Pioneer Valley Days

Hey, Officer! How Much Wood Could I Ch-- Hey, What's THAT?

This is a woodchuck, although for most of his adventure wandering our neighborhood today, we thought he was a gopher, or perhaps a groundhog announcing six more weeks of chilly spring. We found him outside after Ripley spent 15 minutes pacing back and forth between the door and the window and basically driving us insane with the incessant tick-tick-tick of her nails against the wood floor. When Jenn looked outside to see what was getting under Ripley's skin, she found Mr. Woodchuck, walking slowly in circles around our side yard and under our cars. We think he was limping, but it's hard to tell with legs that small. He certainly wasn't right.

We sent Ripley down to the basement so she couldn't escape into the street and get into a possibly dangerous tussle, and Jenn called the cops to report the varmint. By the time she went back outside, a few other folks were keeping watch on the possibly-rabid woodchuck. My next-door neighbor, Mike, was watching the action from his front porch with a beer and his young son, clearly finding this more interesting than, say, Red Sox-Orioles. "Not since Jimmy Carter met with Hamas has a weasel gotten this much attention," I told him. I got a rim shot for my trouble. A few minutes later, we both had our cameras out.

The officer pulled up some 15 minutes after we called, which was certainly an improvement over the time, about seven years ago, we called around midnight to report an almost-certainly-rabid coyote in the woods behind our house. That officer didn't arrive for about 45 minutes, because some driver sideswiped him on the way over. Today's patrolman, thankfully dent-free, located the woodchuck, but stayed in his car for a minute or two.

"Probably calling animal control," someone said. "He doesn't want to touch him." Then he got out of the car and started behind the hedges where the rodent had made itself comfortable, partially blocking our view. "He's getting close. Is he going to grab him by himself?" I asked. "I don't know," someone said. "I thought animal contr--"

BLAM.

One shot. That's it. It was like the least successful Wonder Pets mission ever:

"A baby woodchuck..."
"...walking in circles..."
"This is sewi--"
BLAM!
(Long pause)
"Um, Linny, do we still get our celery?"

There was no warning from the cop, not even to ask Mike if he'd like to bring his kid inside first. However, the officer did, after the summary execution, ask Mike if he had a garbage bag. As it turns out, he had one. A shovel, too. And now, a lovely present for the trash collectors tomorrow.

I walked back in the house, where Maverick stood at the front door and promptly threw up at my feet. Probably the gunfire. Ripley got paroled, and they both went out into the fenced backyard to chase squirrels and wonder why only people in uniform get to go after the really big prey.

Later, Manny and Lowell went back-to-back, I started some laundry and did some blogging, and our neighborhood was back to normal. That's good -- the woodchuck was probably in pain, and you just don't want senseless animals wandering in circles for no apparent reason.

Which brings me to my Mom's pomeranian, Miki.

He's Older Than He's Ever Been, and Now He's Even Older

Not since the heyday of David Wells has someone with my physique done so well in a sport. But my dog is turning into Julio Franco. And Franco just retired.

They say youth is wasted on the young -- that we eventually gain wisdom and experience that we wish we could have put to use when our whole lives were before us, and our bodies didn't creak so much. Well, that's Maverick, he of the seven-and-a-half years and a rapidly whitening muzzle. Two years ago, we struggled all year to nail the weave poles without popping out. We pretty much solved that, but then we struggled last year with contacts; the dog has to touch the bottom, yellow-painted section going up or down the elevated dog walk and the steeper A-frame, and Mavi was jumping off too soon. This, too, we solved (and I'd like to credit ace instructor Elise Paffrath of Breeze Thru Agility for all these improvements). So we came into this season having finally worked out most of the technical kinks. And now Mavi won't run anymore.

Oh, he trots pretty well, but he's largely lost the powerful dash that, along with his tendency to stay with me and not get sidetracked, made him such a promising agility dog, even when he was having weave and contact issues. This year, for the first time ever, we're racking up NQs (non-qualifying runs) because we're over time -- this from a dog who has typically beaten time by 15 to 20 seconds on the longer runs. Two weeks ago, in Hamden, Conn. (pictured here), he loped his way to four Qs, and I was hoping for a perfect day, but on his final run, he stopped in front of a jump and wouldn't go over it -- also unheard of. This past Saturday in Seekonk, Mass., he lost Qs on two separate events when, at the end of each run, he refused to jump through the tire, instead wriggling under it. Overall, we finished 1 for 5. Ripley went 3 for 5 the following day, which, by her and Jenn's standards, is an off day -- and included one diabolical course that no one might have Qed.

The good news is, we've moved Mavi to 'veteran' class, meaning he'll jump 20 inches from now on, not 24 (we're usually the only dog jumping 24 anyway, so I have a lot of cheaply earned blue ribbons). We won't get any extra time, but I think the lower jump height will conserve some energy and help him run faster. On a side note, Jenn came back from Seekonk on Sunday saying the tire might have been slightly smaller than regulation, although it's hard to be sure. I'll go with that. It's better than thinking your dog is totally broken.

