lap as I sat on the floor, and in spite of being picked up and encouraged to play outside with his sisters, he would return to cuddle with me. How could I not fall in love? I never really had a choice, as the puppy had made it for me.

Although I continued to admire the striking female, my focus turned to the boy, and by five weeks, my decision was made. The poor dog probably spent the first two months of his life thinking that I had a camera for a hand, as it was constantly attached to me and aimed at his face. It's no wonder he manages to look tortured in every picture I've attempted to take in his adult life.

At eight weeks old, after five weekly trips to Daytona to visit, I was able to take him home with me. It had been over 6 years since I'd raised a baby puppy, given that Kirby was already almost five months old when I brought him home. The next few months cured me of my "puppy fever" as my time was spent with this little creature who knew nothing, had to potty constantly, wanted to chew everything, and LOVED to bark. However, he also loved to give hugs, was a champion snuggler, extremely adorable, smart, fast learning, and eager to please. We made it through the toughest parts of puppyhood without any major casualties or property damage (save a couple spots of carpet). He came to work with me everyday, learned lots of cute tricks, and EVENTUALLY was potty trained.

Along the way I taught him to love the frisbee, and finally, having wanted one since being a small child myself, I now have a certified frisbee nut. Even though we've only competed a few times and I am the weak half of the team, I LOVE playing frisbee with him and delight in his enthusiasm and athleticism in catching and chasing the disc.

He also learned to love agility. I am proud that I knew enough to never correct him for mistakes, as he is naturally inclined to be a "soft dog" and would have been easily discouraged. Instead, I have focused entirely on having a party when he is correct, and as a result, he is fast, driven, and happy. We have had extreme success in our first handful of competitions, and I continue to learn more from him about handling a "big dog." Running a corgi and running a border collie are indeed two VERY different things! I feel that at a little over two years old, I finally know who he is and we have developed a wonderful relationship with each other. I am excited that our partnership and teamwork will only continue to improve.

So although he lets Kirby boss him around, will roll over and submit if you look at him sternly, and barks like a fool at nothing, he never fails to keep me company in the bathroom, greet me with more enthusiasm than I thought possible (even if I've only been gone 5 minutes), give 150% at anything I ask of him, and make me smile everyday. Although there were times when I questioned my sanity at choosing a border collie, I adore him and have absolutely no regrets. He gets me out of bed in the mornings, keeps me active when I don't feel like getting off the couch, and is the perfect buddy for any adventure I could ever choose. I am so lucky to have him!

A Tribute to Good Friends

It was brought to my attention that in my recent blog about agility, I mentioned the small hatchback which was crammed full of my agility equipment. My good friend Chris feels that I have not done justice to the legend which was the "Vibe." I believe he is right, and will therefor dedicate an entire post to sharing with you the history and adventures of this little car. However, before I do that, I must pay tribute to a couple of friends who were also part of that story, as well as my agility history. These friends should also have made a cameo in my blog entitled "The Rarity of Awesomeness," as they too posses that rare and wonderful quality.

I met Chris and Carol at the first agility trial I attended with Kaylee, circa September 2003, when I was new to trialing and traveling and all of the adventures that go with it. We were competing in Orlando, inside a building at the fairgrounds, which was crowded but popular due to its air conditioning. Although running on mats is not every one's ideal surface, the appeal of air conditioning is especially strong when you live in Florida. Summer here tends to extend from March or April until late October, or even November at times.

We happened to set up next to one another in the crating area and began talking. They were very friendly, and I soon found out that they were also members of our local agility club in spite of living nearly an hour away on Amelia Island. After that, we ran into each other at other local trials, and began talking and crating next to each other more frequently. At that time, Carol was running a Jack Russell terrier who was also in the same height class as Kaylee. The pair had once lived in Kansas and regaled me with stories of "Jack Russell trials" which were very prevalent in that area and involved such activities as "go to ground,"" Jack Russell racing," as well as agility. These trials sounded like tremendous fun, and I often think she wishes she could go back to Jacks as well as those activities. In spite of this, Carol decided to make the switch to Shelties, and purchased a relative of the famous Neil, whom she named Kansas in honor of their past home.

