We've all heard - either as advice we give our children or perhaps directed to ourselves - to follow your bliss. This isn't insipid advice from a 99 cent greeting card - it is actually a profound and fundamental truth.
Years ago my father, an orchestra conductor, advised Anthony (then an aspiring cello player), not to pursue a career in professional music unless he couldn't live without it. Being a musician is a tough way to make a living, much less in classical music. But if one is a musician (or an artist of any sort), life without that art is hell itself.
I've come to believe that is true, on some level, of all productive activity. Be it work or hobby, there's a self-fullfilling cycle: If you enjoy your work, you will be good at your work. If you are good at something, you're more likely to want to do it. In training, we call this a self-reinforcing behavior. There are lots of examples, food and sex being the most profound. If it feels good, do more of it, right? Think about comfort foods and masturbation, and the truth of this becomes obvious.
Some things are obvious only after first-hand experience, and I was reminded of this again yesterday. I took Gin open field coursing, and her unrestrained ecstasy at discovering why she exists gave me joy, as well. She loves plastic games (lure coursing and racing), really loves them. They are fun fun fun and Gin is always happy to go play. But yesterday she found her purpose for being: chasing live game over rough terrain in cold weather. This is what borzoi were developed to do, this is what they do better than any other breed. (Yes, some are faster and some have more endurance, but none other hits that trifecta out of the park.) Gin thought cotton-tails looked like fun and should be chased, but once loosed on the jackrabbit, she transformed.
I have seen this before, Py and Ren and Day all learned the same lesson about themselves - the why of their being. It's just like a border collie when they "turn on" at herding: OH!! I make the sheep move by doing THIS. And they become their true selves.
Hundreds of generations of DNA can not be denied. The truth is it feels good to do that at which we are best. Basically, "do what you love, love what you do."
And perhaps this is why we humans - as a species - have so much trouble figuring out what to do with our lives. We have hundreds of generations of DNA for... nothing in particular. So Anthony has a love and appreciation of music that only a musician can have, but it is not his raison d’être. His opportunities to discover other interests have led him in a different direction, one that is easy for him simply because he loves it so much.
The hard part is to find what you love. The easy part is, just do it.
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Training is Playing
We say it all the time:
And the best training resembles play - and this is a wonderful example. Enjoy!
Train like you compete; compete like you train.
And the best training resembles play - and this is a wonderful example. Enjoy!
Monday, 9 November 2009
To hell with the consequences
I just let my fingers do the walking.
Anthony's roommate, in whom we had such confidence, has turned out to be a drunk. A danger to himself and a risk to Anthony's academic career.
Omerta - the code of silence - is alive and well within the dorm walls. Although we have been aware of this growing problem for several weeks, it initially seemed appropriate to let the roomies deal with this themselves. No more. I no longer care that it "isn't done" to rat-out one's roomie. I no longer care that "mom" shouldn't interfere in a situation 1500 miles away. I am no longer hesitant to butt into a dangerous situation.
The proverbial last straw? The roommate's drinking has gone too far. Since he turned 19, Jesse progressed to passing out in the room, gagging on his own vomit. Anthony spent Saturday night and Sunday keeping his roommate alive, instead of sleeping and studying.
That is not what a 17 year old should be doing with his weekend.
So this morning I picked up the phone and called the university employee in charge of that dormitory. Anthony will be pissed at me, and so will Rick. But I don't care. If I were Jesse's mom, I'd want somebody to pick up the phone and get my kid the help he needs.
Because the consequences of inaction are too awful to contemplate.
Anthony's roommate, in whom we had such confidence, has turned out to be a drunk. A danger to himself and a risk to Anthony's academic career.
Omerta - the code of silence - is alive and well within the dorm walls. Although we have been aware of this growing problem for several weeks, it initially seemed appropriate to let the roomies deal with this themselves. No more. I no longer care that it "isn't done" to rat-out one's roomie. I no longer care that "mom" shouldn't interfere in a situation 1500 miles away. I am no longer hesitant to butt into a dangerous situation.
