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.