05 March 2013
Blowback Trending: A manifestic call to arms regarding the most excellent globalification of dog agility this fashion week.
Dig this, dogs of this generation, bred in modest comfort, housed now in agility homes, looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit. I represent from the Peoples Republick of Santa Cruz, a lost slice of coast wedged beneath San Francisco and on top of Big Sur. Our cultural heritage is one of decrepit VW buses and batik prayer flags strung from the yurt rafters of our ancient redwoods. We walk slowly here in the sunshine, through a legal cannabis haze, we spay and neuter our guns, allow only dedicated masters in the traditional style of Sailor Jerry to tattoo our babies. The mantra "Don't Tread on Me" is chanted before the yoga portion of agility class, and encompasses everyone in the warm hug of inclusiveness, even pro-choice, transgendered, non practicing Wiccans of Muslim descent, here in our happy American hamlet of 1000 varieties of cereal.
Our own little chunk of coast may be remote and sometimes inaccessible, but by goddess, thanks to the 4G flow of youtube, twitter, facebook and instagram, we now readily follow the nouveau heartbeat of fashion and what we're trending now in agility, for spring, is the globalized revival of the blind cross, in all flavours and sizes.
You thought I was going to say performance fleece. You were so wrong.
The mothership back in Great Britain, where straight lines and turns measure up to form a perfect Union Jack and where the tea tax was first institutionalized back in 1773, has telgraphed messages of caution across the pond. Mind the way you're handling through that gap! Beware the Fallout! Don't dump the tea! All will be lost, by crikey. Fashion apocalypse is upon us and it means that your carefully thought out shoulder rotation is in dire straights. Punishable by treaty. Sending over smallpox in faux artisan decorated knockoff Pendelton Navajos printed in China!
We may well be hemmed in by the great seas, rising daily due to polar icecap meltation, but we span them effortlessly with magic satellite xray three-dee screen-o-vision. A tutorialific miracle of online learning from countries far and wide, just in time, as ocean travel now results in either cruise ship viral pandemic or whale wars. Don the star spangled tube tops with bedazzled sun visors, because the revolution is now televised and it looks like the revolution includes running backwards.
Reports have come in via underground monorail of our continental brethren the Canadians and Southern Californians hoarding trainers from small countries that were once Soviet Republics in their basements. Tiny, sinewy waifs wearing yoga pants that don't look like they came from Lululemon have been snuck across borders in dog tote bags, stealing jobs and pants belonging to USA born and bred dog trainers and handlers. No spanx bottoms or tasseled tops on their dance costumes. More likely, little plaid patches on their knees. KNEES, I tell you. They are paid in glittering trinkets from Michaels' Craft Emporium and Bed Bath and Beyond in exchange for learning 30 new handling moves in 30 days. There is running backwards and arm flailing as if directing the dog with a giant leg of mutton.
Listen carefully, you may hear funny (as in ha HA! funny) and unusual accents that don't sound just like yours at your next dog agility seminar. Some of their smooth moves have barely pronounceable names. It is rumored that these gangly aliens steal our dogs, raise our taxes, drink our milkshakes, win our trials. They are all from countries that don't have drones or guns, so just a glimpse of your evil robot or hairy firearm should send them running. Backwards. Easily, because they got their feet pointed there before you did. They will not be hard to defeat when you catch them pre-cuing that arm change on the straight line. Shoot first, and ask questions later.
In the olden days, a backside approach to a jump was usually placed on course by a judge who favours National Healthcare. A crowd gathered on the walk through, discussing. It was the blaspheme. A heel not sanctioned by Carrie Bradshaw. The angle appears bad. A bunch of hot flashing ladies of a certain age twist their granny panties into a collective wad, viewing the seemingly unsafe approach as the gateway to classless society. Over time, the shock and awe of this approach nestled quietly into the lexicon of rubberized contacts, 24" weave poles, the breakaway tire. Threadles became accepted, albeit handled with 2 hands.
Then more shit happens. Handlers are spinning like tops. The course length screams for longer. Trends move like the width of trouser legs. The challenges throw down faster, and require recreational jogging and spin bike, shouted at by zero gravity barefoot footwear clad male cheerleaders, calling out for burpees and chinups. Everyone has on shoes with horrible, clawlike toes, just trying to keep up. Goretex looms at every turn, and on some of those turns, you can't even see your dog. Oh yeah, baby. Requiring an arm change on a straight line. Heads are whipping, feet are tripping.
Boots were made for walking, and we are running. Dude. Totally stoked. We are running downwind after consecutive double blinds and it is a thing of beauty. There might be blowback, but let's just say that will make it even more awesome, man. Exploding up into the sky and bursting in rockets' red glare air. Turning a deaf ear to the dire warnings of the fallout and it's breech of homeland security. Racial profiling, a wall the length of Arizona, and deportation of anyone wearing next season's hemline has been discussed amongst the committees. Paranoia, thee destroyer.
Over here, on our quiet costa perdida, we are the people of this generation, and stop looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit. We embrace uniqueness rooted in love, relectiveness, reason and creativity. The homeland is secured enough. It is a revolution, not quite a breakup with the motherland but the addition of a layer, a vegan motorcross jacket tossed capelike over one's shoulders over a little black dress over alpaca cashmere dolman sleeved hoodie. You're either on the bus, or you're off it. We have lifted up the red white and blue curtain, and peered under, and here we go, onto the bandwagon.
Brought to you on this day, dog agility action figure blog day.
by team small dog at 6:00 PM