Like a sassy little crab, we hope to just scuttle along sideways. At the beach!

What if we just worked really hard on being mediocre? Which would probably mean only working sort of hard. Which probably is the level we actually are working at. Really hard falls into the category of packs full set of weave poles and jumps in car, drags to a local school field and unloads and sets up a drill and practices then packs it all up and takes home and puts away every single morning before work.

Sort of hard, you know.


This frees one up for striving to being able to hover around the level of average. A sideways trajectory.


Reworking the mindset to keep failing, until we accidentally no longer fail. Maybe. Or maybe not. But with time left over to watch the whole LCD Soundsystem movie. From start to finish. Shut up and play the hits.

The young forest where the ship rests high up in a tree.

Before we go to the nursing home, all the dogs have an early run in the forest. So early there's no rooster crows from across the gulch. We walked up to where there's an old piece of ship hidden high in the trees. Someone can climb up there, but none of us. It must have washed up there long ago, when the ocean was as high as the mountain. As forests go, this one is young, trees that sprung up on their own after the mountain was wiped clean in the 1850's.

In dog years, that's still pretty old, old enough for trees to get plenty tall. and have more than 150 birthday candles. In tree years, 150 is nothing. 150 is spindly and young. 150 years old and being a baby, still not knowing your fate. 5 years from now there could be a road here. 5 years from now and this whole forest could be burned up in a fast moving blaze. 5 years from now and it could still look pretty much like it does today.

I've been taking Gustavo to visit at the same nursing home for 5 years now. Gustavo is 6, going on 7, the middle of his life for a little dog, but old enough to not have any teeth. His official title is therapy dog. It's a pretty easy job, within a specialized sector of employment. He's qualified for the position but he'd probably rather be doing something else. Isn't that how most of us feel?

His whole job to be cute, sweet, and like to sit on laps. He tolerates being smashed on tight against ancient, sagging breasts and being clawed by hands rolled up into permanent fists. When they start to squeeze hard enough to pop out his eyeballs, I grab him back and present the grand finale fancy trick show. Sit. Lie Down. Roll. On a good day, he can lay on a bed with someone, and relax and ride it out until quitting time.

By the end of an hour, he looks pretty much like he does mid way through a long day at a dog show. Wiped beyond belief. It's distressing. Kind of panty, eyes glazing over, and like he'd rather be anywhere else. Starts moving slowly and gazing into some distance we can't see. He can run for hours in the forest, and never once look like this. Situations that require brain power run out his battery alarmingly fast.

We always visit our old friend last. I'll call him Abe. He's a lifer, been there as long as we've been visiting. The lifers live in their own quadrant, a cell block where the rambling and paranoid roll themselves slowly down the hall. Don't show them the dog.

When we first started coming, Abe would stumble through some dance steps with me, and show me old photo albums. Quite a dancer he was, in the old days, with Mexican boots and big white cowboy hat. Now he's only in a wheelchair, and can't get any words out. He has one sound like baaaaaa. That's his only voice to say everything. Big, thick glasses, and wears actual pants with a plaid shirt. Everyone at this nursing home is usually pretty clean, but can be dressed in ensembles ranging from open back hospital gown to cat decorated polyester sweat suit with stacks of mardi gras beads. Abe stands out.

I'm always happy to see him, even though he squeezes me until almost my eyeballs pop out. In a vaguely inappropriate manner. I keep my distance and send air kisses through the industrially clean scented air. I guess he's happy that he's been able to stay alive. That's a privilege, right? The whole point? Making it so far, even though all you've made it to is a mechanical bed with more old guys in the same boat on the other side of a curtain.

I don't know how many years he has left, in that tiny third of a hospital room. Would 5 years like that go by quick, like in dog years? Or like tree years. A drop in a bucket, with many more, just like the year before, still left ahead to slowly wait for what comes next.

Here's what's wrong with Greg Louganis's tv show Splash: Not enough dog agility.

Pitch for a really good tv show. This is quality tv. Why hasn't someone done this already?

14 dog lovin' B/C-list celebrities sign on for an intensive dog agility training cramming boot camp. Each week, they compete against each other to see who will be voted off the island. The remaining competitor by the end of the season is crowned Super Dog Agility Super Champ! At the start of the season, they just have to get their dogs through an easy sequence with a tunnel and a couple of jumps. By the end of the season, there are Tricky Snookers Challenges and Super Far Away Gambles and Excellent Contacts and Long International Handling Course.