I remember meeting the young Kansas as a puppy during a trial in Daytona, and have seen her go from rambunctious puppyhood, to the lovely little lady she has grown up to be. Sadly, during that time, life took me away from agility, and I basically "dropped off the radar." I was a rotten person, and too wrapped up in my own drama to realize that I would be missed, and that perhaps I should let Chris and Carol know that I was still alive. I am sorry that I was not grown up enough to do that, but in my experience, people came and went and that was just the way of things. I had learned never to really get attached to people, and that often people would let you down. In this case, I was the one doing the letting down.

At any rate, I reappeared a couple of years later to a local trial, and was taken aback by the warm reception I received, particularly from Chris and Carol. I was both embraced and admonished for my disappearing act, and immediately welcomed back as a friend. I remain thankful that I wasn't simply written off, and given the cold shoulder I might have deserved upon my return.

Since then, I continue to be pleasantly surprised by the quality of my friendship with this pair. If life gave you a choice in who would be your parents, I would certainly have chosen them. Carol values my opinion in dog training, and even invited me along when she ventured to pick up her newest challenge, a border-collie-look-a-like, who is actually a bi-black sheltie named Wicked. Again, I have watched him grow from a fuzzy little ball of fluff, to the sleek, handsome, fast little devil that he is. I am also excited to watch them grow as a team, since she is beginning his agility training. Chris is the devoted chauffeur of the pair, and provided he has a book or two to read, never fails to come along to every practice, training opportunity, and trial that Carol chooses to attend. His devotion to her, and their relationship with each other, is a tribute to what every relationship should be. I can only hope that Buster and I will remain such good friends for as long a time as they have. They have a great balance, wherein Carol knows how things should be done, and Chris provides the comic relief ;) I think Buster and I have a similar dynamic.

Our weekend practices have become the highlight of my week, as I not only get to play with my dogs, but get to visit with them as well. They have pleasantly surprised me with birthday and Christmas gifts, in addition to the out-of-the-blue homemade tug toys Carol presented me this morning (carefully made with a Xander complimenting black and white pattern). They have listened with interest to all my various pursuits, genuinely cared about me and offered advice at my lowest lows, and rejoiced with me at all my triumphs. Chris has provided video services when Buster was not present, and Carol doesn't get mad when I tell her to give Wicked more treats while he is learning the teeter. I look forward to sharing the day with them at trials, and they help remind me that agility is more than just the titles you earn or the courses you run, it is the friends you can make along the way.

I hope they know how much I love them both. And that I promise to never disappear again.

My dogs: Spotlight Kirby

Kirby is an interesting character to say the least. On one hand, he is incredibly cute, and arguably the best looking of my three dogs. He is a beautiful reddish brown with a perfect white blaze, chest, and legs/feet. His charming smile and happily wagging nub belay the fact that he is also possibly insane. Kirby is a walking paradox; both sweet and cuddly, capable of spending hours snuggling on the couch, completely immobile and malleable to any position, as well as tense, growling, and hostile if the mood strikes him. While at the park he delights in running full tilt with all the other dogs, most of whom are much larger than himself, including his border collie brother Xander. On the other hand, when at home, he growls and snaps if Xander happens to invade his personal space bubble. He is capable of complete and utter brilliance on the agility course, or complete and utter train wrecking disaster. While engaged in any activity, he throws himself into the pursuit 110%, but at home will be sore and cranky and refuse to walk if he doesn't feel like it. He likes alcohol, and will shamelessly drink anything left on the coffee table, as well as lick any plates which are left in his reach when you aren't looking. However, he is the only dog in the house who doesn't senselessly bark at everything which walks by, and will wait politely at the door when he needs to go out. It is easy to be frustrated, even irate with him at times; and just as easy to melt at his smiling face and funny little body as it bounces up to greet you. When he is at his worst, I remind myself where he came from, which is a balm to the anger and frustration.

Many years ago, I volunteered some time to corgi rescue. The mission of this organization is to help corgis which, for whatever reason,  have found themselves in need of a new forever home. For instance, I once picked up an older male from the local animal control, filthy, smelly, and freshly neutered without even the benefit of a bath, cleaned him up, and transported him to another volunteer in Orlando. I named him Sport, because he endured the ordeal with grace and even a measure of gratitude. Happily, Sport was soon adopted and living out the rest of his life in comfort. Around this time, I already had several dogs and was not looking for another. I received a call from a rescue agent down south who had been contacted by a woman in St. Augustine about her "vicious" four month old corgi puppy. We both rolled our eyes at the thought of such a young pup being capable of genuine aggression, and being the closest to her home, I volunteered to go evaluate this puppy.

