Wishing everyone an happy, healthy new year. Live long and prosper.
The Star Trek fans know that last line. Let me just say, I luv Tivo.
I also love REI. My holiday haul included a nice gift certificate, so I'll be getting new waterproof boots at their next big sale. If you have been so fortunate to live to this point in your life without walking in wet wool socks, allow me a moment to assure you - you want to live the rest of your life in ignorance of this experience, too. Not fun.
The other pedestrian experience I can not really recommend is walking in boot-sucking mud. I have several acres of it, and it's a horror. The ground is frozen, so as the snow melts the moisture can't soak into the ground. The top inch or so of earth has thawed, but is so moisture-laden it's more like walking through molasses. Knee-high rubber boots are the recommended footwear (which means my feet freeze) to stay dry, but the slip-sliding passage across the pasture is quite treacherous. Give me ice, please.
We've had an abundance of pre-dawn hawk sightings in the past 10 days, most in motion and very close overhead and totally silent. Someday the people that make movies will stop inserting bird-of-prey noises everytime a falcon or buzzard is on the screen - in real life they don't announce themselves.
Bugg is settling in pretty well, given all the changes in her life. She's dealing with severe changes in altitude, humidity, and temperature, and depsite a short-lived fever her appetite never waned. Bugg is now in work, as I learn Parelli's seven games, and this too is a huge change for her. And me, negative reinforcement-based training is something I'm really struggling with, emotionally. More on that once I've sorted some things out.
This weekend I am taking a couple of hounds for a long walk in the desert. The weather forecast is for the low 60's, significantly warmer thatn we've had recently, so I'm concerned about keeping the boys cool. Water, water, water... good thing I'm a camel.
On the drive down and back I'll be listening to something by Simon Winchester, a marvelous author with not just a clever mind and lovely way with words, but insatiable curiousity for fascinating topics. My iPod is stuffed to its gills, and I have company for the hours of driving.
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Monday, 22 December 2008
Christmas Traditions
Something old, something not-so-new...
We went to a wedding on Sunday; the last cousin of my generation has finally found the perfect woman and gotten hitched. Of the seven of us, only one was married in a church, two are
divorced, one re-married. The rest of us put off marriage until at least our late 20's and that may have been part of making it stick. Chris just turned 44, his bride is 41. The ceremony was ancient (a Diné ceremony on Winter Solstice, with a Circle of Elders), the reception was modern (catered with electricity), the happy couple wrote their own vows and there was nary a dry eye in the building. Long may they love.
Here at the ranchero, we finally got our tree decorated on the 22nd. The tree was purchased nearly a week ago (by tradition, always on the 16th) but work, chores, snow storms, shopping, the wedding, and general procrastination conspired to put it off. It's a HUGE tree, we had to put coffee table away until the tree comes down. In case anyone wonders how we live with intact males and have a tree indoors, it's simple: x-pen.
This is Anth
ony's last Christmas living here, I can hardly believe he'll be off to university somewhere next fall. We made a point of putting all Anthony's childhood ornaments on the tree. Holiday cards are slowly covering the hand-made door to the deck (we haven't mailed ours out yet - eek). Some years the glass is completely covered, and while the tape is a pain to clean off it's nice to have them all in one place, easy to read.
The hanging of the stockings is always a tear-jerking affair. Every being that lives here gets a stocking, but once somebody dies that stocking is retired. I know it's going to happen, picking up Thomas's stocking and bawling, but I do it every year. Tommy was 17 when he died, and it nearly killed me when he went.
Rick (hubby extraordinaire) and I both know this is Mac's last Christmas; he's had a really rough couple of months and every day he wags his tail and trots outside makes me treasure him all over again. The snakes' stockings are taped to their tank, as they are very small (and the snakes don't appreciate gifts the way the mammals do).
The other thing that's become a tradition, though it actually goes on all winter, is Boomer's favorite napping spot. Boomer (Desert Island Boomerang, CGC) was a dog I rescued from the pound and we fostered, but his adoptive home didn't work out and he was returned. He has a number of chronic health issues (lumbar sacral disease, bilataral subluxating patellas, moderate heart murmur), as well as a recent diagnosis of cancer, and is an extremely difficult dog to live with (our first and last scenthound, hand to doG), but we l
ove him anyway. This may be his last Christmas too, though it wouldn't surprise me if he lives another 10 years. Boomer's favorite hobbies are proving once again that there's no such thing as a beagle-proof fence, stealing food, and finding posh places to sleep. During winter the underside of our wood stove is, appearantly, an ideal place to nap. It seems incredibly dangerous, but he's been doing it for years and we've given up trying to discourage him. Beagles are described as "hedonists of the dog world" and it's true.