The proverbial last straw? The roommate's drinking has gone too far. Since he turned 19, Jesse progressed to passing out in the room, gagging on his own vomit. Anthony spent Saturday night and Sunday keeping his roommate alive, instead of sleeping and studying.
That is not what a 17 year old should be doing with his weekend.
So this morning I picked up the phone and called the university employee in charge of that dormitory. Anthony will be pissed at me, and so will Rick. But I don't care. If I were Jesse's mom, I'd want somebody to pick up the phone and get my kid the help he needs.
Because the consequences of inaction are too awful to contemplate.
Saturday, 7 November 2009
Horse of the Year 2009
This is her: Zenyatta - unbeaten and untouchable.
Her biggest competition, Rachel Alexander, wasn't on the track this weekend. Let the voting begin.
What a year!
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Sex and life
The study on longevity and spaying has been getting forwarded a lot recently; here's a link to the original published article:
http://www.gpmcf.org/respectovaries.html
Food for thought and more data against MSN and early forced spay.
http://www.gpmcf.org/respectovaries.html
Food for thought and more data against MSN and early forced spay.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
One of those days
Dog + Kids = Magic
This morning Py and I did our weekly visit with the kids at the treatment center. We usually hang out in one of the classrooms, the kids cycle through as they work on a particular assignment or project. Sometimes we're involved in a treatment session, but not always. This week they are making and hanging Halloween decorations, which requires measuring and math. Then kids ended up measuring Mr. Py (as they call him), comparing their results in centimeters and inches, adding height at elbow to height from elbow to withers or top of head, comparing to height of hocks and hip. Around the ribs, waist, neck, each leg in various places. Then along his head, length of spine, add length of tail... you get the idea. Then they got out a stamp pad and used one of Mr. Py's feet to make paw prints in their decorations. It was very cool how they included him in the day's activities.
In the middle of all this activity, one little girl had lain down on the floor; I asked if she weren't feeling well. (It's germ season and the facility has strict rules about symptoms.) I miss my dad, she said, and looked unbearably sad. I let the teacher know she was having a hard time, the teacher suggested the girl draw to let out her feelings; she did, then gave the teacher her drawing.
Next thing I know Mr. Py is pulling and pulling, he wants out of the classroom. The doorway is covered with decorations (big scary streamers of bats and spiders) so I can't see what's out there. The teacher sticks her head in, asks if she can hold Mr. Py's leash in the hallway. Something in her face makes me say yes.
Mr. Py went and leaned on this girl, who then was able to talk with a counselor in the hall. I could see a little through the streamers; he just stood there, touching her, while she stroked him. I couldn't hear the conversation, but was later told the girl was considering suicide and had drawn a picture of a knife. Until Mr. Py had forced his way to her, she wasn't talking. By the time we left she was laughing.
Cured of her depression? Of course not. But, thanks to the miracle of a dog who felt her pain and insisted on helping, this girl has the support of the adults around her and will get the treatment she needs.
Py is now sleeping, he will for about 24 hours. The level of toxic hell some of these kids have survived is indescribable; they dump it out of their systems and Mr. Py takes some of it away from them. Then he has to recover. Every week he stamps his feet at my car - it's Thursday morning! Let's go see my kids! Then he drags me to the front door, down the stairs and to his kids - and becomes Mr. Py.
I can't explain it, I didn't train it, it's just a gift he has. It's days like this that make me appreciate the ability to listen to dogs, to trust them, to go with what they know - even when I'm in over my head.
This morning Py and I did our weekly visit with the kids at the treatment center. We usually hang out in one of the classrooms, the kids cycle through as they work on a particular assignment or project. Sometimes we're involved in a treatment session, but not always. This week they are making and hanging Halloween decorations, which requires measuring and math. Then kids ended up measuring Mr. Py (as they call him), comparing their results in centimeters and inches, adding height at elbow to height from elbow to withers or top of head, comparing to height of hocks and hip. Around the ribs, waist, neck, each leg in various places. Then along his head, length of spine, add length of tail... you get the idea. Then they got out a stamp pad and used one of Mr. Py's feet to make paw prints in their decorations. It was very cool how they included him in the day's activities.