When I arrived at her home, which was big and beautiful and had a massive back yard, I knocked on the door. The woman greeted me accompanied by a tiny ball of orange fluff who was smiling broadly and bouncing straight up and down in the doorway. Immediately I knew that I would be taking him home with me. She led me through the living room past her two and four year old children who wanted absolutely nothing to do with poor Jack-Jack. He was named for the popular Disney movie, "The Incredibles", and was purchased as a Christmas present for the children from "Donna's Doggie Delights." She showed me his Canadian Kennel Club registration which clarified in my mind what type of organization "Donna" was running. I asked her more about the puppy's behavior and what training she had been doing with him. Essentially, he was a highly intelligent, active, mouthy puppy who had received absolutely no training from the woman, her husband, or the poor kids who were too young and tired of being bounced on by an exuberant pup. "Jack-Jack" was a puppy mill special who used his mouth to get whatever he wanted, and no one had bothered to try teaching him otherwise. I asked if she was planning to have him neutered, and whether he was up to date on his shots. "Oh, we can't afford that," she said, as I looked skeptically around their massive home. After only fifteen or twenty minutes, I asked her if she would just like me to take him that day. She immediately began gathering up his few belongings as she expressed her gratitude. If I wasn't willing to take him, they would have been forced to take him to the pound. I tried to express the importance of making a careful decision when selecting a breed of dog, as well as a breeder, but I fear my advice was falling on deaf ears. I can only hope that their next dog was as sedate as a basset hound, and would come to them trained, neutered, and with a lifetime supply of vaccines. As I walked him through the living room and out the front door, the children continued coloring and didn't bat an eyelash that I was taking their dog away.

After that, Kirby, renamed for the Nintendo character who was also a fun little ball of activity, came home with me. I had no plan for this, and his homecoming was met with some eye-rolling. However, he stayed with me, for better or worse. We spent months working on his grabby mouth, and that was mostly resolved. My life changed radically in those first few months together, and continued to be rocky for the next year or two. Kirby endured a lot of upheavals. We lived here and there, and even had a few months of adventure in North Carolina. His life, when composed of my older corgi Kaylee, he and myself, was happy and carefree. He was never perfect, and tended to mark in the house when other dogs were present, in spite of being neutered at 6 months. However, he slept on my pillow at night and loved everyone. Happy and playful, he tried relentlessly to wrestle with Kaylee, who decided she was too old for such shenanigans. Therefore, at the age of three, and when I was finally settled into my own apartment, I decided to get him a friend. Having loved every other dog he'd ever met, I thought bringing in a puppy would be accepted. At first, things went well, and I even have video proof that they played with one another. However, when it became clear that Xander was receiving my attention, and even worse, he was going to be bigger than Kirby, something changed. My attempts at finding him a playmate backfired terribly, as I think I broke his poor little heart. Thus emerged Kirby's split personality.

Now that Xander is two and everyone receives basically equal attention, things are generally calm. However, there are times when just a wayward look will send them both into a fit of growling, and it is best to stay out of the middle. Don't worry though, ten minutes later, Kirby will be smiling again, the angry alter ego once more set aside for the time being. Who knows if things would have been different had I not brought home another dog, or if Kirby's mental problems would have been manifested in other ways. All I can do is try to be patient, and remind myself how cute he is.

Her Name is Agility

My relationship with the sport of agility began more than half a lifetime ago, well before I had ever seen it or knew what it was. I will admit that I started out a cat person, which was mostly imposed upon me by my inability to get a dog. After my brother was diagnosed with asthma and a cat allergy, the cats had to go and my pursuit of dog ownership began. After years of relentless begging which culminated in a full scale Christmas day temper tantrum, and was told that I could have a dog for my 11th birthday.