Since moving back to New Mexico, a couple of other traditions have taken hold. New: Christmas Eve dinner somewhere. In recent years we've eaten out, this year my sister is hosting. Should be a nice afternoon. Old: Canyon Road Walk. Some years we freeze our asses off, some years it's just cold. The last couple of years I've taken a borzoi on the walk; they love the weather and draw lots of compliments. And yes, a Santa hat is required garb for the 'zoi. The smell of pinon fires and hot cider, everybody bundled up, crazy holiday hats with flashing lights, the occasional burst of Christamas carols, art galleries with doors flung open late into the night... it's not to be missed.
This year we will again have a house-full of family, food, and fun for Christmas day. Eggnog lattes have been improve with the discovery of peppermint coffee espresso (thank you, Sandra!!). Gifts are exchanged but generally low-key, but the annual tradition of mis-packaging items will continue. One year I got a plain brown box and was told to keep it in the freezer for two weeks... it was a skirt. Every family is a little crazy, right? Our neighbors will stop by to exchange home-made goodies, near-violent games of 42 will be played, naps will be taken.
And of course, New Year's weekend I'll take a dog or two down south to look for Mr. Jack. My newest tradition, and it's a dandy.
I'm hoping that sometime in the next couple of weeks I can get up to the Taos Inn, where one of my uncles has an art exhibit of photos from his travels around the world on exhibition. My aunt decks the Inn out with spectacular holiday decorations - another family tradition.
Wishing everyone a very merry Christmas and spectacular new year, whatever your traditions, old and new.
We went to a wedding on Sunday; the last cousin of my generation has finally found the perfect woman and gotten hitched. Of the seven of us, only one was married in a church, two are
divorced, one re-married. The rest of us put off marriage until at least our late 20's and that may have been part of making it stick. Chris just turned 44, his bride is 41. The ceremony was ancient (a Diné ceremony on Winter Solstice, with a Circle of Elders), the reception was modern (catered with electricity), the happy couple wrote their own vows and there was nary a dry eye in the building. Long may they love.Here at the ranchero, we finally got our tree decorated on the 22nd. The tree was purchased nearly a week ago (by tradition, always on the 16th) but work, chores, snow storms, shopping, the wedding, and general procrastination conspired to put it off. It's a HUGE tree, we had to put coffee table away until the tree comes down. In case anyone wonders how we live with intact males and have a tree indoors, it's simple: x-pen.
This is Anth
ony's last Christmas living here, I can hardly believe he'll be off to university somewhere next fall. We made a point of putting all Anthony's childhood ornaments on the tree. Holiday cards are slowly covering the hand-made door to the deck (we haven't mailed ours out yet - eek). Some years the glass is completely covered, and while the tape is a pain to clean off it's nice to have them all in one place, easy to read.The hanging of the stockings is always a tear-jerking affair. Every being that lives here gets a stocking, but once somebody dies that stocking is retired. I know it's going to happen, picking up Thomas's stocking and bawling, but I do it every year. Tommy was 17 when he died, and it nearly killed me when he went.
Rick (hubby extraordinaire) and I both know this is Mac's last Christmas; he's had a really rough couple of months and every day he wags his tail and trots outside makes me treasure him all over again. The snakes' stockings are taped to their tank, as they are very small (and the snakes don't appreciate gifts the way the mammals do).The other thing that's become a tradition, though it actually goes on all winter, is Boomer's favorite napping spot. Boomer (Desert Island Boomerang, CGC) was a dog I rescued from the pound and we fostered, but his adoptive home didn't work out and he was returned. He has a number of chronic health issues (lumbar sacral disease, bilataral subluxating patellas, moderate heart murmur), as well as a recent diagnosis of cancer, and is an extremely difficult dog to live with (our first and last scenthound, hand to doG), but we l
ove him anyway. This may be his last Christmas too, though it wouldn't surprise me if he lives another 10 years. Boomer's favorite hobbies are proving once again that there's no such thing as a beagle-proof fence, stealing food, and finding posh places to sleep. During winter the underside of our wood stove is, appearantly, an ideal place to nap. It seems incredibly dangerous, but he's been doing it for years and we've given up trying to discourage him. Beagles are described as "hedonists of the dog world" and it's true.Since moving back to New Mexico, a couple of other traditions have taken hold. New: Christmas Eve dinner somewhere. In recent years we've eaten out, this year my sister is hosting. Should be a nice afternoon. Old: Canyon Road Walk. Some years we freeze our asses off, some years it's just cold. The last couple of years I've taken a borzoi on the walk; they love the weather and draw lots of compliments. And yes, a Santa hat is required garb for the 'zoi. The smell of pinon fires and hot cider, everybody bundled up, crazy holiday hats with flashing lights, the occasional burst of Christamas carols, art galleries with doors flung open late into the night... it's not to be missed.