Their mentor during boot camp should probably be Jim Basic. He has excellent ready for tv puns. And Nancy would be there, too. She would get those celebrities' dogs tugging and doing their poles in no time. Although it could be Greg Louganis, since he's done this already. He has really good tv outfits.

Celebrity List for Season One:


Matthew McConaughey-OK. He is A-list but he could totally win this.

Singer/Drug Addict Courtney Love-Excellent flair and drama potential.


Comedian Kathy Griffith-self admitted D-lister with dogs who would provide jokes and whining.

Daughter of Ozzy Osborne Kelly Osborne- Has loads of dogs and tons of tv experience.


The Beverly Hills Real Housewife with an English accent who always carries around a really tiny little pomeranianesque dog. That guy in the tux could be on it too. If he has a dog.

Loud Singer Mariah Carey-Has she moved to the C-list yet? Has a jack russell. He could use the exercise.


Mickey Rourke-Has loads of chihauhuas. Also excellent flair and drama potential.

Giants pitcher Timmy LIncecum with his Frenchie. Smokes pot.


Songstress Paula Abdul and chihuahua. A proven reality tv competition show veteran.

The Martha Stewart and her chow, not sure if she would do it but she should be invited anyways.


Tennis ladies Venus and Serena Williams and their purse dogs, one of them could totally win it.


Olympic skier Picabo Street lives in Portland AND has a cattle dog. May know Greg Louganis.

Little person actor from the Station Agent Peter Dinklage. So awesome.

The competition ring set would be all tacky styled by whoever is in charge of things like this for network tv. Have you seen the Greg Louganis diving show? Custom pagent swim wear made from shiny, clingy, sparkly stuff. There seems to be a very specific aesthetic, who am I to argue with this? I would help them design obstacles. Glittery! A visual train wreck of dog agility insanity like we've never seen before.

I will say it again. This is QUALITY TV. WHY HASN'T SOMEONE DONE THIS ALREADY? What it they really did all live together in a big house on an island? And had to sew their own clothes? And make dinners out of the mystery ingredient in half an hour?

Proven Success! Who will be crowned Super Dog Agility Super Champ?

The Long Way Wrong Way Long Way to get to the River.

I am a pretty good person to walk with. I will walk as far as you want to, short walk, long walk, it's all good with me. My dogs automatically hop up on stumps for photoshoots, and will jump into the river whenever possible. Me and the dogs like to walk quiet and stealthy, maintain a low profile in the trees. Gustavo and Otterpop lead the way, and me and Ruby follow behind. We all make sure we can alway see each other, and everyone whose name is Gustavo has now learned to stay on our path and not take off after critters.

My biggest problem of walking is that I like to take different paths, and I don't use a map.

The map is in HERE. I am tapping my noggin. And usually, I can figure out where we are going.

We're not talking deep, dark wilderness adventure here. I am hiking on various lands accessible to roads and state parks. I might not say exactly which ones, so that they stay empty, because we like to walk without running into others. Also I might not officially be welcome on all of them. But if one were to get lost, theoretically, it wouldn't be that hard to get found again, if one were to just keep on walking.

Usually North.

Except if we're somewhere you need to go East.

Or South. And maybe on a couple of walks, you actually have to head West. But rarely. Rarely ever West.


Today was one of those Sort of Lost but Not Really walks. It involved some West. At least I brought water, poor Ruby. It was too far for her. I'm not sure at all how many miles we walked. How many miles can you walk for nearly 4 hours in the forest? 2? 5? I have no idea. The object was to get to the river, but we ended up getting there in a way I have to remember not to take again.

All my other forest walks have nice rivers. I think I need to be ok with this forest walk not ending up at the river. It never works out quite right.


Luckily I brought leashes and water, since everybody needed a lot of drinks and everybody needed leashes for the unplanned jaunt through the tourist section of the state park. Which is way down at the bottom of the hill. But had shady picnic table to take a rest at. We did get to visit some of the giant old trees. And scared some foreign tourists when a wild turkey jumped out of the bushes and chased Gustavo down the path.