I had spent years researching dog breeds and had narrowed my choice down to a sheltie or a corgi. Of course, my parents were poor and I was instead taken to the local animal shelter and presented with a litter of cocker spaniel/lab mix puppies. Immediately I was enthusiastic about bonding with my puppy and teaching him everything he should know, as well as fun tricks. He knew how to roll over, play dead, shake and many other things before we ventured to the local park and began learning to climb up the stairs, slide down the slides, and jump over the net on the tennis court. In essence, I was teaching the skills for agility, well before I had ever actually seen or heard of the sport. Sadly, the jumping skills I had so deftly trained led him to jump the fence and lap up enough anti-freeze from a neighbor's driveway to land him in a hospital for a week before dying of kidney failure. However, that's a whole OTHER story.

My next dog, acquired sadly only one year after the first, was a little black cocker spaniel purchased from an ad in the local paper. He was not registered, and had his full tail, which made him the best cocker spaniel ever. He was actually far easier to train and much more eager to work with me than the first, and would do simply ANYTHING for a tennis ball. He would also work for anything you could throw: a stuffed squeaky toy, a racquet ball, a pine cone from the backyard; with a tail that never stopped wagging. When he was several years old, we attended Jacksonville's first Pet Fair/Expo at the fairgrounds. A fledgling little group of members from Pals and Paws agility club had set up a small demo course to introduce people such as myself to the sport of agility. I had seen something similar on TV, and had played at these concepts for years, but this was the first time it was presented as an actual sport. We signed up for classes and my mother drove me 45mins both ways to attend class once a week. I set up a course in my backyard, and I was hooked.

At 14 I had no money to speak of, so we only attended a couple of competitions, or trials as we call them. Back then things were very different, much smaller, manual timing, there was no AKC agility, only USDAA, but much of it remains the same. Matt never learned to be good at the weave poles and was always distracted by smells on course, but we had some fun. I eventually became too wrapped up in the demands of high school, and agility fell to the way side.

I went to college, lived in various places, and eventually Matt grew old and lost his vision to glaucoma. He was 10, and we had occasionally gone out to places to play on equipment, so I never totally lost my interest in agility. When he went blind, I decided it was time to get another dog, and one that I could really seriously train to be competitive. I finally ended up with the corgi I had wanted many years before. Kaylee was born brilliant, and was very easy to train. I rejoined Pals and Paws and began taking her out to practice. We never attended classes, however I studied training videos and books and enjoyed the process of learning. At one and a half years old, Kaylee attended her first competition, and by the time she had just turned three, she earned her first Master Agility Champion title with AKC, with many blue ribbons along the way. I had pursued this title with single minded determination, and once achieved, I lost a bit of interest. Kaylee also hurt her back playing in the yard, and although we did rehab and got her running again; in fact she competed in the 2006 AKC Nationals in Tampa; it just wasn't the same. Life also got a little crazy for a while and we took about a two year break from competing. Once life had settled down, my interest was renewed. I had adopted Kirby along the way, yet again, a whole OTHER story, and had made some half-assed attempts at beginning his training. However, it wasn't until I settled into my own apartment and decided to get a border collie that the spark was truly reignited.

As with Kaylee, I had plans for Xander from the start. Kaylee had spent her first year coming to work with me as I taught classes at Petsmart, and Xander also benefited from coming to work with me in my small office job to learn basic manners and how to play and learn and enjoy being with me. Living in an apartment, one has to be creative with learning opportunities. I had a small hatchback into which I crammed a tunnel, some jumps, and weave poles that I would haul to the park and local schools, and anywhere I could get away with setting them up. We also made the hour long trek to our club's practice field whenever possible. With advances in technology, I spent more time studying videos, articles, and more importantly, footage of top trainers running their dogs. People such as Silvia Trkman, Susan Garrett, Greg Derrett, and many other great handlers gave me a clearer picture of what I wanted.

To say I love agility really wouldn't do our relationship justice. It is far more complex than that. I am at times obsessed with it, and at the very least preoccupied on a daily basis. I spend much of my free time continuing to study videos on facebook and youtube, watching all of the handlers I admire. I read blogs and articles when I am bored at work and study course maps and handling strategies. I aim to train my dogs several times a week, in both the blistering heat and the freezing cold. I sometimes drift off the road when coming back from practice, as I am running through sequences in my mind. I spend hours watching the footage of my own runs with my dogs and analyzing our strengths and weaknesses. I began teaching my own classes almost 2 years ago, which has given me even more reason to pour over course maps and consider learning theories and techniques.