This year we will again have a house-full of family, food, and fun for Christmas day. Eggnog lattes have been improve with the discovery of peppermint coffee espresso (thank you, Sandra!!). Gifts are exchanged but generally low-key, but the annual tradition of mis-packaging items will continue. One year I got a plain brown box and was told to keep it in the freezer for two weeks... it was a skirt. Every family is a little crazy, right? Our neighbors will stop by to exchange home-made goodies, near-violent games of 42 will be played, naps will be taken.
And of course, New Year's weekend I'll take a dog or two down south to look for Mr. Jack. My newest tradition, and it's a dandy.
I'm hoping that sometime in the next couple of weeks I can get up to the Taos Inn, where one of my uncles has an art exhibit of photos from his travels around the world on exhibition. My aunt decks the Inn out with spectacular holiday decorations - another family tradition.
Wishing everyone a very merry Christmas and spectacular new year, whatever your traditions, old and new.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Homecoming Queen
She's here!!!
I'm pleased to introduce Bugg, an 11 year old Connemara Pony.
Bugg has been living in southern California for the past few years with my friends on their ranch as a broodmare. The realities of the economic decline have affected the equine markets, forcing us to leave her open this year; with no plans for her for '0
9 either, I decided to bring her here and put her back in work. My neighbor, Elizabeth, has been itching for somebody to do Parelli with and this is a perfect opportunity for both of us.
Despite 8" of new snow today and 15 degree temps, Melissa of BlackJack Transport got Bugg here before bedtime. Melissa fell in love with Bugg in just a few hours (Connemaras win a lot of converts); Bugg came off the trailer, looked at the snow, and walked the 200 yards through a mild blizzard to her new stall. Let's hear it for sane ponies!!
Welcome home, sweet Bugg-a-boo. We're gonna have a lot of fun.
The above photo is from June 2006. Nice extended trot, eh? New pictures once we have some daylight.
9 either, I decided to bring her here and put her back in work. My neighbor, Elizabeth, has been itching for somebody to do Parelli with and this is a perfect opportunity for both of us.Despite 8" of new snow today and 15 degree temps, Melissa of BlackJack Transport got Bugg here before bedtime. Melissa fell in love with Bugg in just a few hours (Connemaras win a lot of converts); Bugg came off the trailer, looked at the snow, and walked the 200 yards through a mild blizzard to her new stall. Let's hear it for sane ponies!!
Welcome home, sweet Bugg-a-boo. We're gonna have a lot of fun.
The above photo is from June 2006. Nice extended trot, eh? New pictures once we have some daylight.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Dog hair and dust
What, your night-stand and car have something else on them?
Yesterday was a very good day. I had fun, my dogs had fun, the weather was great, the drive was stunning, the company for dinner was spot-on.
In this state, hunting is perfectly legal. Yet a lot of people get up in arms (ironic pun, no?) over it, so I share details with those I know only. Gotta wonder how some people think all those groceries show up in the meat case... a topic for another day I suppose. And yes, I have a license.
The car was mostly loaded on Friday night - ruck sack with people snacks, dog blankets, binoculars, some first aid stuff, bottles of water, dog bowl, orange vest; more water, dog beds and blankets, assortment of collars and leashes; my wallet, sunglasses, sunscreen, hat, gloves, ear muffs, down vest, windbreaker, spare coat, cooler with chicken necks, thermos of coffee and mug... for a day-trip there's a stunning amount of STUFF involved. The one thing that I wanted but didn't have was some extra collars; they were ordered but hadn't arrived yet.