He's what, 50-something in dog years now? Franco called it a career at 49, so that's saying something. In a couple of years, Mavi will be past 64. I guess we'll still need him. I know we'll still feed him.

Oh, About Last Weekend...

Hey, Dad? Yeah, you in the hood. It's me, Ripley. I want to tell you something, OK? And I want to leave a message for you right now. 'Cause again, it's 1:30 here in Massachusetts on a Friday, and once again I've made an ass of myself trying to get you to post about last week's snowy agility event at a specific time. When the time comes for you to post, I stop whatever I'm doing, and I go and read that post. At 11 o'clock in the morning, and if you haven't posted, 10 o'clock at night. And you don't even have the $%#@& post up. I want you to know something, OK? I'm tired of playing this game with you. I'm posting this message to tell you that you have insulted me for the last time. You have insulted me. You don't have the brains or decency as a human being. I don't give a damn that you're busy, or you're upset about your performance as a handler last weekend, or that your dog, Maverick, is a thoughtless pain in the ass who doesn't even try to run the course right, as far as I'm concerned. You have humiliated me for the last time with your lack of postings.

And when I come into the next room in a couple minutes, I'm going to walk in there just to straighten you out on this issue. I'm going to let you know just how disappointed in you I am and how angry I am with you that you've gone this long without telling everyone how Mom and I got four Qs and three place ribbons last weekend, while you and Mav got none. You've made me feel like %$#&@, and you've made me feel like a fool over and over and over again. And this crap you pull on me with this %$@&# no-blogging situation that you would never dream of doing to Maverick when he Qs, you do it to me constantly and over and over again. I am going to get off this chair, and I am going to go into the next room, and I am going to straighten your ass out when I see you. Do you understand me? I'm going to really make sure you get it. Then I'm going to turn around, come back in here, and blog some more. So you'd better be ready today, Friday the 20th, to meet with me. I'm going to let you know just how I feel about what a rude little pig you really are. You are a rude, thoughtless little pig, OK?

I Certainly AM Smarter Than a Fifth Grader

So Jenn's starting to build some agility equipment in her garage workshop, and the illustrated plan for one of the jumps involves a right triangle with sides of 24 and 12 inches; she needed to calculate the length of the third side. Here's our conversation when she showed me the drawing:

Me: "Hey, an isoceles triangle!"
Jenn: "Yes, a right triangle. I need to know how long that piece is."
Me: "The hypotenuse."
Jenn: "Yes. Do you know the formula?"
Me: "Um, I think the lengths are supposed to add up to 180."
Jenn: "No, that's the angles. I need the lengths."
Me: "Oh. Well, let's draw it out and measure."
Jenn: "Um..."

That didn't go well at all, so I Googled "right triangle" and "hypotenuse" to find the formula, which is all Jenn wanted in the first place. (By the way, on the above drawing, the formula would be AB-squared equals AC-squared plus BC-squared. That made our missing length 26.83 inches. Yay for us.)

The point of all this, though, is what the hell information is being kept out of my brain because the word hypotenuse -- and its correct definition -- is still in there? When was the last time I needed to remember that? Seriously, I felt like washing my hands afterward. So, kids -- the next time you wonder when you'll need to know this stuff in real life, the answer is: when you're building agility equipment.

You're welcome.

A Clipping from the Associated Press

WESTERN MASS. -- Despite a right ear filled with bacterial juices, Maverick the dog's heart continued to overflow with competitive juices this weekend as his 31-second jumpers performance in a local AKC agility event vaulted him from the open class into excellent.

It was a remarkable turnaround for the golden retriever, who had started the day treating the standard course like a grassy field, bouyantly dashing between random jumps and tunnels with little regard for the numbered order of the obstacles -- or his handler -- leading to a quick termination of the run and dejected moans from the crowd gathered to watch the noted dog.

"Why bother?" the handler said afterward. "I don't think I'll be back for jumpers later today."

But the pair did return, and Maverick quickly justified the decision, bursting out of the gate with both speed and control, easily navigating front crosses at the third and ninth obstacles (a jump and a tunnel, respectively) and mismanaging only the final weave pole for his sole fault, a refusal penalty. From there, Maverick accelerated into an orange blur, taking the final eight jumps with heady precision. By the time the raucous applause died down, Maverick's performance had earned him a second-place ribbon and -- as his third qualifying run in open jumpers -- entry into the excellent class. He does, however, remain Q-less in open standard, owing partly to the fact that "he's a total doof first thing in the morning," the time when standard courses are usually run, according to his handler.

Maverick's performance capped a weekend in which he also sank several buckets in his brother's room (see photo). Maverick has also gained acclaim over the years by kicking a soccer ball around the yard, stopping soccer kicks with his face, and catching tennis balls thrown from a distance with his mouth, making him, by any definition, at least a four-sport athlete.