Sometimes, when I can afford it, we compete. I really love the competition itself: the excitement of running in a different place, with people watching, only one chance to get it right, and titles and placements on the line. It's exhilarating when we do well, and humbling when we do not. Kaylee had actually become so reliable that some of the excitement had been lost, since we almost always qualified. (I expect hate mail as a result of complaining about my consistent dog). Running Kirby the wild-man, and my fast and long legged border collie is far more variable and challenging.

To be honest though, sometimes life would be simpler if I just didn't do any of it. Getting up at 4am to drive one or two or three hours to set up camp, compete all day outside in the heat or cold, only to drive home late and possibly do it again the next day is exhausting. The cost of traveling to out of town trials really adds up. Besides the fact that weekends are precious and few, and it seems so hard to sacrifice the opportunity to sleep in, relax on the couch, and get things done at home. Going to work all day and then driving 45 minutes to build a course, teach two hours of class, play with my own dogs, drive another 45 mins home, and then get up at 6am to go to work the next day is also exhausting. Staying dedicated to training my dogs when I am sick, or tired from work, or it's really, really cold outside is also a struggle at times. I also really enjoy all the fun, easy, non-dog related things I do with Buster and friends. Things that involve alcohol, and goofing off, and not thinking so hard. So I occasionally consider giving it all up.

Then I think of how empty and boring my life would be, and I go out and practice with my dogs like I did this morning. I get a high from how exciting it is to ask another living creature, who doesn't speak my language and by no rights should be able to do all of the complicated and often unnatural things I am asking them to do, to play with me in this fun sport. And when I see how happy it makes them, and how happy it makes me, and to be typing this with three tired and satisfied dogs, I realize that I will never be able to give it up.

Blessing or curse, agility is my mistress.