In the middle of all this activity, one little girl had lain down on the floor; I asked if she weren't feeling well. (It's germ season and the facility has strict rules about symptoms.) I miss my dad, she said, and looked unbearably sad. I let the teacher know she was having a hard time, the teacher suggested the girl draw to let out her feelings; she did, then gave the teacher her drawing.
Next thing I know Mr. Py is pulling and pulling, he wants out of the classroom. The doorway is covered with decorations (big scary streamers of bats and spiders) so I can't see what's out there. The teacher sticks her head in, asks if she can hold Mr. Py's leash in the hallway. Something in her face makes me say yes.
Mr. Py went and leaned on this girl, who then was able to talk with a counselor in the hall. I could see a little through the streamers; he just stood there, touching her, while she stroked him. I couldn't hear the conversation, but was later told the girl was considering suicide and had drawn a picture of a knife. Until Mr. Py had forced his way to her, she wasn't talking. By the time we left she was laughing.
Cured of her depression? Of course not. But, thanks to the miracle of a dog who felt her pain and insisted on helping, this girl has the support of the adults around her and will get the treatment she needs.
Py is now sleeping, he will for about 24 hours. The level of toxic hell some of these kids have survived is indescribable; they dump it out of their systems and Mr. Py takes some of it away from them. Then he has to recover. Every week he stamps his feet at my car - it's Thursday morning! Let's go see my kids! Then he drags me to the front door, down the stairs and to his kids - and becomes Mr. Py.
I can't explain it, I didn't train it, it's just a gift he has. It's days like this that make me appreciate the ability to listen to dogs, to trust them, to go with what they know - even when I'm in over my head.
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Never Say Never
Somewhere, there's a patch of hell that has frozen over. I know this because today, despite all previous pronouncements to the contrary, I set it foot in the Conformation ring and the Obedience ring on the same day. Have to say, I never thought that would happen.
Now, we pause so that those that know me well can pick themselves up off the floor after fainting; please enjoy the music.
Dum, deedle dum, tra la la. (Thanks for listening.)
When I happen to be at a dog show, which is usually because I have a dog entered in Rally, I do try to watch the breed ring. I used to watch the Border collies in particular, but the specimines one finds in the show ring nauseate me so I no longer do. I know too much, have seen too many bench champions fail a basic herding instinct test, have seen too many brilliant herding dogs get passed over in the show ring, to have any use whatsoever for the opinion of any conformation judge of this breed. Correction - they are now separate breeds: working border collies and barbie collies. There are always exceptions so spare me the story of the one you've seen. Barbie collies are easy to identify: heavy bone, insane amounts of coat, typically low drive (easier to live with than a real, working border collie), too stupid to know which end of a sheep to stalk (also easier to live with than a real, working border collie), and a sea of monotonous irish marked, black and white. No thanks.
Lately I make a point to watch sighthound judging, and borzoi in particular, as most sighthound breeds are not yet fully split into bench and working types. This is a highly probable outcome, and has long since happened in many other breeds.
Take a look at any of the following: Golden Retriever, Labrador Retriever, Cocker Spaniel or Irish Setter - you get the idea, the list is endless - there are "field" lines and "show" lines. Pick any small terrier breed; JRT's are now called Parsons in the show ring, in less than a decade there is a complete split. I refer you again to working border collies, ruined in merely three generations; herding ability is genetically complex. Greyhounds are almost there, Whippets are inches away.
