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.
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