"Everyday you play..." — The Agility Chronicles

"Everyday you play with the light of the universe..." - Pablo Neruda

I'm still reveling from the weekend trip to Connecticut. The kindness received. The friendships made. But who knew a snippet of a conversation so profoundly would resonate with me? Yesterday, a single word that was etched indelibly into my brain over the weekend became a passenger I delivered in first-class fashion to our private lesson where we train at My K9 Buddy. This word. A harbinger of good things, it resides permanently with me now. So much so that when I packed Henry's knapsack for class today with treats, a water bowl, and some toys, this word jumped inside and zippered itself into a spacious knapsack pocket all its own. Tucked safely inside, this word ensured it would never be forgotten. How could it be after the breakthrough in yesterday's lesson? It was now my responsibility to make sure that, when packing that knapsack for class, this word was always with me. Every class. All. The. Time.

P-L-A-Y.

Play.

PLAY!

To understand the game-changing nature of this simple, happy four-lettered word, one must understand my fifteen-month old Henry. Lately I'd been hearing the words "soft" and "Sheltie" in the same sentence. Soft. Not confident. Pensive. Lately, the words "soft" and "Henry" were being used in the same sentence. A lot.

Henry has always had confidence issues. That's who he is. That's who he was when we got him. We saw a change in him, however, when last February we enrolled him in a "flash" fun agility 3 day session at Pet Experts Professional Pet Services. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and well, "fun" agility certainly sounded...well, fun. Keep in mind, this class is not a class designed for the serious competitor. Rather, it's a "wet your whistle" kind of class, and after three days, we knew that we were hooked. The rise in confidence in Henry from that three day session alone was immeasurable. Following that class, we enrolled in a Wednesday night "fun" agility class, where Henry seemed to flourish. More importantly, Henry loved it. Point him an a direction, and you could barely contain him. He wanted to run!

A representative "fun" agility class.

Maybe it's in his genes (we know many of Henry's half-siblings have excelled in agility), but Henry has given us glimpses of brilliance. Glimpses, only. Because this "soft" dog's moods are a wildly swinging pendulum.

But what did we know about agility? Not much in terms of foundations and fundamentals. However, in this "fun" agility class, Henry seemed to be having....fun. As his confidence grew, though, so did his obstinance. Sometimes, he'd become the most frustrating dog in the world. You ask him to take a jump, and he'd look at you as if to say "I don't feel like doing that right now." You'd want him to follow you a certain way, and he'd say, "Nope, I want to do this instead."

Somewhere along the way, we realized that if, Henry were going to compete, he needed more than the "fun" agility. A mini A-frame wasn't going to help him conquer a full-sized one. That's not to say that this class doesn't serve its purpose; good people and good dogs made for enjoyable evenings. But, Henry was taking us in a different direction. He needed more.

Upon the recommendation of agility-competitor friends, we booked a private lesson with Marta Coursey, owner of My K9 Buddy. She determined that Henry was skilled enough to enroll in a "pre-novice" class. And thus, in September of this year, we embarked on a new path.

That first day in "pre-novice" class was reminiscent of the first day at a new school. We were the new kids in a new training center trying to infiltrate an established clique. "Don't be intimated," Marta had told me when I saw the pre-novice dogs looking like anything but novices. A hard swallow. A pit in my stomach. And the return of "soft" Henry, clearly overwhelmed by his new surroundings. New dogs he'd not yet befriended stared at him. The people I'd not yet befriended stared at me, too. Unwittingly, I was transported back to those awkward days of high school, which I thought ended some thirty years ago.

While the other students walked the course prescribed, I summoned courage. My throat constricted again; the ever present bowling ball in my stomach weighed me down. One by one, we watched the other dogs run. They looked a lot like agility dogs. Were we really supposed to be in THIS class?Then it was our turn. On leash. I was told to do whatever I wanted. The object: acclimate Henry to new surroundings. Build his comfort level. Build his confidence. Leash in hand, I ran around like a crazy person. A jump here; a dog walk there. I was smiling; Henry was following. In that moment, the new kid and his one of his best human friends forgot about the cliques; we forgot about the other dogs; and, we just enjoyed our thirty seconds of fame. I felt like we'd just won the Olympics.