Saturday morning I arose at 4:30 a.m., pushed "start" on the coffee pot, fed Py and Day half-sized breakfasts of thawed chicken necks, got dressed, double-checked that I had enough water, my iPod, cell phone, sunglasses, and assorted dog gear, then pottied the hounds and hit the road. We had about an inch of snow overnight, the air was still and in the mid-20's and just glorious. The moon was setting to the west, the sun eventually rose in the east... Less than two hours later I pulled into our meeting place for breakfast, paid my entry fees, and ordered more coffee. Two hours after that, we were walking in the desert somewhere, looking for Mr. Jack.
More than seven hours and some many miles later (figure 3-ish MPH for 7+ hrs) we returned to our vehicles for a quick potluck. As the sun set we headed back to pavement, the hounds laid flat out and dreaming of the day's courses. After a quick dinner with my friend Elaine I headed home – the moon rising from the east.
Perfect symmetry to the day.
Today is snowing and blowing, a good day to be at home rather than walking fields. My shoulders were sore from the ruck sack and dogs pulling most of the day, but my feet were (and today still) feel great. Someday I'll have to replace my waterproof hiking boots from REI and it will cost a fortune, but I have never regretted the $200 (sale price!) I spent on these. Best damn things I ever put on my feet.
But my car is still needing to be cleared out... guess what's waiting for me in there?
Yesterday was a very good day. I had fun, my dogs had fun, the weather was great, the drive was stunning, the company for dinner was spot-on.
In this state, hunting is perfectly legal. Yet a lot of people get up in arms (ironic pun, no?) over it, so I share details with those I know only. Gotta wonder how some people think all those groceries show up in the meat case... a topic for another day I suppose. And yes, I have a license.
The car was mostly loaded on Friday night - ruck sack with people snacks, dog blankets, binoculars, some first aid stuff, bottles of water, dog bowl, orange vest; more water, dog beds and blankets, assortment of collars and leashes; my wallet, sunglasses, sunscreen, hat, gloves, ear muffs, down vest, windbreaker, spare coat, cooler with chicken necks, thermos of coffee and mug... for a day-trip there's a stunning amount of STUFF involved. The one thing that I wanted but didn't have was some extra collars; they were ordered but hadn't arrived yet.
Saturday morning I arose at 4:30 a.m., pushed "start" on the coffee pot, fed Py and Day half-sized breakfasts of thawed chicken necks, got dressed, double-checked that I had enough water, my iPod, cell phone, sunglasses, and assorted dog gear, then pottied the hounds and hit the road. We had about an inch of snow overnight, the air was still and in the mid-20's and just glorious. The moon was setting to the west, the sun eventually rose in the east... Less than two hours later I pulled into our meeting place for breakfast, paid my entry fees, and ordered more coffee. Two hours after that, we were walking in the desert somewhere, looking for Mr. Jack.
More than seven hours and some many miles later (figure 3-ish MPH for 7+ hrs) we returned to our vehicles for a quick potluck. As the sun set we headed back to pavement, the hounds laid flat out and dreaming of the day's courses. After a quick dinner with my friend Elaine I headed home – the moon rising from the east.
Perfect symmetry to the day.
Today is snowing and blowing, a good day to be at home rather than walking fields. My shoulders were sore from the ruck sack and dogs pulling most of the day, but my feet were (and today still) feel great. Someday I'll have to replace my waterproof hiking boots from REI and it will cost a fortune, but I have never regretted the $200 (sale price!) I spent on these. Best damn things I ever put on my feet.
But my car is still needing to be cleared out... guess what's waiting for me in there?
Monday, 8 December 2008
Sing it with me
Monday, Monday...
You know, as in the Mamas & the Papas... no? Hm, bet you're under 40. Probably a LOT under. Not that that's a bad thing... anyway...
Mondays have turned into Delta Society day for Py and me. We spent a couple hours at a residential treatment facility this afternoon; today most of the kids wanted to read to "Mr. Py" as they call him. I think that's very sweet, since he towers over the littlest ones and they all clearly love to spend time with him. Some lie on the floor and stroke his fur, others hug/hang on him, others just sit quietly, some won't read until he lies down. Each interaction is differnet, and how Py knows what each individual kid needs is beyond my understanding, but I know it's real.
Anyway, today one of the kids I'll call Billy read a story about a mystery tower in Rhode Island. Who knew?? Very cool, have to put that on the "visit someday" list.
