Memoirs of an Agility Dog #1

have said, he is a nice guy and I didn't want to screw up his social life or anything.

  We moved on soon enough anyway, heading with the crate to a nice camp spot for the day, Rocket walking alongside with his human friends. They were a guy and a girl, and I was sure they were mating on the side, not that it was any of my business. We all spent a lot of time together and they were all cool and free enough with their food, and I gave them plenty of licking in return. In all, it was a pretty good relationship. Rocket wasn't competitive either, not any more, so it was a nice little group. We found a quiet corner and set up: water, blanket, crate. It looked good...

  That was until the Afghan walked past. I just froze. He was so near, so tall, and the damn hair was shimmering in the morning sun. And then there was that creepy walk. I saw his eye flick toward me and there was this flash of an evil sneer, his tail high and flagging in the breeze. If he wasn't leading his human somewhere then I just knew he would have had me, I was sure of that. I was glad when they got some distance away.

  Rocket was shaking his head. “Boris is a nice guy,” he was saying, and I knew he was laughing at me, at least on the inside. But then Rocket had been around a while and he had earned a lot of respect. It was easy for him to be relaxed.

  “I'll remember that when you're pushing up daisies in your back yard,” I flashed back at him, but he just smiled and shook his head and curled up on the blanket.

  I still had a chill inside and decided to hit the crate. I did a quick perimeter check. It was safe, secure. I even pulled the door closed just to be sure. That way I could rest in peace. I even got a “good man” from Hips-Guy, or something to that effect, so I knew he understood even if Rocket didn't.

  And I slept, dreaming of that damn Afghan.

  When I woke I wasn't very well rested at all, but I could see it was time for a warm up. I never got the schedules straight at competitions like this. It was all organized by humans, I was sure of that, and so usually a mess. I'm not sure they took much notice of dog's biorhythms at all sometimes. I did eventually at least convince Hips-Guy to make a toilet stop, so that was helpful, even if he did have to collect it again. Then I tried to have a run across the field and get the Afghan of my mind.

  That was impossible.

  When we headed to the ring he was there as well, waiting like some wolf ready for a kill. I doubted he actually would kill me, or anything like that – nobody ever killed anyone. There were scuffles, sure, but we were all civilized dogs and humans here. He still freaked me out though, and he was so close, sitting there and smiling at me.

  I tried to forget about it and concentrate. We had a run coming up, I could see that. There were jumps out in the ring and I could only assume Hips-Guys had taking a look at the course while I slept and knew where he was going. I could never figure out why they let the humans look over the course but not the dogs. I mean, we were the ones running the damn thing. But as I say, it's a human organised event, so you have to expect some oddities.

  There was a border collie running it already, but it wasn't anyone I knew. They weren't doing well either, that was clear. It was a tight course and his turns were wide. I know I wasn't that hot either, and I was nowhere near as fast as this guy, but at least I could make a turn when I wanted to. The Grim Reaper in the middle was watching him hard as well. That's what I called them at least. There was always one in the middle of the ring somewhere, watching everything you did. I mean, I'm sure they were great humans at home, and I knew a few hear and there, but when they were out in the ring like that they were the Grim Reaper. One word out of them and you were dead, at least for that run. Okay, sure, sometimes they talked all the time in some events, but I was still trying to figure that one out. Most of the time it was all over if they spoke, and the hands would be firmly on the hips of my own Hips-Guy when that happened.

  There were too many distractions, I was sure of that, and the Afghan nearby was the main one. When we went for the line I glanced back towards him, saw him still smiling. Then there was a nod. I could just sit there and stare as my collar came off. I didn't even see Hips-Guy head into the ring. I was elsewhere, and that was never a good thing. When I heard him bark I was clueless, and it even took me a couple of seconds to figure out even where he was.

  He barked again, and I tried to pull it together, checked to see where the hell he was pointing. There was a nice easy line of jumps, at least for a start. And I went for it, actually ran harder than I normally would, anything to get some distance on the Afghan. As I went for the third jump Hips-Guy called me off, pushed me through a gap toward a tunnel. I gave a quick yelp in return. It was one of those sorts of courses, one where I was going to need to watch every move he made, every twitch and turn.