That part was a little sad. Yes. The turkey was chasing him. He's ok now. Maybe just embarrassed. The tourists were freaked out. It was one mean ass turkey.

Next time, we just don't go to the river.

What do Cultural Appropriation, Portland, Greg Louganis and Eco Sheep Offer in terms of Dog Agility Existential Crisis Vision Quest?

I never was sure what was my spirit animal. I didn't really feel good about having one, due to the whole sticky issue of appropriating native cultures through the wearing of fuzzy animal spirit hoods in the shape of sasquatches or raccoons. And also, I just figured that I'd be stuck with Otterpop for a spirit animal, anyways.


I'm don't even know what qualities one should look for in their spirit animal, or if it's the animal that's supposed to pick you out. Is it important that Otterpop likes to ride on tractors, or can carry large sticks through the woods? When she does a handstand to pee highest on a tree, or feels the need to destroy the mailman, should I take that personal and am I supposed to follow suit? Or is it all hidden in the metaphor?


I probably don't even want Otterpop for a spirit animal. Having one at all seems kind of new agey in that I Love Dreamcatchers passive racist way. And Otterpop is mean. But, darn darn darn, it's like the super cute Pendelton handbags, made in China from humanely shorn sheep wool, which are now so 2012 that you can probably find them in weird sales bins and thrift stores. So maybe it's not all that socially debilitating, fetishizing cultural relics from a disenfranchised native population?

Dog agility is complicated. I didn't mean to go on a vision quest. It just happened.


So Otterpop, for better or for worse, as a spirit animal, means one you have to be kind of picky about the guidance she has to offer. Because it's mostly going to be a lot of yelling about frisbees and making sure UPS trucks are never allowed within a 3 mile radius and foraging for excellent snacks. And all stink eye, all the time.


Luckily, a superior spirit guide has emerged. Without his even knowing it. Who has been to Portland, a fact I know thanks to television. And who has given me stink eye before, in an embarrassing incident involving his well trained dog, and my somewhat feral mediocrely trained dog, Ruby. I am pretty sure his dog ended up winning the class. After I gave him back the ball.


I didn't mean for him to be a spiritual leader or anything, but via the agility grapevine, he has revealed himself to me. I always just thought he was your basic ex-Olympian dog agility guy with a really big motorhome and fashionista shorts. He doesn't look like Yoda, so there's no fear of Star Wars comparisions, and he will help to guide me through the journey.


Greg Louganis Wisdom Number One:
He single handedly saved Portland from almost not having an Olympics. Just substitute "Dog Agility Competitors" for "Olympians" if you want.


Greg Louganis Wisdom Number Two:
He said this wisdom to someone near of my dog agility pals, who told it to all her dog agility pals, when he was asked about what it took to win a gold medal. So it's like totally thirdhand, but still. Pendelton handbags. It's a statement. Dig. "Forgiveness. Letting go of a mistake the moment it happens and moving on to what needs to be done next."


Greg Louganis Wisdom Number Three:
This wisdom he said also to the same dog agility pal as in Number Two. She is chatty. You can identify her by her laugh about 3 miles away. She says to him, "So, you're clearly an amazing competitor, what's up with the agility?" And he says back, "There's a dog involved."

That's only have 3. An agility quest is a journey, so I'm pretty sure more will be revealed in time. Maybe  a long time, because Greg Louganis lives in Malibu and has a sparkly, splashy diving show, I haven't seen him at dog agility in a really long time. I am patient. I will wait.

Monday practice day, once again, another blip on the time space continuum.

I looked back in time, and the last time we came in last place in team was last year in Turlock. I used the power of time travel to see that Gustavo was a very good boy, but had just started being afraid of the teeter totter again. And that Otterpop's team came in third place.

The circle of life. Sort of like how the Sex Pistols were being played as grocery store music this evening. Stick that hakuna matata where the sun don't shine.


Before we went into the forest today, we practiced for a while, just did some drills and played around. Nothing fancy, nothing specific, just checking to see that the weave pole paranoia was gone and all fun systems go. I needed a reminder. There were wild, deliriously joyful teeter totters.


Our forest walk went the same way. No specific plan, and we ended up walking in there for a couple hours. Took a different path, just walked wherever it led us. Everybody, especially Ruby, was happy just to run.