Right before we left a girl I'll call Billie came in, her third visit today, and asked if she could sing Py a song she was writing. Like a lot of kids at this facility, she's got what is euphamistically refered to as a "troubled past." I don't know, and I don't want to know. Sure, I said, this is your time, anything you want to do is fine. So she sings this song, moving closer to Py as she does so, winding up with her hand on his back, and he leans onto her. The lyrics? "You're my best friend..." Pass the tissues. Then she sang it again, and apologetically said it needed some work. No honey, it's great just the way it is.
On a good day I learn something new; today was a good day.
You know, as in the Mamas & the Papas... no? Hm, bet you're under 40
Mondays have turned into Delta Society day for Py and me. We spent a couple hours at a residential treatment facility this afternoon; today most of the kids wanted to read to "Mr. Py" as they call him. I think that's very sweet, since he towers over the littlest ones and they all clearly love to spend time with him. Some lie on the floor and stroke his fur, others hug/hang on him, others just sit quietly, some won't read until he lies down. Each interaction is differnet, and how Py knows what each individual kid needs is beyond my understanding, but I know it's real.
Anyway, today one of the kids I'll call Billy read a story about a mystery tower in Rhode Island. Who knew?? Very cool, have to put that on the "visit someday" list.
Right before we left a girl I'll call Billie came in, her third visit today, and asked if she could sing Py a song she was writing. Like a lot of kids at this facility, she's got what is euphamistically refered to as a "troubled past." I don't know, and I don't want to know. Sure, I said, this is your time, anything you want to do is fine. So she sings this song, moving closer to Py as she does so, winding up with her hand on his back, and he leans onto her. The lyrics? "You're my best friend..." Pass the tissues. Then she sang it again, and apologetically said it needed some work. No honey, it's great just the way it is.
On a good day I learn something new; today was a good day.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Latest Passtime
Note: this is not an addiction.
Last Christmas our son got a new iPod, and I finagled around until I inherited his old one, a Nano. Driving carpool the last few years has opened my ears to new artists and genres, which I think makes me one of the cool, hip parents. (Note that I have been informed by said carpool participants that use of the words "cool" and "hip" mean I'm "not" - but I think they're messing with me.) Anyway... my dad and I have traded audiobooks thanks to Pando we each get from our respective libraries. Pando is pretty amazing, having figured out a way to e-mail HUGE files, like audiobooks, movies, monster collections of photos, etc. Audiobooks are great for keeping me occupied on my long drives to dog trials in CO, AZ, and southern parts of NM. Not to mention during my 120 mile roundtrip carpool stint.
So imagine my delight when I found that iTunes has some NPR podcasts available, free! Like any good Libertarian, I listen to my local NPR stations for the news, local to global. But there are lots of great shows, particularly on the weekends, that I never get to listen to. If I'm not at a trial, I'm doing chores around our ranchero. Click & Clack, Whaddayaknow, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me... guess what - all of these are FREE podcasts to download!! Then I found Capitol Steps and George Carlin available, and I suspect that people in cars next to me wonder what the hell I'm laughing at, but let me tell ya these are a hoot. Falling over funny.
Not that I'm addicted to podcasts or need a bigger iPod anything... Want, yes. Need, no.
Last Christmas our son got a new iPod, and I finagled around until I inherited his old one, a Nano. Driving carpool the last few years has opened my ears to new artists and genres, which I think makes me one of the cool, hip parents. (Note that I have been informed by said carpool participants that use of the words "cool" and "hip" mean I'm "not" - but I think they're messing with me.) Anyway... my dad and I have traded audiobooks thanks to Pando we each get from our respective libraries. Pando is pretty amazing, having figured out a way to e-mail HUGE files, like audiobooks, movies, monster collections of photos, etc. Audiobooks are great for keeping me occupied on my long drives to dog trials in CO, AZ, and southern parts of NM. Not to mention during my 120 mile roundtrip carpool stint.
So imagine my delight when I found that iTunes has some NPR podcasts available, free! Like any good Libertarian, I listen to my local NPR stations for the news, local to global. But there are lots of great shows, particularly on the weekends, that I never get to listen to. If I'm not at a trial, I'm doing chores around our ranchero. Click & Clack, Whaddayaknow, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me... guess what - all of these are FREE podcasts to download!! Then I found Capitol Steps and George Carlin available, and I suspect that people in cars next to me wonder what the hell I'm laughing at, but let me tell ya these are a hoot. Falling over funny.