When I'm watching sighthound judging I look to see if the judge knows what he or she is doing. Do they go for profuse coat? TRAD movement? (TRAD is "tremendous reach and drive" - very flashy, totally inefficient, and absolutely incorrect for sighthounds.) Move dogs with obviously bad temperaments to the end of the line? Since I know most of the local dogs, I compare what the judge selects against my personal observations of each dog's coursing ability. Does the judge carefully examine the topline for flexibility? Or do they go for handlers? Have a color bias? Prefer size over soundness or physical condition?
Standing ringside for hound group judging, I joined in a conversation with two strangers, one of whom turned out to be a sighthound person and a conformation judge. We were discussing the difference between a great dog and a great show dog - and all agreed they are two different things, rarely seen in a single individual. He commented that what he hates most is those interviews of the Best In Show judge on TV, when the judge says "He just asked for the win!" What would be much better, we all agreed, would be to say something like: "This dog is an excellent example of its breed, has a correct temperament, all it's teeth, is not overweight, is well muscled, moves soundly, appears to be in glorious health." Can you just imagine what John Q Public would learn about dogs if that were repeated after every televised dog show? Even better, can you imagine how show dogs would improve if every breeder / owner / handler were working toward those goals?
But I digress. (Thank you for not fainting from shock a second time in a single post.)
So today I was standing ringside, rooting for my friends and watching the judge - who, predictably, did not put up what I consider to be the best coursing hound. No surprise there. However, one friend wound up with two dogs in best of breed judging, and I was drafted to assist. Luckily I was dressed properly (yes, the handler's attire matters, more proof it isn't about the dogs nearly as much as they pretend it is), borrowed some bait, and ventured into the ring. I managed not to fall down or step on the hound or mess up anyone next to me in line, so I will declare the experience a rousing success.
I was properly dressed because I was entered in Obedience - Novice A, to be exact - the last class of the day, in a ring at the far end of the trial site. Good news: late in day, fewer distractions, small class, etc. Bad news: outdoor show, hot sunshine, sighthound, 5 of the 7 exercises are off leash.
I am thrilled to report that my dog, a borzoi, did NOT leave the ring chasing anything, and did NOT mark the ring (pee) although a bitch had done so not 15 minutes before we walked in. As hoped, I learned the specific things I need to work on (uncued, auto-sits when heeling; single verbal cue for recall; more duration for off-leash heeling). And as icing on the cake, my big bozo was the only Novice dog (A or B) that passed both the long Sit and the long Down.
Don't get me wrong, we did not qualify, but I was thrilled none the less: we had accomplished MORE than I had expected. In short, another rousing success in a foreign ring.
As we were leaving the ring, the judge indicated to me that she'd like a word. Not one to argue with the judge, I scooted my hound into the shade and gave her my rapt attention. The judge - no doubt with the best intentions - then berated me for not taking things seriously, my dog obviously didn't respect me, and if I ever expected to accomplish anything with him (yes, that's a quote) I needed to be better prepared. Borzoi, she explained, are a noble breed, she likes to see them do well, I should appreciate what they are capable of. I tried to smile politely and said that it was MY first time in an actual Obedience ring and the day's exercise was for me to see what *I* need to work on, I thought the dog was fine. I meant no disrespect by being casual, I'd been doing Rally for several years and was feeling my way through the differences. The judge said, ah yes Rally, well yes, this is quite different. At that moment, someone told the judge to look at the catalogue (which contains the dog's registered name and titles), as there was nothing that particular dog couldn't do. (Can I just say, I LOVE my 4-H kids' parents!!) I thanked the judge, beamed a smile at the 4-H mom, found my dog's cookies, and headed back back to our set-up area.
Along the way I was waylaid by another exhibitor, who, after asking if she could tell me something, proceeded to loudly and repeatedly admonish me for the collar I had on my dog in the ring. (A perfectly legal collar, by the way, that I had pre-cleared with the judge.) Really? You're getting after me me for my choice of collar?
Now I ask you: what if today had been my first EVER time at a dog trial? Novice A is for rookies, it's the class for rank beginners. How many people can take a dressing-down from a judge, in front of the ring crew and spectators, not qualify, and ever want to come back for more? How many people can be loudly, and unfairly, publicly criticized for the collar their dog is wearing, and ever want to come back for more? My guess is: very few.