When we practiced, me and Gustavo remembered that he can do agility. And that he likes it a whole lot. We just mess up so bad at trials. So bad. We can mess up practicing too, but it just doesn't seem so tragic when it happens on the practice field, where I can whip out a ratty old stuffed squirrel dragging on a string. I know shit happens to everybody sometimes, but our dog show disasters have an awful lot of drama and flair, and happen an awful whole lot.


But you know, we had just as much fun on our forest walk as we did on the practice field. This has been the mystery of my lifetime in agility. So many maybes, that don't answer why.

Sort of like how the Sex Pistols ended up as grocery store music.

There's lots of things in life like that. Some people are good at taking a Why, and finding answers that don't have maybes. That are whole sentences, that answer in specific instructions and articulate reasons.

Some people might not be so good at finding answers. Some people, we ask Why, then we end up walking all the way down to the trestle bridge at the bottom of the hill. Wasn't where we intended to go. Didn't go there because I set out that way. Sorta lost, but not really. Worked out just fine. Maybe not everyone is supposed to have goals or success. Did Johnny Rotten ever think I'd hear him in the produce section, picking up some bananas? Maybe that's what my agility vision quest is supposed to be. I won't even try to find a why to answer that.

And, you know. Nothin' wrong with hearing the Sex Pistols in the grocery store. Sorry about that, Sid Vicious. I'm happy that I made it this far.

Dusty, hot winds blowing stuff around so everything ends up kind of messy, and hopefully not on fire.

Gustavo is a really cute little dog. He likes to run fast in straight lines and sit on your lap. He doesn't bark a lot, so when he does it means something important. Usually, DUDE! HOLY SHIT! His favorite thing this weekend was the cold breeze from an ancient AC unit, mounted on the wall of the motel.


The motel we stay in when we visit Turlock doesn't try to be something it's not. It's most recent fresh look makeover, maybe 1978. The rooms are big and not too dirty, no tweaker's ever screamed outside my window there, no hooker's ever slipped a note under the door. Big trucks full of chickens sometimes park for the night on the dusty road to nowhere outside the back fence, and a diner that serves cocktails all night is just around the corner.

Our weekend was far from perfect, and while there were fiasco runs throughout, there were also some speedy runs with Q's and turns, and a couple wins. His massive meltdown in a 95 degree Grand Prix run, where he spun mystifying donuts inside one end of a shady tunnel, balanced out a brave teeter totter and stellar dogwalk contacts and turns the rest of the weekend. His recent paranoia of weave poles didn't seem so bad when he stuck with our snooker plan all the way to the end.

For everything bad, there was something else good we could see.


The motel we stay at in Turlock has a broken internet, and a door latch that didn't stick tight. As motels go, you have to kind of get the vintage paneling and linens to be ok staying there. It doesn't pretend to be anything else, and a $50 room comes with a tiny refrigerator and 2 rolls of toilet paper. When the sun goes down, you can see the dusty red glow out the window, over the tops of the trees.

My friends Wendy and Carlos, both great handlers with awesome, fast dogs, shared E's with me in Standard and Relay, and I believe our team ended up last. We've come in last in DAM Team before, didn't bug me this weekend. I think we all tried to run with no expectations, except to do the best job we could. I let some things E on purpose, just didn't have the heart to dive in and damage control a couple of refusals, just wanted to keep on going, and move on in an efficient fashion.


Gustavo was also miserable in the freak heatwave, I will never make him run in heat like that again. He's no Otterpop, who just doesn't care, hot or cold, rain or ice, she's like that honey badger eating snakes. Otterpop and Honey Badger don't care. Otterpop sat around and barked and played frisbee and took baths in the little pool and rolled in the dirt. Otterpop didn't care about anything. She had no runs, and she liked the dusty winds that blew through the second day, tearing up people's tents.

Gustavo is trying to do this with me. He loves agility, he loves running fast and following my lead. I know that he wants to do the right thing. But sometimes he gets confused or scared, and something in him shorts out. Maybe I screwed up his training, maybe he needs me to be a better handler, maybe he really is brain damaged, maybe he just desperately wants somebody's bag of genuine meat he can't have. There are lots of maybes to go along with all his why's. It's important for me to not try to make him into something he's not, not to try to shove his amoeba shaped peg into a square hole. Just to let him be his own self, even if that means a change in how we do the things we like to do.

