Crufts

A week after Crufts finished and we've just finished watching all the agility on the catchup, which this year is on YouTube for the first time. We are very lucky as agility addicts that all the main ring coverage is live streamed, and available to watch back online.

This year, as for the last few years, I went to Crufts on two days to help with the rescue agility display - although on the Saturday it was a very fleeting visit, leaving home at Stupid O'Clock to get to the NEC just after 8am, and leaving before getting stuck in the crowds. On the Thursday I was there for longer, as the display was in a really good slot in the middle of the day.

I get some mixed reactions when I mention I am going to Crufts. I see it as an amazing opportunity to promote rescue dogs. No other event anywhere will bring together so many people who care about dogs. The rescue agility display includes dogs of many breeds, some recognisable, some total mutts, and the message for all of them is the same, "I was unwanted, but look at how far I have come". The message is not about reaching the highest levels of agility (although some rescue dogs do), it is just about showing that these rescue dogs are happy, trainable, sociable, lovely dogs.

Some people feel it is inexplicable that someone who works in rescue should attend something run by the Kennel Club, who support breeding. I don't see rescue dogs and breeding as totally incompatible. I have been working in rescue long enough to meet many good breeders who truly do provide lifetime backup, and often not only for the dogs they have bred, but to others of their breed whose breeders do not take responsiblity.

However, I have to confess I avoid the breed rings at Crufts. I see too many things I am uncomfortable with, too many dogs "strung up" on show leads, too many dogs showing mild avoidance of the judge or handler. There are too many question marks in my mind over how and why so many dogs are bred - I know some excellent breeders, but by definition they are not representative of the average. It is possible to spend all day at Crufts and not see any breed showing - I'm sure some people do nothing but shop!

There is good and bad in all areas of course, and I see things that make me cringe around other disciplines too. I know one person who cannot bear to attend agility shows in case they see someone lose their temper with their dog, as once they saw a dog scruffed. It is true there are some people who are not very nice to their dogs. But you will see them everywhere, at the park, at the vet, at the beach - staying away from shows of any kind will not protect you.

Crufts means something special to the agility world. Qualifying to take part in one of the Crufts agility events is a lifetime ambition for many people, and a true achievement. I just wish people would realise that for those 60 seconds in the ring they are representing agility, to the whole dog world. Other dog owners will judge agility by what they see, and handlers shouting in frustration at their dogs does nothing for any of us. My pet hate is handlers who ignore their dog at the end of the run, no praise, no toy, not even a smile, just walk out of the arena (sometimes chatting to the ring party). How must that look to the general public?

For me, Crufts was the reason I first tried agility. When I was younger the BBC used to do an "activities" programme about a week after Crufts, that featured the obedience, agility, and other non-breed aspects of the show. This was pretty much the highlight of my TV year as a child,along with One Man And His Dog of course, and I always knew when I had my own dog we would try agility.

Now Crufts has come to mean that the agility show season is getting close. Watching so much awesome agility is the perfect motivation to do some more training, shows are nearly here, the evenings are drawing out, roll on summer! I really struggled with Crufts the year Alf and I were out of action, as it was just a reminder that I was going to be an observer not a player.

And it's not just me who gets lifted by Crufts - I'm sure many people watch it and dream of maybe one day being on that green carpet, and train harder or better. This week at training one of the newer members of the club turned up with a new lead, new toy, and new attitude. Wow. The dog has always been brilliant, but this week the handler was brilliant too, so positive, and really getting the best out of the dog. The difference? She went to Crufts and got inspired watching the agility. It just goes to show how much can be learnt by watching the best handlers and dogs in action!

Trust

Basil got scared yesterday.

It was a bleak reminder that however confident he now appears, the fear is still there, and he has not forgotten his past.

His beautiful new waterproof, windproof, posh winter coat arrived yesterday morning.  Putting it over his head was almost like his fleece, so he thought that was fine, and the belly strap was a bit like clipping up his harness, so that was ok too.  However, the back leg straps that are designed to stop the coat billowing out like a cape were a different story.

Somehow Basil got his foot caught on the elastic.

When he realised his foot was caught he screamed, then turned and grabbed my thumb, panic panic panic, grrrrrrrrrrr grrrr grrrr, bite bite bite, retreated into a sit with his caught up leg folded under himself, and simply shook.  I have to give him credit, even in this state he didn't hurt me, I don't have a mark on me.  His bites were perfectly inhibited, he made his point that he was scared and wanted my hands off him, he had no intention of wounding me.

It was so horrible, to see him shaking, ears flattened back, eyes wide, terrified, all because of a strip of elastic stuck between his back toes.  He didn't dare move, as every time he tried to stand up the coat pulled the elastic tighter.  He was vibrating so hard I could hear the fabric of the coat rubbing against the wall, so so scared.  He was confused, he wouldn't break his stare away from me, on one level he wanted me to help him, but he didn't want my hands anywhere near his feet.  His two greatest fears - humans hands and things touching his feet, all rolled into one.