What's wrong with dog shows isn't the grooming that would make a prom-queen cry or the spectators or the weather or the entry fees or the roach-coach food vendors or the clothes or the frequently pretentious atmosphere to the entire circus. It's not the absurd glossy magazines filled with carefully edited pictures or the staggering costs of campaigning a special. It isn't even that the dogs winning couldn't run a mile if their lives depended on it, much less do it over and over. No, what's wrong with dog shows is the politics and the people (yes, I know those always come as a package), the lack of encouragement or support or compliments for those just trying something new. What's wrong is all the bullshit and one-up-manship and nastiness.
Sure, we should try to do a creditable job and train our dogs and be prepared. And at the top levels of any game, a certain amount of competitive edge is inevitable. But at some silly little local show, is it too much to ask that we remain civil toward one another? Nice? Polite? Take a moment and offer the rookie a pat on the back instead of harsh remarks?
Here's hoping for a thaw.
Now, we pause so that those that know me well can pick themselves up off the floor after fainting; please enjoy the music.
Dum, deedle dum, tra la la. (Thanks for listening.)
When I happen to be at a dog show, which is usually because I have a dog entered in Rally, I do try to watch the breed ring. I used to watch the Border collies in particular, but the specimines one finds in the show ring nauseate me so I no longer do. I know too much, have seen too many bench champions fail a basic herding instinct test, have seen too many brilliant herding dogs get passed over in the show ring, to have any use whatsoever for the opinion of any conformation judge of this breed. Correction - they are now separate breeds: working border collies and barbie collies. There are always exceptions so spare me the story of the one you've seen. Barbie collies are easy to identify: heavy bone, insane amounts of coat, typically low drive (easier to live with than a real, working border collie), too stupid to know which end of a sheep to stalk (also easier to live with than a real, working border collie), and a sea of monotonous irish marked, black and white. No thanks.
Lately I make a point to watch sighthound judging, and borzoi in particular, as most sighthound breeds are not yet fully split into bench and working types. This is a highly probable outcome, and has long since happened in many other breeds.
Take a look at any of the following: Golden Retriever, Labrador Retriever, Cocker Spaniel or Irish Setter - you get the idea, the list is endless - there are "field" lines and "show" lines. Pick any small terrier breed; JRT's are now called Parsons in the show ring, in less than a decade there is a complete split. I refer you again to working border collies, ruined in merely three generations; herding ability is genetically complex. Greyhounds are almost there, Whippets are inches away.
When I'm watching sighthound judging I look to see if the judge knows what he or she is doing. Do they go for profuse coat? TRAD movement? (TRAD is "tremendous reach and drive" - very flashy, totally inefficient, and absolutely incorrect for sighthounds.) Move dogs with obviously bad temperaments to the end of the line? Since I know most of the local dogs, I compare what the judge selects against my personal observations of each dog's coursing ability. Does the judge carefully examine the topline for flexibility? Or do they go for handlers? Have a color bias? Prefer size over soundness or physical condition?
Standing ringside for hound group judging, I joined in a conversation with two strangers, one of whom turned out to be a sighthound person and a conformation judge. We were discussing the difference between a great dog and a great show dog - and all agreed they are two different things, rarely seen in a single individual. He commented that what he hates most is those interviews of the Best In Show judge on TV, when the judge says "He just asked for the win!" What would be much better, we all agreed, would be to say something like: "This dog is an excellent example of its breed, has a correct temperament, all it's teeth, is not overweight, is well muscled, moves soundly, appears to be in glorious health." Can you just imagine what John Q Public would learn about dogs if that were repeated after every televised dog show? Even better, can you imagine how show dogs would improve if every breeder / owner / handler were working toward those goals?
But I digress. (Thank you for not fainting from shock a second time in a single post.)
