A Special Day in an Extraordinary Life
She started squealing as I pulled into the parking spot at the River Center in St. Paul. She does that now, much more often than she ever used to, and regardless of whether she knows where we are going. Her hearing is almost all gone, so I have learned how to communicate with her differently. She sleeps extra soundly these days, but is always ready for a trip in the car.
As I pulled out her soft crate and attached her leash she pulled impatiently, eager to get to the destination. We made our way through the skyway towards the site of the big dog show and she trotted along confidently, oblivious to the exuberant Norwegian Elkhound, barely managed on a flexi leash, who lunged in her direction. Because we were flyball exhibitors, I did not have to pay admission and was thrilled to be able to spend this day with my best girl.
Nine years ago, she had been a competitor at this show in the world of breed conformation. She had been highly regarded by her breeder and I felt like I should give her a chance to make it in the show ring. I was a terrible handler and was lucky enough to have a good friend show her for me. She won big at this show nine years prior and it was an occasion I would never forget.
She never finished her championship, however. After another nine months of showing and always coming in as runner up, I gave up the dog show beauty pageants to focus on her sports. Together, we learned how to be a team in agility, field and obedience. She also ran flyball, which she loved. Never really fast, she was dependable and sturdy. We competed in flyball for 10 years and she earned a longevity award.
It was flyball that got us into the big dog show for free nine years later. As we made our way to the crating area, I marveled at how easy she had always made things for me. Whether traveling in the car, staying in a hotel, walking around a huge venue, meeting people and other dogs, she was always the gracious companion. In the early years, I barely noticed. I seemed to always be more focused on the competition at hand then my teammate on the other end of the leash.
When we started competing in agility I would be so nervous I would stay in the car until it was our time to run. We would run and then I would go back and sit in the car, obsessing over the course map, trying to get ready for the next run. When waiting our turn in the holding blind to run in hunt tests I sometimes felt as though I might throw up. She, on the other hand, could barely contain her excitement, often screaming at the line when the birds went down. In Juniors, the judges thought that was cute. It took us two years and a lot of training to get that JH.
And in the middle of it all, she almost died.
She suddenly crashed on a Friday evening in early June. I took her into the U of M where she spent 5 nights and 4 days and received two blood transfusions. She was four years old and severely anemic. Every time I left her at the hospital, I made a promise that I would never again care about the titles and the competitions if only I could have her back.
She did come back. And we did go back to our sports. My attitude changed. I worked harder to manage my nerves. She obtained those final two passes for her JH. And a month later, won an obedience award at our breed specialty. We picked up obedience as a way to get a special prize for qualifying in 3 different sports at the specialty. We had never really trained obedience – I started it at home about three months before the specialty and she performed as if we had been doing it for years.
She was just that kind of dog.
All these memories of achievements were going through my head at the big dog show when we encountered her breeder, who was happy to see her and introduce her to people. My heart swelled with pride and joy as she poked people’s hands and pockets for food.
Our first flyball run at the big show was a bit of a disaster. She bobbled the ball, slipped on the mats and came down awkwardly. At 10 years of age, this caused me some concern. We lined up to race again and she did it perfectly. Four more times and we were done with the demo.
Her breeder was also concerned and suggested we not run the second demo. I agreed. No demo was worth a potential injury, even though she was bouncing around like a pup.
It was now time to walk around and enjoy the show.
Downstairs on the main level, we stopped by a photo booth for 3D printing. I marveled at the technology and decided that this day was, in fact, a moment in time I wanted to preserve forever. We stepped into the odd set up. Neither of us knew what to do nor, so it seemed, did the two young men running the booth. We had to pose about seven times before we got a shot that would work. I thought it looked great. I paid my money for a model to be created later and we went to get mini donuts.
All along our walk through the show, people would approach, drawn to her sweet face. Children, especially, wanted to pet her. And she wanted to jump on them.
As she interacted with her fans, I continued to bask in memories of all the miles we had traveled, all the friends we had made, all the adventures we enjoyed. Because of her, we earned the right to compete in national events for agility and flyball. I thought about how much I took her temperament for granted all those years I struggled as a novice dog trainer and handler. And how I finally was able to make the shift away from measuring success with ribbons and titles to enjoying each and every moment with my special teammate.
I thought about her remarkable recovery from cancer two years ago and her subsequent return to agility and flyball. By this time it was purely about the joy.
As our big dog show day wound down and we packed up, I made an appointment with her chiropractor, just to make sure everything was in its right place. She was silly with the chiropractor, rolling around for a belly scratch. One would never guess how out of alignment she actually was.
Some days later, the notes from the visit came in my email:
Casey did a flyball demo at Land O Lakes dog show. Spun out and landed on her back at the box. Then smashed into a cement wall when she was all done. Oh Casey….
How fortunate I have been and still am, to be sharing my life with this remarkable creature, whose greatest gift has been her ability to accept whatever life has thrown her way, including me and all my flaws.