Ripley, Maverick's English springer spaniel sister who also competed at the agility trial, had no comment on the weekend's events.

My Father, the Hypocrite

Maverick here. Um, this is ridiculous. Yes, my ears runneth over with black stuff. They've done that for years. Bacteria and yeast, you know. At least the infection is pretty much limited to the right ear these days. But for some reason, my parents get all aggressive with my condition every now and then, and I'm now living through one of those months. Two cleanings every day, which involves much squirting of various substances into my ear and those horrible cotton balls, which aren't as soft as advertised when Mom is rubbing them against bloody, inflamed ear skin. And that medicine? It burns, burns, burns like a ring of fire.

And who is Mom's accomplice in this? Dad, who can't hear much of anything right now. And do you want to know why? Because the tubes in his ears are completely blocked by some stubborn infection, and have been that way for over a week. He says he's seeing a doctor on Monday, and that the ear problem is related to a lingering cold, and blah blah friggin' blah. I'm just left to wonder, why isn't Mom shoving cotton balls up Dad's ears twice a day? And why aren't I holding him by the face so he doesn't jerk suddenly or run away? That, my friends, would be justice.

And it would also be awesome. Squirt squirt, Dad!

It's OK, Ripley, We're Proud of You

"So, Mavi."
"Yes, Ripley?"
"How was your weekend?"
"Fine. How was yours?"
"Um ... fine. Notice anything about me?"
"You're a nice doggie, and a good sister."
"Yeah, um, that's great. Notice anything about me this weekend?"
"Well, we ran around the yard together. It was nice out."
"The SHOW, Maverick. Remember the show?"
"What show? The Wonder Pets?"
"The dog show!"
"They saved a dog? Yay!"
"No, OUR dog show! The one we went to!"
"We went to a show? Did I like it?"
"You know what, Maverick? Idiots are no fun to gloat with."
"You know, I really like tennis balls. Do you like tennis balls?"
"Sure, whatever, Maverick."
"And flowers. I like pretty flowers."

Look Who's Blue Now

Hey, Ripley here. I see that, while Maverick was quick to boast of his first-place agility ribbon from last month -- which, if you know him, you realize must have been fraudulently obtained -- he hasn't posted one thing about this past weekend. Allow me to fill in the details.

It was an icky, rainy morning when Dad and Maverick headed out to Granby for Sunday's agility competition. I had already bailed out of the weekend's events due to my female matters, so I actually got to spend a lovely couple of days relaxing in the dry house, wearing my fashionable denim shorts -- so already, you can see I'm smarter than Maverick. But get this -- he decided that what Dad really wanted on such an inclement morning was a bowl of soup ... in this case, what we agiliteers call "alphabet soup," a concoction served by a damp, no-nonsense judge and recorded by a scribe who might have grounds to sue for carpal tunnel. Let's examine the damage together:
W: Wrong course. Way to enter at the wrong end of the tunnel, you big orange butt.
R: Refusal. Um, the jump's over here, dingus. You can sniff around the dog walk later, so please get back on course.
F: Failure to perform. Way to make the ring crewperson have to get up and reset the bar you knocked over, moron.
R, R, F: Refusal, refusal, failure to perform. Blast it all! I entered the weave poles the wrong way! Let's try again. Oh no! I went in the wrong way again, and now I've decided to skip a few! Oh, let's just move on to the next obstacle. Assjacket.
W: Wrong course. I said there would be time to jump onto the dog walk later, fur for brains. Please get back here.
F: Failure to perform. Wonderful. Now it's really time for the dog walk, and what does he do? He jumps on it too high and misses the yellow contact zone. Um, thanks for playing. Hey, at least you finished well under the 74-second time limit. Bravo, dipwad.

You'd think they'd just pack up and head home at that p0int, since the next run was like six hours away, and the rain just kept falling. Not a chance. The next event was jumpers, run in such a sea of gooey mud that the judge ordered the walkers off the course by yelling, "everyone out of the pool!" -- to which Dad shouted "Marco!" -- to which no one shouted "Polo!" That was probably a bad omen right there that no one was going to listen to him today -- especially not a moist orange dog. I'm not even going to detail all the refusals and other faults here, but I will point out the "NT" marked down where a course time should be. That's because you have to finish a course (in this case, 17 obstacles) to get a time. Sniffing around the first eight obstacles and quitting at #9 just doesn't cut it. Sure, the mud was deep, the day was long, and Maverick really isn't smart enough to mind totally humiliating himself. But I still felt like this was a far more accurate representation of my idiot brother at play than some stolen blue ribbon.

OK, back upstairs to the kitchen to put on my shorts and pout about Mav getting to go to my agility class in Vermont for the second straight week. I've been told he was the best dog in class last week. Yes, of course he was. And if I hear anymore lies like that this week, I'm going to bite someone.