So today I was standing ringside, rooting for my friends and watching the judge - who, predictably, did not put up what I consider to be the best coursing hound. No surprise there. However, one friend wound up with two dogs in best of breed judging, and I was drafted to assist. Luckily I was dressed properly (yes, the handler's attire matters, more proof it isn't about the dogs nearly as much as they pretend it is), borrowed some bait, and ventured into the ring. I managed not to fall down or step on the hound or mess up anyone next to me in line, so I will declare the experience a rousing success.
I was properly dressed because I was entered in Obedience - Novice A, to be exact - the last class of the day, in a ring at the far end of the trial site. Good news: late in day, fewer distractions, small class, etc. Bad news: outdoor show, hot sunshine, sighthound, 5 of the 7 exercises are off leash.
I am thrilled to report that my dog, a borzoi, did NOT leave the ring chasing anything, and did NOT mark the ring (pee) although a bitch had done so not 15 minutes before we walked in. As hoped, I learned the specific things I need to work on (uncued, auto-sits when heeling; single verbal cue for recall; more duration for off-leash heeling). And as icing on the cake, my big bozo was the only Novice dog (A or B) that passed both the long Sit and the long Down.
Don't get me wrong, we did not qualify, but I was thrilled none the less: we had accomplished MORE than I had expected. In short, another rousing success in a foreign ring.
As we were leaving the ring, the judge indicated to me that she'd like a word. Not one to argue with the judge, I scooted my hound into the shade and gave her my rapt attention. The judge - no doubt with the best intentions - then berated me for not taking things seriously, my dog obviously didn't respect me, and if I ever expected to accomplish anything with him (yes, that's a quote) I needed to be better prepared. Borzoi, she explained, are a noble breed, she likes to see them do well, I should appreciate what they are capable of. I tried to smile politely and said that it was MY first time in an actual Obedience ring and the day's exercise was for me to see what *I* need to work on, I thought the dog was fine. I meant no disrespect by being casual, I'd been doing Rally for several years and was feeling my way through the differences. The judge said, ah yes Rally, well yes, this is quite different. At that moment, someone told the judge to look at the catalogue (which contains the dog's registered name and titles), as there was nothing that particular dog couldn't do. (Can I just say, I LOVE my 4-H kids' parents!!) I thanked the judge, beamed a smile at the 4-H mom, found my dog's cookies, and headed back back to our set-up area.
Along the way I was waylaid by another exhibitor, who, after asking if she could tell me something, proceeded to loudly and repeatedly admonish me for the collar I had on my dog in the ring. (A perfectly legal collar, by the way, that I had pre-cleared with the judge.) Really? You're getting after me me for my choice of collar?
Now I ask you: what if today had been my first EVER time at a dog trial? Novice A is for rookies, it's the class for rank beginners. How many people can take a dressing-down from a judge, in front of the ring crew and spectators, not qualify, and ever want to come back for more? How many people can be loudly, and unfairly, publicly criticized for the collar their dog is wearing, and ever want to come back for more? My guess is: very few.
What's wrong with dog shows isn't the grooming that would make a prom-queen cry or the spectators or the weather or the entry fees or the roach-coach food vendors or the clothes or the frequently pretentious atmosphere to the entire circus. It's not the absurd glossy magazines filled with carefully edited pictures or the staggering costs of campaigning a special. It isn't even that the dogs winning couldn't run a mile if their lives depended on it, much less do it over and over. No, what's wrong with dog shows is the politics and the people (yes, I know those always come as a package), the lack of encouragement or support or compliments for those just trying something new. What's wrong is all the bullshit and one-up-manship and nastiness.
Sure, we should try to do a creditable job and train our dogs and be prepared. And at the top levels of any game, a certain amount of competitive edge is inevitable. But at some silly little local show, is it too much to ask that we remain civil toward one another? Nice? Polite? Take a moment and offer the rookie a pat on the back instead of harsh remarks?
Here's hoping for a thaw.
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