Wholesome, American cheeses.

photo credit: the Amazing Heather, who makes me never want to take a photo of my own again

If I was going to run into my future self in a time machine debacle, I would totally hope she told me that I was flying off to Bangladesh this weekend to rescue orphans from indentured servitude in collapsing sweat shops, where their tired little fingers toil over stitching little Gap t-shirts in an array of perky colors for spring.

But my leaky magic 8-ball actually predicts a trip to Turlock, California, near the town of Hilmar, home of cheese and whey products that contribute nutrition, enjoyment and value to people's lives.

Not the people of Bangladesh, but I'm sure there are plenty of other people who get enjoyment and value from the multitude of cheeses produced in Hilmar. I will visit the cheese factory just briefly, from the road, driving past, in the heat, on my way to dog agility. I will look at it, during the 7 seconds it takes to pass and think, I am lucky that I don't work in a cheese factory. Although I bet there are lots of people in Bangladesh who wish that they did.

We'll do a few runs on Saturday afternoon, me and Gustavo. Otterpop didn't enter anything, we couldn't make it for early Gamblers. The only run where it won't be 90 degrees. Her and Ruby will just sit around, enjoying the slow life of the retired. The possibility for an all day nap. Sunday is a Team day. Anything can happen. I have no predictions, the magic 8-ball doesn't offer any ideas. Gustavo might run great, he might run freaky, he might not run at all. The future is uncertain.

I am hoping, if I run into my future self, she is all, Wow, He Ran Awesome! No freaky weirdness, turned in the right places, did every single pole and teeter totter presented to him. I am also hoping that my future self is a glamorous rock star with unwrinkled skin who is beloved by everyone, including all orphans, for my excellent kindness and giant, carbon emission storing rainforest that I've grown on my giant ranch, where all the old and sick dogs and ponies get to come and live out their lives in total luxe conditions.

So you can see, I think in terms that are very pragmatic.

My only goal, as I fly by the cheese palace, full of wholesome American cheeses like Cheddar, Monterey Jack and Colby, is that I have no expectations for him. If he is going to be weird and freaky, then he can be the weirdest and freakiest Gustavo he can be.

First world problems: Scorekeeping and mental health, an epic saga in how does one deal with so many errors?

The meta level problem of Gustavo and agility is that sometimes, he does a great job. He is very fast and has mad skilz. And sometimes, between me and him, we do a shitty job and it all goes to hell. Once it goes to hell, it can really go to hell. Like, who let that lady out there in the dog show ring with that feral animal? And when it goes to hell, I think it causes horrible sadmaking of Gustavo's brain. Which is a sensitive brain with some damaged bits in it. And gives me normal lady sadmaking, which I have learned mental techniques and motivational sayings to help me get over.

Oh, look. Here's one now. By Mr. Firewalking Tony Robbins. You know where to find these things? Just click on facebook. One will float by in a second. He says, from his footbed of hot coals, "No matter how many mistakes you make or how slow you progress, you're still way ahead of everyone who isn't trying."

Although, guess what. Years of repeated sadmaking seems to be taking a toll. Now I am a limpy, chubby, gray haired sad lady. Pathetic, although is it less pathetic if I'm ahead of other limpy, chubby, gray haird ladies who don't try? I'm no dummy. It's clear that we're not improving. It's the same thing, over again, and despite hard work and effort and creative ideas and motivational sayings, our agility performance in the show ring really sucks, with a smattering of lovely moments in there, like little cupcakes on sticks to keep pulling me along.

This weekend Gustavo had 9 runs, none of them qualifying.
5 are good runs with one error each causing either a NQ or an E.
4 are runs with huge, awful, gut wrenching fiascos occurring during them.

I have this belief that the Masters ring is not the place for huge, awful, gut wrenching fiascos. At some point, where do you throw in the towel when this keeps happening, over and over again? Especially when you believe that each fiasco, that looks like gleeful fast running on the surface, might be making your little dog very sad?

The first day:
Steeplechase-Almost a really great run, but the second time through the poles he skipped a pole in the middle. I didn't see it, but someone else did. I was confused by the whistle, actually. Whistles when I don't know what happen make me jittery, but I held my shit together and we just finished. I don't know why he skipped a pole in the middle, but that's what he did.
A good run, with one weird training or handling error.