Yeah, but He's Still a Moron

"So, Ripley."
"Yes, Maverick?"
"Um ... how was your weekend?"

I Know This Is a Little Late...

...but Ripley wanted to wish everyone a truly horrifying Halloween.

No Quibbles, No Quitting -- Just Qs

This is Ripley's agility shrine in our basement. Maverick doesn't have a shrine yet, as we don't have many shrine-worthy, professionally shot (as these are) agility photos of the big guy. So his ribbons are hanging on the mirror in our bedroom. I'm showing you the shrine (which has at its center the best picture that anyone has ever taken of Ripley) to celebrate her performance this past weekend. At a Labor Day weekend meet, Rip picked up her second career qualifying run (known as a Q) on the standard course, as well as her third Q in jumpers. That means Ripley has earned her jumpers title and will move from the novice class to open. Her standard title is only one Q away, so Jenn's goal of moving into open in both categories by the end of this season is well within reach. Open courses are longer and trickier, and the judging is more strict (and it gets even harder in expert, the top competitive class). I was very, very proud of both ladies on Saturday, but I felt a little pressure to get a Q for Maverick on Sunday; both of his jumpers Qs have been earned with Jenn handling him, and I had been zero for the season since taking over.

Sunday did not begin well. Despite following our usual routine carefully (playing catch with Mav in an open field beforehand, walking him in the woods shortly before the run, wrestling with him moments before entering the ring), the big guy got distracted early during the standard event and picked up several faults right off the bat. Because he was so unfocused, I cut our run short, although I really should have finished the course, if only for the practice. Jenn encouraged me on the phone, reminding me that she had been a handler for a year longer than me, and that Rip went through some frustrating stretches when it didn't seem like she'd ever Q again. Besides, jumpers was the more important event, since one more Q could earn Mav his novice title, and he always performs better in the afternoon, when his energy level is starting to ebb.

As it turns out, he was great. In a run plagued by none of the near-misses of previous tries (like bars knocked over and weave problems), Maverick got his first Q with me, earning his jumpers title. Because Jenn handled him for his first two Qs last year, I figure that she gets the win and I get the save, but I'm still pretty proud. I must have been really intent on willing Maverick to a solid run, because afterward, someone pointed out that I unconsciously jumped a little myself every time I told Mav to leap over a bar -- a tendency that others have noticed. Ask Jenn -- it's kind of humorous, in a dorky way.

Overall, on a weekend that featured some absolutely gorgeous weather, the results weren't bad for our family -- three Qs in four tries. Not only that, but both runs that earned our jumpers titles were "clean runs" -- in other words, completed under the time limit with no faults whatsoever.

Maverick still wants his own shrine, though.

No Q for You!

You really can't blame Maverick too much for failing to qualify in either one of his agility events on Sunday. And I think I did really well as his handler, too. We're just chalking it up to bad luck that we came as close as we could possibly come to picking up two Qs, and probably two ribbons -- yet we came home with nothing. Sigh.

On the standard course, Mavi struggled with the weave poles, but he did complete them. After that, he picked up speed and seemed to gain focus, nailing all the obstacles. And I aced a perfect positioning maneuver late in the course that no other handler tried (it involved outrunning your dog to a spot) -- but that Jenn told me was the correct move. But on the third-to-last obstacle, the A-frame, Mavi jumped off before hitting the yellow contact zone at the bottom. It was a problem I had anticipated, but I still couldn't quite slow him down enough. Finishing 8 seconds under the time limit with only two other minor directional faults (both caused by me), that A-frame mistake, by itself, cost us the Q.

In jumpers, Maverick was equally focused following a non-critical stumble at the start, again caused by my own lack of focus. But halfway through the run, he knocked over a bar, which is another automatically disqualifying fault. The weave poles came later, and of course he was dead-perfect, since they didn't mean anything this time. Another great run, and another dumb Q-killing penalty.

In Mavi's defense, it was broiling hot this weekend, so I'm proud of him for focusing the way he did after an entire day outside. But Jenn and Ripley had just as hot a day on Saturday, if not hotter, and Rip still managed to pull out a Q in jumpers -- and a second-place ribbon -- several hours after getting hit with one too many minor faults in an otherwise excellent standard run.

As for Maverick, he needs one more Q in jumpers to get his novice title and move into the open division. And this marks the third time at this particular venue that one little error ruined an otherwise perfect run. Last year, he entered the wrong side of a tunnel -- a common mistake that day, since the ends were adjacent, something you don't often see in novice. It was his only fault, and a Q-killer. And earlier this year, he had yet another perfect run marred only by a knocked bar -- on the very last jump. Jenn handled him for both those near-misses, so she was a great comfort to me today, in that she knows exactly how it feels to come sooooo close.

On Labor Day weekend, though, that Q is ours. And stop gloating, Ripley.