A Cold Night in Florida

So, you remember all those nice things I wrote about Buster yesterday? Well, he exacted revenge upon me yesterday afternoon.
To set the scene, it's been uncharacteristically cold this week in sunny Florida, with temperatures dropping nightly into the twenties, with wind chills in the teens. Those of us who have lived our entire lives here are accustomed to temperatures in the 90's during the summer, and perhaps the 50's and 60's in the winter. We have thin blood. We are wimps. We own shorts and flip-flops and tank tops, not parkas and mittens and scarves. Thus we are not equipped, prepared, nor even willing to endure these arctic blasts.
Regardless, I have dogs who expect to be walked, and one who expects to be exercised on a daily basis, regardless of my obvious discomfort outdoors.
My wonderful boyfriend Buster, star of yesterday's blog post, attends ITT Tech. He is in his last semester of classes in fact, and has been very busy with homework and projects, in addition to his highly demanding job day job. Yesterday was a particularly stressful day for him, and when I came home from work he was rushing to finish some last minute assignment before leaving to go to class. He greeted me with an air of distraction, which I thought highly understandable, and continued to finish his paper. I changed out of my work clothes and into some pathetically thin sweat pants and a sweatshirt which is adequate at best in 60 degree weather. On top of that went my newly acquired North Face jacket, a Christmas gift from Buster which is thankfully very warm. The ensemble was completed with a pair of sneakers and a cheap pair of mittens from Target (the kind that are 2 for $1 in the sale bin). I grabbed Xander's frisbee with the intention of tossing him a few in the field behind our apartment complex. Just long enough to let him stretch his legs and take the edge of the worst of his excessive energy. I kissed Buster goodbye, wished him a good class, and headed out the door with my dog, his frisbee, and the clothes on my back.
Less than twenty minutes later, with Xander panting happily and my ears, fingers, and toes completely numb with cold, I walked back to our apartment. Given that it was now past six, Buster's car was gone from the parking lot as he had no doubt recently left for class. I trotted up to the door, thoughts of a warm apartment and snuggling on the couch under a heavy blanket in my mind. I turned the handle, but the door did not open.
Locked.
Xander looked up at me expectantly, and several thoughts went through my mind. Firstly, it is incredibly cold and I am trapped outside. Buster will not be home from class until almost 10pm. I have no phone, no car keys, and the office is already closed. I also have my dog with me. First thing's first, check the car. It's unlocked! Hooray! One small miracle. Xander happily hops into the back as if we are playing a silly game. I rummage through the glove compartment and try desperately to remember if I placed a spare car key in there. No such luck. My spare key is in my purse which is locked in the house with my regular keys. And my phone. And my blanket.
Well, at least Xander has somewhere to stay out of the cold wind while I figure this out. My next thought is of our friends Mike and Ashley who live a few buildings over. Mike would be in class with Buster that night, but Ashley might be home, and I could use her phone to call Buster! I run over to their building and up the three flights of stairs. Seriously, they CHOSE to live on the 3rd floor. Like, on purpose. Who does this? Huffing and puffing, I knock on the door. I ring the doorbell. I call out "ASHLEY!!", because I know I wouldn't answer the door to someones crazed pounding if I were home alone. No answer.
OK, so she isn't home. What now?
I used to fancy myself quite good at breaking and entering without causing any permanent damage, and have found my way through bedroom or bathroom windows at almost every place I've resided in the past. I decided to attack our one and only window to the apartment, which thankfully I am mostly sure is unlocked. After 15 minutes of clawing frantically at the screen, using some crude tools from my car, and no doubt looking like a burglar in my black jacket and pants, I concede defeat. Unless you took a knife to that screen, it's not coming out. This gives me comfort that only someone who was really intent to "break in" would be successful, while I would be left out in the cold, so to speak. Or literally in this case.
OK, maybe Ashley is home now! I run back over to their building and repeat the above steps. Again, nobody is home. Sigh.
Our apartment office staff had no doubt all gone home a long time prior, but there is a gym and a cyber cafe. Surely there is a phone, or at least a computer I can use to get Buster a message! The problem is, that after running up to the office at the front of the complex, the doors are locked. Guess what you need to get into the gym and cyber cafe after hours?
I knock on the door. Perhaps someone in the gym will hear me and let me in! After several minutes of pounding on the door, a guy steps out of the gym to use the water fountain in the hallway. I wave frantically and try my best to look distressed and not dangerously insane. It must have succeeded, because he let me in! I briefly update him to my situation, which he replies simply "Oh, I hope you get him back for that." He returns to the gym, and I approach the cafe. Also locked. A couple of girls are in there using the only two computers, so I bang on the door and apply the same frantic, not-criminally-insane waving at the door handle. The closer of the two begrudgingly rises to open the door, and immediately returns to the computer. I look around the room for a phone. Of course there is no phone. People don't use phones anymore. We all use cell phones, with all our important contacts stored safely away, eliminating the need to memorize them so that when you find yourself without it, you have no clue as to what any one's number is. I was actually 90% sure I remembered Buster's number, but was afraid he would not answer a strange number if I called from someones phone. I waited a few moments to see if either girl would respect the time limit policy on the computers. When it became clear they would not, I decided to beg. I approached the same girl who'd let me in and asked if I could use it to send a brief message, as I was locked out with no means of communication. Again, she looked at me with an air of disgust and shifted over to another chair. I quickly sent a barrage of emails and Facebook posts designed to catch his attention in every conceivable way. I did not sugar coat my request.
"EMERGENCY" "You have LOCKED me out of the apartment with no keys and no phone. COME home immediately!!"
Satisfied that if he had his phone with him (saying a silent and desperate prayer to that effect), he would surely get my message and come home.Thusly, I returned to the car where Xander was waiting patiently. Minutes passed as I attempted to formulate another plan, in case Buster had not seen my messages for whatever reason.
Finally his car whips around the corner and into the parking lot. He rushes over to me as I calmly exit the vehicle and retrieve Xander from the back.
"Your mom is gonna kill me Xander," he says to the dog who is happily greeting him.
I didn't kill him.
In the future, however, no matter how brief the outing, I will not leave the house without my cell phone.

The Rarity of Awesomeness

The older I get, the more profoundly I understand certain concepts about life. There are a LOT of people in the world, and a great many of them suck. Truthfully, I've known this since I was a kid; my dad made sure I heard about it frequently. The lesson he neglected to teach me, however, was that for all the selfish, ignorant, intolerant, hateful, and downright stupid people there are in the world, there are also a precious few who are unspeakably awesome. My uncle Gary has always been one of those people. He is selfless, generous, fun, and usually content to be happy. He can be late, or not show up sometimes, but when he is around, he is great at reminding me the value of never acting your age.