Jumpers-Nice fast run, but I sent him out to an extra jump. I think. I didn't see what happened, but that is the only thing that would have caused an off course and got me a whistle. I wasn't running out to a blind, but I was running out somewhere and just didn't see. I have done this before, it's that fast running panic, I just made a mistake. He did nothing wrong, not a thing. Jumpers is our thing. Gooey was #2 in USDAA top ten last year in Jumpers. Goddamn. Me still making dumb mistakes.
So a good run, with one handling error.

Grand Prix-This was a hard course and he had a nice start, and got the very hard weave entrance. But halfway thru the poles he got startled by something outside the ring, I believe it to be a shady umbrella, and leaped out of the poles, and ran away. I tried to call him back and restart the poles but he was afraid to go back in the poles, he was running in circles and jittery. So we moved on but he was all out of control running amuck and everything felt like damage control. Then he refused the teeter and started into tunnels and running under the dogwalk and just a big fiasco. These fiascos look like someone is in the ring with a little untrained fox, and cause judges to scowl.
A bad run with a big fiasco.

Snooker-My plan started with a 7, which were poles right by an umbrella. I had the thought, Change plan! To a lesser plan without the umbrella located poles, but then I also thought, Cowgirl up and just see if he can do them. Frenquently, changing plans turns out to be a bad idea. But this time, turns out, yes, he has a weird umbrellapolephobia now and would actually not go near the poles. He sort of danced around, ran to visit the umbrella and we bailed out. It was a 1 point snooker run.
A bad run with an instant fiasco.

Which led us to Standard. He popped out of the poles at number 8ish. Just flat out popped out and kept running ahead, so I ran along with him because, what else was I going to do? We came upon the table, which he did, but when I released him, it was like I released numerous evil spirits within and he started to run around and it involved many tunnels and a race under the dogwalk until I just started running towards the end and took a jump or two on the way out.
A really bad run with a huge fiasco.

The next day:
Standard. A very hard course. He did a great teeter. He had a refusal into the poles due to my bad placement because of my great amazement at his wonderful teeter totter performance. Bravo! Then he proceeded to have a great run after that including perfect poles and a very lovely table. Go figure.
A good run with one handling error.

Gamblers-I put a teeter in there just to see if it was a fluke or what. Nope, did a great teeter. He had a great opening, very fast and many points! The gamble was a send out to the poles (Otterpop did it easy peasy before him) and he sent out into them beautifully, but popped out at about pole 3.
A good run with one handling and training error.

Snooker-A great opening. I made a fairly conservative plan, a nice plan with tunnels and jumps for a moderate amount of opening points. It had a flow. He did it fast and beautifully, but when he got to the teeter in the closing, no way, no how, nuh uh. Not doing that teeter, not going near it no matter what.
A good run, with a bad teeter ending.

Jumpers-He ran away off the startline to one of his favorite dog pals and his meats. Just ran away, just like that. Like something you would see in the Starters ring, probably. But not the Masters ring. Although I have developed a thick skin and make sure to always tell myself, who cares what anyone else thinks? This was still a mortifying event.
A fiasco of bad training.

So. It's important for me to be good at this. Scorekeeping tells me, actually, we are not. We are quite below average. And not improving, haven't for quite some time. In fact, scorekeeping says we are getting worse, statistically speaking. So what else is there? Helping orphans? Continuing to do poorly while trying, perhaps, in vain, to improve? This is not Guantanamo Bay. It is a very niche problem to have. A sparkly, designer problem. But what I am thinking about, nonetheless.

Nobody messes up, we are not failures in here, in the trees.

Monday is always my day off, unless it isn't. I have day off stuff that I always do. Go to the the store. Wash laundry. Pretend to clean my house. Have an agility practice.

Monday is the day we work on the things we need to work on. Whatever was hard from a trial that weekend. Or from class the week before. Learn something new. Tune up the weave poles. Super speed that running dogwalk. Play with the toy. We have very fun practices. They are a number one, excellent thing of the week.


We didn't practice this Monday. The magic 8-Ball of agility future went all shook up and hazy over the weekend. Outlook, not so much. We will put on big girl shoes and go to class tomorrow. We'll see where the agility happy comes back.