Maverick Has Deep Thoughts, Too

Wow. Just look at him. Look at how happy he is. You know why he's so happy? Because they spoil him. It's true. While I'm walking around the yard trying to find a clear spot to do my business, Mom and Dad actually clean Nathan's butt off for him, apply powder and a soothing balm, and give him a fresh, clean diaper. Um, could he be any more useless? I mean, I'd like a touch of balm once in a while, too. It gets a little chappy back there. And please don't tell me I'm being silly -- it's rumored that Dad's first dog, Tiffany, used to have her rearward fur wiped with a damp paper towel when she came in from outside. That would be nice! And what's this now with the food? While Ripley and I are tossed a couple of semi-frozen turkey necks each morning, look at how Nathan gets spoon-fed! Um, I'd sure like my breakfast pureed and served to me like a delectable poultry smoothie! That would be cool! But no -- I know exactly where I stand in this family. And at the moment, I'll just continue to stand right here and wait for some rice cereal to drop on the floor. After all, I am not too proud to beg. Now, about that balm and powder...

A Happy Ending

You might like to know that Oliver and Taz, two of the nicest kittycats you'll ever come across, were adopted last week by a family with kids (they also have a dog and another cat). I passed along my e-mail to our vet today, and she'll ask the family to send us a brief update -- and maybe a photo or two -- if they want to. I can tell you that the couple were really taken with Ollie and Taz when they visited the vet, adopting them that day. I'm also told that Taz slept on their bed the first night (just taking over the house, as usual), while Oliver needed a day or so to come out of hiding, which is perfectly normal for him. Jenn and I are both grateful that they ended up with folks who will give them lots and lots of attention. They deserve it.

Who Doesn't Love Hot Dogs?

On Saturday, for the first and last time, we attempted to have both dogs -- and the baby -- at an agility competition on the same day. (Last time, I took Maverick one day, and Jenn took Ripley the next.) I went to the fairgrounds Friday evening to set up a tent next to the ring, and we all arrived Saturday morning -- to the most scorchingly hot day of the year. We soon realized there was no way Nathan could stay there. Direct sunlight was out of the question, but inside the tent, where we could block the sun, the temperature was just too high, and the dogs were spilling their water, creating mud, and walking on Nathan's blanket. So 20 minutes after we arrived, Nathan and I were on our way home to our new air conditioner.

I can't tell you how proud I am of Jenn and the dogs. In all their previous competitions, she had never handled both dogs on the same day without me there to take care of one while she prepared the other to run. But despite the logistical nightmare -- compounded by the terrible heat, a gap of about six hours between the jumpers and standard events, and a thunderstorm delay -- she and the dogs performed wonderfully. Yeah, speeds were down (every dog was slow that day), and they didn't qualify (again, Qs were few and far between in that weather), but both Mavi and Rip came as close as possible to qualifying without actually doing so. They were surprisingly focused, and mistakes were at a minimum. In fact, in the late-afternoon jumpers event, when everyone was tired and miserable, Maverick missed a Q only because he lightly grazed one of the final jump bars, knocking it over, and Ripley was perfect except for a wrong-course penalty for which Jenn blames herself. It was actually a very strong day for all three of them.

Now, on to the more pressing question. Why has Mother Nature decided to skip June?

Man's Best Friend

Well, I entered the world of competitive agility with Maverick for the very first time this weekend. And I'd have to say it went well. Maverick tends to lose focus at times at class, not to mention speed, but on Friday, he really had both going for him. Jenn taught me how she wrestles and plays with him moments before entering the ring, and that worked for me, too. In fact, his quickness and enthusiasm sort of worked against me as an inexperienced handler, but I believe I can learn from my mistakes when I return to the ring in two weeks.

Case in point: the first event, jumpers with weaves. It's basically a standard course with extra jumps, a couple of tunnels, and none of the three "contact obstacles" -- namely, the dog walk, the A frame, and the seesaw. Now, the course setup is always different from meet to meet, and this one was a dramatically looping path with one challenging aspect, where I had to cross behind Maverick as he made a jump in order to change his direction for the next one. During the walk-through, I practiced that move several times, and we aced it during the actual run. What I didn't consider was a strategy to keep Maverick from getting sucked into the tunnels at the wrong time; during a tight loop of jumps, the tunnel loomed close, and tunnels have a tempting allure for agility dogs. I didn't do my job keeping Maverick's attention focused on me, so he went straight into a tunnel when he wasn't supposed to -- a fault known as a "wrong course." Later, we had some trouble on the weave poles (pictured), at which he had excelled all week in class, so go figure. Due to the faults and our time, we did not have a qualifying run, but we finished the course, and Jenn and I both felt it was a positive experience.