My cousin Jane is another person who belongs to this elite club. She and I grew up together, although never in the same city, and we shared the common interests of roller skating, Christmas, and Hello Kitty, among many other things. Today, she remains what I consider to be one of my very best friends, and is the epitome of kindness, strength, patience and perseverance. She's suffered many health problems, some of which would have been the end of someone less resilient, but she has never lost her faith in the world. She is also one of the best people on the planet to share a laugh with, and is a master of playing board games. I would also trust her with anything.

There is another person who belongs on this list, for more reasons than I can even recount. We met when we were eight years old and both attended San Mateo Elementary. He was the cute little blond boy who sat behind me in Ms. Green's class and admired my drawing of Roger Rabbit on the first day of 2nd grade. I was painfully shy and considered him easily to be the cutest kid in school. He walked down the halls with me as we joked about the other's "brain being on vacation" for whatever reason of the day. He said hi to me at Friday night skating when the girls rolled around the cafeteria and the boys played Foosball in the hallway. He even invited me to his 8th birthday party at Skate N' Space and was very diplomatic when the couples skate was announced and he told me he couldn't hold my hand because he didn't feel right about it at that point in time. His mom would always honk her huge, blue truck when they drove down our street, and I got to go with him and his dad to watch a Little League baseball game. Sadly, both our families were not terribly stable, and we lost track of each other when I was forced to go to another school closer to my house.

The universe took us both in very different directions for roughly twenty years, and in 2008, I was playing on the new social site, MySpace (which I never even log into anymore in favor of Facebook of course), and I decided to search for my very favorite childhood friend. Much to my amazement, I found him, and we started chatting. At that time he was very far away in New York, but after a year of emailing, texting, and occasionally talking on the phone, I was able to see him again in the flesh.

We've had many adventures as we approach our second anniversary together this April. Many of the awesome new experiences of 2010 were due to him. More importantly than all of that, is how amazing he is at his very core. You will never meet anyone more caring, devoted, thoughtful, generous, smart, funny, loyal, ambitious, responsible, trustworthy, handsome, or loving. I never have, and am convinced I never will. I could write an entire laundry list of actions which support each of these characteristics, but you probably wouldn't even believe that one person was capable of being so profoundly, wonderfully, brilliantly, awesome. He makes me smile every day, and there is no one I would rather share a laugh with, a dance with, an amazing adventure with, or my entire life with. I am forever grateful for the opportunity to share my life with Buster Pruett. Thank goodness there was only one Buster Pruett in the world when I searched online. Who knew he would truly be so one of a kind?

How to survive being home with the flu

Well, it's been almost a year since I had to be out from work, so I suppose two days at home with the flu is not all that bad in the grand scheme of things. And considering that I work in a hospital which is crawling with all manner of germs, it's a miracle I haven't been out sooner, or more often. So, now that I am stuck with this malady, it is important to have coping strategies to make it through.

First, it is important to have lots of medicine on hand. Obviously there is the standard list of benadryl, ibuprofen, sudafed (the real stuff you use to make meth, as I mentioned yesterday, and not the crap they sell on the shelves now), nasal spray, etc. There is also Emergen-C, which Buster so kindly bought me, which tastes and smells horrendous, and is like drinking medicated Crystal Lite, but really gives your immune system a kick in the pants and seems to help. There is also coffee, which isn't really medicine, but is useful in chasing away the flavor of the Emergen-C, as well as preventing the caffeine withdrawal headache I will get if I don't drink it. Cough drops are great too, especially if you get that kind that had the weird commercial of the swiss alps and some big horn being blown....you know what I'm talking about...

Ok, medicine, check. Next, you need something to entertain yourself with. Being stuck at home for two days can become VERY boring, even if you don't have enough energy to stand at the bathroom sink for longer than it takes to wash your hands. So if you are me, you do the following. Start a blog, check. Play on facebook, check your email, read all the blogs you follow religiously every day: you know, pretty much the same thing I would be doing if I was at work. Read a book. I am finally reading something I have been meaning to read for MANY years, "Don't Shoot the Dog" by Karen Pryor. Love it. Since it is about 25yrs old, I am already pretty familiar with everything she's talking about, but it is nice hearing it directly from the source, and her writing style is fantastic. Very engaging and entertaining. Check. Watch tv. Since we don't have cable, my choices are limited to bad daytime tv and pbs. Curious George and Clifford the Big Red Dog are very good cartoons. There's also my COMPLETE collection of Twilight Zone dvds that my uncle gave me for Christmas. Rod Serling for the win. Check.