The regular happy came back in the forest. And in the creek. This is where there are always recalls. Happy fast running and climbing up on logs. That magic 8-Ball almost explodes out it's black 8-Ball juice, right out the seams. Without a doubt! Yeppety and hooray! This is something we can do! Nobody messes up, we are not failures in here, in the trees.

Wherein, the downhill slide continues to gain momentum of a sizable velocity.

Nietzsche said, a casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.

Gustavo has been running pretty good, when we practice, in our class. He has his ups and downs, but in general I've been happy with how how it's been going. I had hopes we'd do a good job today, we would run fast and clean.


You know that guy Nietzsche? I think he said that Hope Prolongs Whatever Torments Us. Then he went mad and died.  Nietzsche was a man blessed with a rad handlebar moustache.


It was a beautiful day. My job was to empty all the trash. That's my thing. I do a good job. You have to get the trash out of the cans without spilling it, and haul it to the dumpster, along with the bags of recycling. Also, always make sure to put a new trash bag in the cans.


Oh, and put new toilet paper in the porta potties.


Our day started out ok. Gustavo skipped a pole in his second time through the poles in Steeplechase. I didn't see it happen. I was wearing my glasses and everything. He just missed a pole and kept going through. Happened really fast. So we got an E. Everything else in that run was great, so I hoped it was a good way to start the day.


Today, the letter E stands for Entropy and Every Single Run. That Steeplechase E was our best run of the day. The day unraveled to a final fiasco in Masters Standard I'm not even sure I could tell you exactly what happened. It was ugly. There were tunnels. No teeter. Really bad.

PS. Otterpop did not get the gamble.

Heather took these lovely pictures of me and my dogs.

Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though fossil fuels turned water into poison that melts the coral reefs.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though the rains are stopping and things dried up way too fast.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though it is sequester.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though my dear friend has lost her son.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though there is just go to work, come home, then go back to work again.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though there is so much stuff, everywhere, cloggin up open space, causing choking.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though same sex marriage is illegal, and transgendered kids can't use the right bathroom.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though the skinny, limping guy was holding up his work for food sign in the middle of traffic.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. Even though lethal bomb explosions happen.


Heather took these lovely pictures of my dogs. And that's enough to make me happy.

Some motion based movies from our journey.

Heather put together this video of Gustavo's runs from the drills and jumpers day of the seminar.



Handling like this was hard. My blind cross and motion and blender skills are pretty minimal and you can see us struggling to turn the right way. It's supposed to be easy, but watch! I can make it look hard! This video shows a lot of unclarity, a lot of the way it is. A lot of opaque and uncomprehending handling from me.

I have movies in my camera still that feature Otterpop, and courses that also have contacts. I am not a quick movie maker. In what I've watched, Otterpop has a harder time buying into some of this than Gustavo does. She is resistant to new things, especially when it goes against her religion.

Gustavo, on the other hand, I'm not really sure exactly what he knows. He is always game to follow along, so if I can show him something clearly, which is rare, because, I am pretty darn obtuse in all things, he can follow me. You follow? His neuron paths might not have the ability to lay down new pathways of learning. This is a cranial fact I have learned about how brains work. But he works very, very hard to stay in the game and tries to catch on if I can just point him the right way.

I am on an agility vision quest here. When our sainted lords and ladies warn me of the fallout, a comment Desiree made to me stands out and comes to my mind instead of defeat. It's just about getting the information across better, more clearly, in a way where you stay connected no matter what you're doing. Doing agility with a little Goo always means I have to be clear as day, clear as a window in the bottom of a clipper ship, staring deep into the sea at the swimming fishes and sharks below. You can see the coral reefs down there, melting before your very eyes. The plastic island wrapping it's way through the seas. Maybe it's not even stuff you want to see, but you gotta make sure you keep watching and keep in the clarity at all times.

Just running, it's more funner : An overview of stuff TSD learned in the PDX, Part Uno.

This is my best attempt to explain Portland. I probably won't do a good job, because it's a place that's impossible to explain. But here I go.


Do not get out of the car and pump your own gas. The guy comes and does this for you. STAY IN THE CAR!


Everything on the show Portlandia is exactly true.


Portlandia is also a giant, evil statue of a lady with a weapon. She used to have a poem but it got vandalized.