Next up was the standard course (pictured is my practice run through the contact obstacles, not the actual event). After this event, I was absolutely thrilled with Maverick, even though a couple of faults kept us from qualifying. They included a "fly-off" on the dog walk, which is leaping off the red portion before touching the yellow base. Then we had more weave pole trouble (oh, well). But in all my time training with Mavi in class, he has never demonstrated the combination of speed and focus he had during this run. The high speed contributed to his fly-off, certainly, but for the most part, we were in total synch, his turns were sharp, and he simply devoured the contact obstacles like a dog possessed. Based on this performance -- which clocked in at 18 seconds under the time limit, by the way, even after futzing around way too long with the weave poles -- I am extremely confident heading into the rest of the season. I'm very proud of the big guy.

I'm even more proud of Jenn, who competed on Saturday. She ran Ripley to a qualifying score in jumpers (and a second-place ribbon to boot), and then added a very positive non-qualifying run on the standard course. All in all, I'd say Mavi and Rip both seem more focused than they were at the end of last season, and they shook the rust off very well. And so did their Dad, who, by the look of the photos here, could stand to lose a little weight around the middle.

Gametime Approaches

This photo depicts our two dogs at an agility competition last summer, but the looks of anticipation on their faces could apply just as well to this week. That's right -- opening day of their season approaches! We started earlier last year, but we didn't have a newborn last year. So Mavi and Rip get to launch their 2005 campaign on Memorial Day weekend. Jenn brought Maverick to an extra practice session on Monday, but it was a waste of time; he was completely unfocused and didn't want to do anything. Maybe it was a sign of things to come when I make my handling debut on Friday, but perhaps he no longer recognizes Jenn as his handler. Ungrateful dog. That's fine -- Jenn will take Ripley to extra practices from now on. Ripley did much better at her regular class last night, and Nathan got to meet the Tuesday crowd for the first time! (He had already gone on Thursdays a few times.) He was also very well-behaved, fighting off one bout of crankitude and then falling asleep. Ripley, of course, fell completely apart at one point when I took Nate out of her sight for a few minutes. She's very protective. Jenn and I will be competing on separate days this week (so that, if the weather's nasty, we don't want to have to bring Nate), but if I do bring the boy down to see her run, maybe I should be careful not to let Ripley know we're there until her event is over.

Anyway, there will be full competition updates this weekend. Let's hope our dogs are able to shake off the rust, and let's hope Mavi's new handler doesn't embarrass himself too much. There could be hot dogs in it -- for both of us -- if we kick butt.

The Start of a New Adventure

This was kind of a sad morning. I drove Oliver and Taz to our vet, who also runs a pet adoption agency. Once we clean our rugs, I'm assuming Nathan's suspected allergy will clear up. Unlike the MSPCA here in Massachusetts, this organization is no-kill: they'll keep pitching the cats for adoption until they find a home. Until then, they're staying in a really big, two-story kennel chamber right at the vet entrance, so they can see what's going on. I don't know who wouldn't want two sweet, affectionate, 8-year old brothers, so my guess is they won't be there very long. Here's what I wrote for the benefit of prospective adopters when they visit the vet's office:

Anyone want two really nice cats?

The only reason they’re here and not with their original family is that our newborn son is allergic, just like his dad, and we don’t want to risk our baby’s health. We are very sorry to see them go, but we’re hoping they can find a home with someone who really wants to give them lots of affection and love.

Oliver (the short-haired, charcoal-colored one) is a very friendly, very expressive cat who will purr contentedly when pet. He craves attention, so he’d like to go to a home where he can get plenty of petting and lap time. He’s not as quick as his brother to adapt to changing situations, though, so he’ll be a little more nervous and timid at first (but still very affectionate). Give him a little time; he’s a wonderful cat who just wants to be loved.

Taz (the lighter-colored, longer-haired one) is equally friendly and affectionate, but he seems to be a bit more independent than Oliver. He’ll seek you out for attention by brushing your leg or jumping into your lap, while Oliver is more likely to plant himself near you, look at you and vocally ask to be petted (although he’ll occasionally jump into your lap, too). While both cats love people, when guests have visited our house, Taz is always the first to make an appearance, and his brother works up the nerve a little later.

These two are brothers and are inseparable. They eat from the same food and water bowl. They’ve been on many cat foods, but frankly, they’ve taken to cheap ol’ Whiskas better than anything else. They’ve been fed once a day, in the morning. If you need to shave Taz or cut either of their nails, they’re pretty submissive in letting you do it. Their litter box has been one with a cover, but they’ll probably take to anything. They like curling up on beds or couches and looking out windows. They’re indoor cats and would not do well outdoors at all. But once in a while, they’ll sneak outside, just to be adventurous, and then run back in. Both like playing with battable objects such as plastic milk carton tabs or fake mice. In fact, Taz used to fetch and bring back the mice for us. Maybe he’d do that again sometime; it’s been a long time since we tried it.

These guys really deserve a good home. We hope someone can provide them with one.