Not that I'm addicted to podcasts or need a bigger iPod anything... Want, yes. Need, no.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
First Time for Everything
And redux, too.
After a week of houseguests and no clients - which means the house stayed pretty darn clean for a change - Ren and I were off to the southern part of the state for the weekend for a little action with Mr. Jack. Sandra, her two dogs, and her colleague Nancy left early in the morning on Friday, with my assurances that such helpful and self-entertaining company would be welcomed back any time. I poured another cup of coffee and set about reducing the mounds of laundry, only to realize at about 11 that the clothes I needed to pack were still on the floor in my closet. Oops. I didn't get out of the house until just after 2. An uneventful drive, a beautiful sunset, and only one wrong turn put me at the hotel just after our friend Susan arrived from Texas. Within a couple of hours we and the dogs were all fed and bedded down for the night.
Fast forward to late morning on Saturday, a spectacular sunrise, crisp and dry air, and like-minded desert walkers... just too good to be true. When it was time for one of Sandra's dogs to be on the line, she'd hand me the spare dog to hang on to. No problem, I've got a lot of practice hanging onto other people's dogs, even those that mimic freight trains, helicopters, and assorted rocket launched missiles. Unfortunately, hubris is often paired with public humiliation, and CJ got away from me, prong and leash attached. I just managed to keep my face out of the dirt, but the dog was gone.
Never before had this happened to me. Thanks to Tom & KC's hounds for breaking me in (translation: pulling me on my face multiple times), and one or two of mine that have no sense at the sight of plastic or fur, I'm quite accustomed to sore shoulders and arms of unequal length. But NEVER once has a dog gotten away from me by pulling the leash off my hand - never. Not at lure coursing, straight or oval racing, agility, obedience, open field, never. Oh well, guess I can take that "no problem, I can hold your dog" line out of my vocabulary. I paid the $5 fine (for having a loose dog on the field) and quietly swallowed my humble pie.
Little did I know there would be a second helping on Sunday. Because my own dog got loose. By breaking the snap bolt on his leash. In Finals. While I was huntmaster. Another $5 fine, and I have to buy a new leash.
The incessant assurances of the field committee that "it happens to everyone" and ensuing stories of their experiences cheered me only slightly.
After a week of houseguests and no clients - which means the house stayed pretty darn clean for a change - Ren and I were off to the southern part of the state for the weekend for a little action with Mr. Jack. Sandra, her two dogs, and her colleague Nancy left early in the morning on Friday, with my assurances that such helpful and self-entertaining company would be welcomed back any time. I poured another cup of coffee and set about reducing the mounds of laundry, only to realize at about 11 that the clothes I needed to pack were still on the floor in my closet. Oops. I didn't get out of the house until just after 2. An uneventful drive, a beautiful sunset, and only one wrong turn put me at the hotel just after our friend Susan arrived from Texas. Within a couple of hours we and the dogs were all fed and bedded down for the night.
Fast forward to late morning on Saturday, a spectacular sunrise, crisp and dry air, and like-minded desert walkers... just too good to be true. When it was time for one of Sandra's dogs to be on the line, she'd hand me the spare dog to hang on to. No problem, I've got a lot of practice hanging onto other people's dogs, even those that mimic freight trains, helicopters, and assorted rocket launched missiles. Unfortunately, hubris is often paired with public humiliation, and CJ got away from me, prong and leash attached. I just managed to keep my face out of the dirt, but the dog was gone.
Never before had this happened to me. Thanks to Tom & KC's hounds for breaking me in (translation: pulling me on my face multiple times), and one or two of mine that have no sense at the sight of plastic or fur, I'm quite accustomed to sore shoulders and arms of unequal length. But NEVER once has a dog gotten away from me by pulling the leash off my hand - never. Not at lure coursing, straight or oval racing, agility, obedience, open field, never. Oh well, guess I can take that "no problem, I can hold your dog" line out of my vocabulary. I paid the $5 fine (for having a loose dog on the field) and quietly swallowed my humble pie.
Little did I know there would be a second helping on Sunday. Because my own dog got loose. By breaking the snap bolt on his leash. In Finals. While I was huntmaster. Another $5 fine, and I have to buy a new leash.
The incessant assurances of the field committee that "it happens to everyone" and ensuing stories of their experiences cheered me only slightly.
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