Everybody needs a picture in front of Multnomah Falls. This is located at the Columbia River Gorge. Do not fall in and wear your rain coat. And don't worry about vampires. Those are in Washington.


Heather takes the best pictures. But no one takes pictures of Heather. So here's a picture with Heather in it. Any of the good pictures you are seeing here, she took. The crummy ones are mine. Heather is amazing at training dogs. At doing agility. At taking photos. Heather is just amazing.


She uses black and white to take out the chins and wrinkles.


Tammy is totally not a bitch. She is my new BFF and is an agility superstar. She is also an expert in all things Portland. And she knows where everything is in Powell's Books. I want to live in Powell's Books.


It is all about logs up there.


See that? It's the log train driving by Poodletopia.


One of the poodles is dressed like me, and the other one like Heidi. This is the type of thing that happens at a place called Poodletopia.


Heidi is the proprietess, neurologist, and lady farmer of Poodletopia. She also does a mean blind cross and is the bestest and most generous hostess ever.


Getting back to logs. Because Portland's nickname is Stumptown. These are hipster logs.


I would say if you like logs, you probably wish you were with me last week.


This isn't actually Portland but on the way there. So that still counts in my book.


Madame Gasquet is buried right up the hill from the secret mountain river hideaway. Many logs everywhere.


Jeremy said actually she is buried in an even more secret spot and that this is her decoy grave. When you find this secret grave, you won't look for her real secret grave.


Back to Stumptown, again. Note the stump. This place had only raw vegan juices and food made of leaves. And beer. You can get beer at all the raw vegan places. There is food everywhere in Portland and it all costs like $1 and someone probably hand crafted the shack where you eat the food. Everyone is gluten free in Portland, and they gather here for a beer and a raw vegan gluten free juice because they aren't at work.


And they gather at food trucks. Something you would like to eat? They will have it in Portland. And it will probably be in an airstream trailer.


Part of the time I stayed in a designer hotel for hipsters. The front desk guy confused me with his ironic, judgmental vernacular. And he had a beard and a black hoodie. And quoted Robert Heinlein. Hipster motels are different than Motel 6.


Part of the time I stayed on a farm.


They live on the farm, along with the lambies. And poodles.


We waked and walked and walked and walked. In the rain, in rain boots. To Voodoo Donuts. To the top of Mt. Tabor park. Across the Burnside Bridge. To the minimalist coffee place where the agressive, fruit forward coffee took 12 minutes to hand craft in a temperature modulated glass carafe. Up and down the stairs in Powell's. Into the "Bands Only" secret passage way at the Doug Fir Lounge. To Cacao for a shot of Drinking Chocolate. To Gravy for breakfast, along with all the rest of Portland because nobody works there and goes out to breakfast every single day, because they are all having the Dream of the '90's and everybody is out walking. Or riding their bike.


After we walked, we ran and ran and ran and ran. A whole lot of international drills and courses with Desiree that we had to do over and over again due to the hardness of doing them right. Ran and ran and ran until Gustavo ran out of gas and Otterpop was all, "What the HELL are you trying to get me to do?" That is Fred and he ran extremely fast.


Otterpop had to sit on a lot of things and then she tried to run away in Pioneer Square when she had enough of photoshoot sitting. Luckily I captured her. But I got back at her for that later during the running. I stepped on her doing a blended cross that blended right on to her foot and caused her to scream in pain. Oops. Agility can be very dangerous when executed incorrectly. Make sure to stay connected with your dog and show them that hand. Otterpop held it together pretty good on this trip. Mostly.


Gustavo was a perfect, good boy and tried his hardest at everything he did and was a perfect travel dog. Heather took about 4,000 photos of him that are all this good and she even caught some where he was bringing back his toy! Which was a piece of plastic he found in the pasture. But it still counts. He brought it back several times!


We sure did miss Ruby, even though it doesn't look like we are sad in this photo. We were sad on the inside, happy on the stick running side. She had to stay home on this trip. Too much walking and running and loud cities and lots of dogs and hotels and houses and Cuban food and rivers and bridges and so forth. But boy oh boy were we happy to see her when we got home.


Most of these photos, amazing Heather. Thanks Heather for the photos and videos. Thanks Tammy, for all things PDX! And thanks Heidi, for hostessing me and for having a Vision!

Part Two, to come...