Although a successful agility run is an incomparable thrill, if I had to pick a favorite part of agility it’d be the training — especially building new skills or expanding existing ones. Perhaps because I STILL think it’s magical we’re able to explain any of this to our dogs at all. Have you considered recently how incredibly special that is?
There is little that delights me more than when I can SEE my dog is getting it, and the language we have formed feels almost clear as English. There is little that fascinates me more than when my message is coming out garbled on the other end of the line and I haven’t figured out why.
I think of training like a conversation, which reminds me there ought to be two engaged speakers involved, and two listeners, too. I expect my dog to seek to understand the information I am presenting, but no more than I’m seeking to understand theirs. Because this is a conversation (not a lecture), my next step is always informed by the dog’s input. When that input is not what I expected, I try my best to listen instead of argue.
I think of training like an experiment, which reminds me that the unexpected is part of the process. We hypothesize and we test, and sometimes our hypotheses will be wrong. Discerning the inner working of this dog’s mind will ALWAYS be a work in progress. It’s a frontier not unlike space or the deep sea. We try to know more and more, we still know precious little, and we will never fully know the entire truth.
In agility there is often a competitive reward for she who understands her dog’s perspective best, and I love that about this sport. But what I love even more is the process of exploration we engage in when we set out to teach a dog to weave, or perform a running dog walk, or stay patiently on the start line. I love the way this process changes me and the dog, and the way it elevates the connection between us.
This sport, this endeavor, this odyssey… it’s such a gift to me. It’s practical magic and artful science. Don’t be afraid to claim that for yourself, too.