Finally, you need some dogs. Luckily I have three. They made me get up this morning, albiet only long enough to feed and walk them before falling back in bed. At that point, they provided such valuable services as toe licking, pawing me in the face, and snuggling in between my legs so as to prevent needless shifting of postions. After several more hours of sleeping, they made sure I made it safely from the bed to the bathroom (I was carefully monitored during all such activities), and then from there to the couch. Once on the couch, they have a well planned shift roster which dictates which of them has to lay on top of me during each hour of the day. It is a difficult job I am sure, but they are diligent workers. I must also remind you that on normal days they are herding breeds/agility enthusiasts/frisbee chasers, and all-around-balls-of-energy. So to maintain a subdued nature for two straight days is quite a chore. I definitely owe them some  excitement as soon as I can muster up the strength to put on actual clothes again some day. Real clothes would be nice too, because the ones I am wearing are covered in corgi hair. A fringe benefit of being covered in dogs all day means I am covered in a warm blanket of their never-ending supply of shedding fur. I also vow to brush them. Soon. Maybe tomorrow. If I feel better.....Check.

Oh, and I can't forget how important it is to have a caring and supportive boyfriend who is sympathetic of your plight and tells you to "walk it off, you're tough" at 6am when you have a fever. He did make me dinner last night and wash the dishes though, and he calls every couple of hours to make sure I haven't died, so I am very fortunate.

I hope you all manage to avoid the flu this year, or maybe you got the flu shot instead of defiantly insisting that "I never get sick", but in case you do end up in my situation, perhaps these strategies will help!

Welcome to 2011

Here it is folks, 2011. We all seem to act surprised when another year arrives, however, I think I would be more surprised if one didn't, so all in all it's a good thing. I've been meaning to start a blog for some time now, and at the risk of calling this a New Year's resolution, in which case it would almost certainly be doomed to failure, I will instead just call it the first of many new things to happen in this new year.

I can say without any hesitation that 2010 was the best year of my life. It started out a little rough, but with great promise, and quickly gathered momentum. My incredible boyfriend, my three amazing dogs, and myself all moved into our first apartment together in February. On my 30th birthday no less. This was the first of many new exciting things to happen, and without boring you with an entire list, included my first flight, trip to NY, trip to Niagra Falls (using my new passport for the first time and leaving the country for the first time), my first new car (I love my Element), competing with Xander (my baby border collie) in agility and frisbee and his first titles and first place ribbons, Buster and I celebrated our first anniversary together, we both got promotions at work, and now that I have in fact bored you with a list I will just say lots of fun and exciting things happened and culminated with an awesome holiday season.

So 2010 set the bar pretty high! I would like to say that 2011 will be as awesome as 2010, but I think it will be different. 2010 was a year of firsts, of beginnings and discoveries and adventures. I will always treasure that. It got the ball rolling in an awesome direction, and I feel that 2011 is going to be a year of carrying that momentum forward. A year of building, working, saving, and investing toward the future. I know that exciting and wonderful things will happen this year also, but my focus is going to be on the bigger picture, and long term goals. I want a house and a yard full of agility equipment. I want a really fulfilling, well paying job that thoroughly pushes my talents and capabilities. I want to pay off my debt and start saving more, and spending more wisely. I got a good start on this in 2010, now I really want to dig in and make it happen. In the meantime, I want to balance spending time and energy with the people I love, and working with my dogs and other personal projects.

So there it is. The first post of 2011, which has consequently been brought to you by the lovely cold I have been fighting, which finally knocked me down this morning. I may be hopped up on cold meds and go back to read this tomorrow and wonder what the heck I was thinking, but it is probably more honest than I could have written without the influence of psuedophedrin (and no Walgreen's pharmacy, I am NOT running a meth lab, thank you very much). So until next time, may 2011 bring you all the best!