  As I came out of the tunnel I checked back for directions, ducking between obstacles to get myself clear for the next. It was tight, sure, but I was good at tight. I wasn't fast, I knew that, but I could turn easy. I lost count of obstacles as they came fast and furious, knew we had to be getting close to the end. And it felt great, that was always a good sign, and even the Afghan was easy to ignore when I caught a glimpse of him out there beyond the rope.

  The end was near, I was sure of it, but it was still tight and fast. As I came out of another tunnel there were two jumps ahead and I heard Hips-Guy call, turned to watch him, saw the turn of a shoulder. And I went for the jump hard, leapt at it with all I had...

  Then he called me off. As if I had a hope. I was well airborne and he would have known that. I could only glare back at him. He really did have to be kidding.

  I heard the Grim Reaper speak and I didn't have to see the hands go to the hips to know they were already there. I just hit the ground and skidded to a halt, tail well down, and I was unsure I even wanted to look. It was a nice run up until then, so I knew he was not going to be happy. When I did dare a peak I caught a hint of a smile, even though his hands were on his hips. Then he pointed back over the other jump. It was his fault, I was sure of that, but then it had been a tricky course. Like I said, if they let the damn dogs see the course before a run this wouldn't be a problem. Humans were just... odd.

  There was a pat anyway as we hit the finish, so it wasn't all bad news. All I had to do was get back past the Afghan and all would be well. He was still smiling at me and we were moving close no matter how much I hinted to Hips-Guy that I wanted to be elsewhere.

  Then Boris the Afghan shook his head and the creepy hair rippled even more. “Bad luck, man,” he said. “That was a nice run.”

  I was stunned, unsure of what to say. He caught me by surprise and his smile and wink were more than a little disarming. “Thanks,” I tried as a response. Then I looked back to the course. I knew he had to be up soon. “And good luck out there.” I couldn't think of anything else to say, and I kept my tail down just to be on the safe side.

  He seemed to think that was funny, somehow. “Always another day, Steve. Always another day.”

  And we left. I was still somewhat in shock, but then I started to wonder if maybe Rocket was right. Maybe the Afghan was a cool dog after all. But his hair and the walk were still creepy. There was no getting around that.

  For now it was back to waiting, but I knew there would be another run for sure. There were always two or three, or sometimes more. My maths wasn't great, though, so counting over three was always going to be a hassle. I didn't really care. I could have run all day, but I knew Hips-Guy couldn't do all that many. Not that he even ran that much, although he did try to keep up. Hopefully he would get it right next time.

  Which he did. It was me and only me that blew the next run.

  It was an easy course, too easy, and I think that had a lot to do with it. Plus I was on a bit of a high after the Afghan incident. It was like a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders. He was there, but he was cool, just smiling and generally chilling out near the ring. His run was okay, but he knocked a few bars and blamed it of all the damn hair. Those were his words, not mine.

>   Then in the middle of my run I caught the whiff of a Labrador on the back turn near a tunnel and just had to stop for a sniff. As I say, I was way too relaxed, and she smelt so damn good. I could almost see her loping over the field, all her chubby goodness ripping under the sun...

  I had to mark the spot, that was a given. I had to let her know I was interested; wanted to let everyone know I wanted a piece of that. Sure, I knew better, but it was so much in the heat of the moment that I couldn't resist. The hands were on the hips, of course, and the Grim Reaper gave me a major kiss of death. We didn't even finish the run, so I knew it was bad. There was no smile and no pat, and even Rocket could only shake his head when I got back to the camp. Hips-Guy talked to Rocket's friends but ignored me in the crate.

  Yep. I screwed up on that run – all for a damn Labrador.

  I spent quite a while laying there hoping there was another run – at least for some hope of salvation. I knew if I could get one nice clean run he would be happy and I'd get fed. Okay, sure, he'd likely find some food no matter what, but the service was always better when he was happy. He wasn't the greatest around the house at the best of times, and it was starting to look like one of those days I was getting dry gravel on