A Home for Ollie and Taz

Does anyone want two very affectionate, although somewhat weird, cats? We ask for two reasons. First, I worry that Nathan will eventually develop a cat allergy -- I have dealt with a horrible one all my life, and it was a major struggle adjusting to these two guys -- and we want the finished basement to be a play area for Nate, not an off-limits zone because it's full of cat hair and litterbox scents. (The cats have the run of the house during the day, but they sleep in the basement.) And, let's face it, Nathan runs the place now, demoting the dogs slightly down the food chain, which in turn drops the cats waaay down the priority list. So there's got to be a better home for these two friendly, low-maintenance brothers, a place where they can be the center of someone's attention (they looove attention). Now, we're not dropping them off at any pounds -- we really do want to place them together in a good home. Until then, they'll be well-cared-for with us. Any takers?

P.S. Don't be scared off by the pissed-off look on Ollie's face. He was moody that day, probably because he knew his picture would eventually be posted on a web site asking if anyone wants him.

Warning: Violent Footage

Since I'm writing about agility today, I thought I'd share the following horrifying montage, captured on film at a competition last year. Sure, Maverick isn't always focused on his next run while he waits in his pen. Sometimes he hunts.

The Petty Schemers

I was quite glad that Jenn had a little outing last night while I stayed home with Nathan. She does a great job with him all day, but sometimes you just need to go hang out with other adults. And their dogs.

Yes, Jenn made her long-awaited return to dog handling last night, taking Ripley to her weekly agility class. Rip has been extremely focused lately -- let's see if that translates to competition. We did over a dozen events last year, and so far we have two meets scheduled for May and June. The only difference this year is that I get to run Maverick, and Jenn will run Ripley (she handled them both last year). That allows us to go on separate days of an event, with the other one staying home with Nathan. Of course, if it's a fair-weather day, he can be brought to the meet, but he doesn't have to be there all day, which is nice.

The dogs are hilarious. They recognize class nights (Ripley on Tuesdays, Maverick on Thursdays) by the ceremonial cooking of the hot dog, and they both plead and whine and jump around, like we're making the decision on who gets to go to class based on which dog makes the more compelling argument. So I got to watch Mavi mope and pace after Jenn and Ripley left, pondering what he could have done differently. Jump higher? No, that's not it. More whining? Nah, they just don't seem to go for that. A written essay? Good idea, but I have no thumbs, and my fur would smear the ink...

On Thursday nights, I'm guessing Ripley doesn't pace or whine nearly as obviously, and her ponderings take a different form. A dog with broken legs couldn't possibly go to class, right? And they paid in advance, so they have to take somebody, right? So if I can just get Mavi close to the basement stairs when they open the door...

Babyproofing!

We did our first babyproofing project today when we installed a cat door in the hallway. (And due to Jenn being pregnant, I had to use power tools, including a jigsaw, so I'm pretty darn proud of that.) We installed the device on a door that we normally leave ajar so the cats can come and go between upstairs (where we live) and the basement (where their litterbox and food dish live). The problem, at least down the road, is that babies + open doors above stairways = not a good match. The more immediate problem is that Ripley has taken a liking to Whiskas, and that problem is now solved, as she can't fit through the new cat door any more than a baby can.

The way it's going, however, nobody's going through the door. It's been difficult to train the cats in how to use the thing. But Taz is slowly starting to understand, with the help of catnip, how to push the flap and pass through the door. That's right -- someone in this house was recently offered drugs as an incentive to push, and it wasn't my pregnant wife.

Oliver's situation is much more worrisome, and I fear he will spend the rest of his life in the basement. To him, that's far preferable to the unknown horror which is the cat door. The best he can currently do is sit fearfully at the bottom of the stairs and meow helplessly. Even catnip proves to be no use.

I fear he may be beyond help. But have fun downstairs, buddy. The baby's safety is, quite honestly, way more important than whether you ever see the light of day again. On the plus side, your breakfast is completely safe.

Get Your Mind out of the Gutter

I added a photo to a previous post. It's pretty hot. So if you're interested in looking at a cute young bitch in a thong...

Why Can't Ripley Read?

This is Ripley's thong. It's not really a thong, but that's what we call this frilly, pad-lined panty thing that she wears for a few weeks a year when she's in heat. Because she's such a cool dog, this garment is hilariously mismatched to her personality. When she wears it to agility class, you can actually hear the other dogs snicker. Jenn is quick to note that I picked it out, which is true, but it keeps the blood off the carpet, and that's all that matters.

I only point out Ripley's current womanliness to note that I have not gotten around to adding The Velveteen Rabbit to the baby's bedtime reading list yet. Why? Because Ripley is sleeping in her crate in another room while she's in heat -- instead of with us, as she usually does -- and I think she would enjoy that book, too. So we'll just wait a couple of weeks. For now, the Wombinator continues to enjoy educational selections from Childcraft encyclopedias. The past five nights, he has heard about: hero dogs from years ago who rescued their owners from danger; how dinosaurs are related to birds; how today's reptiles eat and move about; what happened to the crew of the Mary Celeste; and stories about places we've been, like Florida, Alaska, and Philly, and places we want to take him someday, like Ireland. Pretty diverse stuff, if you ask me. I think I'm getting Jenn intrigued by Childcraft, although we've already come across a few pieces of outdated information.