Henry and Gus smiling at our private lesson on Wednesday.

After that first class at My K9 Buddy, we'd have highs, and we'd have lows. Happy times. Frustrating times. An occasional brilliant run. A more frequent perceived disaster. It's only been about two months since we began this new path of private lessons and pre-novice classes, but Henry's training has been much like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates. On any given day, we didn't know which Henry we were going to get.

About two weeks ago, Henry -- for the first time -- knocked a bar (look at me go with "the lingo"). Although I didn't know it at the time, "the bar incident" catapulted Henry once again into "soft" mode. He refused to take jumps; his confidence waned. He was that frustrating dog again -- much like he was on that first night of puppy class. And, I didn't know what to do. Needless to say, it's been a trying two weeks. I couldn't help but to be discouraged.

P-L-A-Y

A lunch conversation over the weekend unavoidably included the agility I'd watched during the trial. I'd recounted one particular run I watched, which featured a very frustrated handler whose dog seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Her body language evinced annoyance. A stomp of the foot; her voice becoming more like nails on a chalkboard with every word spoken; the dog ignoring her, choosing, on its own accord, to run in and out...and in and out...and in and out...of the tunnel. Clearly, they weren't having fun. I confess, I felt bad for the dog. I also confess, I've been in her shoes lately with Henry.

"The dog is never wrong," my new friend told me. Wisdom revealed in a simple four-lettered word: Play. "Make every run your own party," she said, "If the dog isn't having fun, then what's the point?"

Jump. Holler. Dance like no one is watching. Laugh. Play.

And, so I did. When I opened the knapsack yesterday, this word bounded out. Almost uncontrollably. Armed with a change in philosophy, my treat-filled Lotus ball, and an utterly goofy attitude, we went into that private lesson yesterday determined. Determined to play.

Wouldn't you know it? A change in perspective was everything. The Henry we'd seen the last two weeks was nowhere to be found. A joyful Sheltie running after me and that Lotus Ball. Charging the A-Frame; navigating the dog walk; jumping bars like he'd never ever knocked one down. A glimmer of confidence in his eyes again made me smile. When he needed a break from focusing on a specific task, we simply played. I threw the lotus ball; we played chase. Our lesson really didn't seem like a lesson anymore. And I'm pretty sure Henry didn't distinguish the lesson part from the play part, because I tried to make it all the same. We played ourselves into a breakthrough.

And yesterday's class was no fluke. Knapsack in hand, my step-mother as my witness, today we found ourselves in pre-novice once again. I unzipped Henry's knapsack, and the PLAY just burst out. Then, I held my breath. Was this going to work? Mustering my courageously goofy self (and it takes courage just to post a video or photo of me lately -- I'm working on this issue), we walked onto the course. And by course, I mean Henry's own course. We're working on confidence remember -- getting him to respond to me in an environment where he's faltered.

I told him we were going to play. He smiled, and said "I got this, Mom."

We played!

Goofy, remember? He made me proud today. Although, I likely embarrassed him by my impromptu course jump, which in reality was a sorta...."oh crap, I'm in the wrong place," moment. My choice made before class, I smiled anyway. No matter how inept I may be as a newbie handler, I'm gonna laugh about my mistakes, learn from them, and move forward. The play perspective defined.

I'm not naive enough to think that frustrating days aren't ahead. I'm not naive enough to think that we won't have bad days interspersed with the good ones. Henry's personality isn't going to change in a day, and he won't instantaneously go from being a "soft" dog to a confident one. But, carrying the play with me is a start for better things. At the very least, by changing my reaction to the frustrating moments, I will ensure that no matter what happens, we'll continue to have fun.

I want Henry to blossom, in the same way cherry trees do in the spring.