Tonight's another parenting class, which is always something to look forward to, and I'm also signing up for a one-day session next month called Boot Camp for Dads, where recent fathers bring their babies and talk to expectant dads about the new life that awaits them. It's supposed to be a way to ease our anxieties, but part of me suspects that once the doors are closed and the parent education administrator is out of the room, all the new fathers will turn to us, drop their pretend smiles, and say, "OK, guys, I don't know what you've heard, but the reality is even worse."

Just kidding. I'm actually really looking forward to our new life. And we've been hearing positive stories about parenting, too. While waiting for a table at On the Border last weekend, we chatted with a mom and dad who brought their two sons, one only eight months old. They said they went out to dinner every single night in the weeks leading up to their first child's birth, fearing they'd never see the outside of their house again, but it hasn't been like that at all. They simply make do. I must note, however, that the eight-month-old was especially well-behaved. Every kid acts differently, I'm sure.

Maybe our child will be a perfectly cultured little lady or gentleman, one we'll be proud to take with us everywhere. And culture and gentility begin with a proper education. Break out the Childcraft.

School Days for Dogs

As you might know, we have agility dogs. If you don't know what agility is, you might have seen it on TV at some point -- it's basically a sport involving an obstacle course, filled with between 14 and 20 challenges such as jumps, weave poles, tunnels, and stuff to climb over. In competition, if the dog (guided by the handler) finishes the course under a certain time and with a minimum of "faults" (doing an obstacle out of order, knocking over a bar, etc.), he or she receives a qualification, or a "Q," and accumulates these over time to move up to higher levels of competition. Maverick and Ripley love agility. And they love their weekly agility classes just as much. The photo is of Ripley descending the A-frame at one of her early classes (I know it's early, because she's still on a leash; they drop that pretty quickly).

Jenn's a terrific handler, but she's gradually trained me to take over handling duties at class during the final couple months of her pregnancy. Despite a tendency to get a bit frustrated (which I've successfully reduced, thankfully), things are going well on that front. In fact, Jenn thinks Maverick runs so well with me that I should run him in competition this spring, in addition to my usual gameday jobs of lugging chairs and setting up the dog pen. I'll be really nervous, but I'll try it. Jenn says she's nervous every time, but you wouldn't know it. She's cool like that.

Anyway, you just know our child will eventually run dogs in competition, too. And probably much better than I would.

The Fuzzy Kids

Introducing some of the cast of characters, so you can get a feel for the little zoo my wife and I have already assembled.

Name: Maverick the Golden Retriever

Age: 4

Interests: The ball, the ball, the ball, the ball, food, the ball, the ball, sleeping, the ball, the ball, the ball, the ball, agility, the ball, and the ball.

Drawbacks: The worst chronic ear infection known to mankind. It's so bad that we've wondered if it's enough to get Ty Pennington and crew to come build us a new house, but there are probably more tragic stories out there. Some days, though, you wouldn't think so. Oh, and he's also kind of oversensitive, like his father.

Projected reaction to new baby: Some three or four weeks after the baby arrives home, Jenn and I will be talking to the baby, and Maverick will lift his head from the pillow and ask, "there's a baby?" He's a golden, after all. But eventually, if the child learns how to throw a ball, all will be quite well in Mav's world.

Name: Ripley the English Springer Spaniel

Age: Almost 3

Interests: Agility, home security, food, her mom's lap, chasing squirrels, and politics. She used to run a web site.

Drawbacks: The sin of pride, mostly.

Projected reaction to new baby: In this order: (1) "WHAT'S THAT LIVING IN OUR HOUSE? I MUST BARK AT IT! I AM THE DEFENDER OF THE HOUSE!" (2) "Oh, a baby? Cute! Can I sniff the baby? I'm still the special little girl, right? I am? Great! Yay! A baby!" (3) "I MUST BARK AT ANYTHING THAT PASSES WITHIN 100 YARDS OF THIS PROPERTY! I AM THE DEFENDER OF THE BABY!"

Name: Oliver the Pissy Kitty

Age: Going on 8

Interests: Whining.

Drawbacks: Whining.

Projected reaction to new baby: "Maybe he'll pay attention to me."

Name: Taz the Disturbing Kitty

Age: Going on 8

Interests: Irritating Ripley, Q-tips, dreaming of escape.

Drawbacks: An unbearably high-pitched crying sound, vomiting, unspeakable acts involving his brother.

Projected reaction to new baby: We have no idea, but it had better be the right one. Some animals are on thinner ice than others.