If I'd written this last night, it would have been called "Fear".  It would have been about how dogs remember the bad stuff, mental scars that can last a lifetime, how sad that he was like this, how awful that dogs can have such baggage.  After all these months with us, one little thing and all his handling fears seemed to be back, I was cross with myself for allowing such a stupid thing to happen, and cross for the demons in his past that had destroyed his trust in me.

Last night, it took him a couple of hours to forgive me, before he would climb up and curl into his usual tv-watching postion under my left elbow, and another hour before he would be stroked without tensing up.

This morning, he had the new coat on for his walk with only a small worried wrinkly-nose face, after all, he is used to his fleece coat on for morning walks, so I didn't attempt the back leg loops, and he wore it cape-like.  I could almost hear the music in my head as he galloped up the field... Suuuperdog.... dah dah du-daaaah!  His front must have been warm, but his back must have been freezing - I didn't pay all that money for you to have a cape, you silly dog.

Later, I put his new coat on him again, without the leg loops, armed myself with some stinky treats, and we sat down on the sofa, Basil next to me, Alf on the floor.  Alf sit, treat, Alf down, treat.  Basil sit, treat, stroke your head, treat, down, treat, touch your back, treat.  Basil are you looking a bit worried?  No problem, Alf will do a couple of things till you decide you do want treats too, Basil sit, treat.

Slowly we continued, sometimes Alf is so useful, I picked up his feet, treat, rubbed his belly, treat.  Basil watched intently, and from the first tiny touches on his legs we yo-yoed back and forth from his head down to his feet, then I started touching the coat and the elastic.  Every time Basil looked worried, I threw him a treat over by the fireplace, so he scampered off to get it, and every time he made the choice to come straight back and watch me prodding Alf, and within seconds he was sat by my knee, wagging his tail asking me to prod him too.

It was his choice, it wasn't bribery, he wasn't held still or on a lead, I wasn't shoving the treats down his gob and trying to touch his foot while he was busy chewing, that wouldn't have achieved anything at all, expect maybe put him off taking treats, or taught him to grab and run away.  He didn't get the treat until after I'd touched his foot.  He made the choice, I trust you to just touch my foot, not hurt me, and I understand that's how I earn my treat.  And when a dog sits there and wags their tail and says please touch my foot, yes the same foot I wouldn't let you near yesterday, that is trust.  So fragile, but he chose to trust.

I felt so relieved, the relationship I thought we had was still intact.  The work of the last few months had not been wasted, he had learnt that bad things sometimes happen, but that you can bounce back, that I will listen when he says he is worried, and that I don't trick him into things.  His little face focussed and intent on me and his tail wagging told me he still trusted me.

So, within a few minutes he was wearing his leg straps, nothing worth mentioning for many dogs, but after such a scare the day before this was a big achievement for Basil, and I am proud of him for giving me his trust.

Time

Time heals, they say.

Time certainly passes, and there is nothing anyone can do about that.  Each day takes me further away from when I had Toby.  Every morning, I feel guilty if he isn't my first thought when I wake up.

Time spent crying, of course that is an essential part of grieving, sometimes set off by the most trivial thing.  All the big things, I did them straight away, Toby's lead was put away with his collar as soon as we got back from the vet, his bowl put away the same evening, his coat taken off the radiator. 

But it is the little things.  Little routines that are suddenly missing.  Habits you didn't realise you had - none of the dogs need waking up when I get home now.  None of them need five minutes head start to get through their dinner.  None of the dogs need me to slow down in the field when they stop to sniff so they don't lose me, and none of them are too deaf to know when I want them to turn around, move over, or get their furry little backsides over here sharpish, or else.  None of them woof with the right tone, and none of them smell right when I bury my nose in their fur. 

But I am lucky I still have other dogs, I can only imagine how much worse it would be to go through this without them, they really do lick the tears away, Basil's tongue at warp licking speed, and then Alf nips my nose to make me smile.

Time spent thinking, talking, telling people about Toby, and the fact he has gone.  When I'm not at home I feel like he is still there, he must be, he always is, and he will be waiting for me when I get back.  Walking through the front door is like swallowing a concrete block, my stomach leaden, a hollow awareness that someone is missing.  For the first few days it took a real effort to put the key in the lock and go indoors to no Toby, and a couple of times I caught myself standing outside the door staring at it, as though it would bite me if I went too close.

Time spent looking at photos, some bring more tears, but many many more bring smiles.  I have been cold these last few days, shivering for no reason, but this is warming me from the inside with all the memories, thinking of all the good times.  Oh we had a lot of good times.  Time spent walking together, sunny, rainy, windy walks and his favourite, snowy walks.  I find some photos I had forgotten about, taken at the top of Glastonbury Tor, my three muskateers and me, very windswept.  And the next set shows the three of them flopped all over my parents' garden sunbathing, and me reading a book.  We spent a lot of time doing not much together.

And looking at photos makes me realise how time has passed.  How my gorgeous boy changed with the years, his eyes, his face, his coat.  Changes you don't notice day to day, it happens too gradually, and seeing young Toby again is a reminder of how much he had aged.  His character was always there - even in the very first Toby photo I sent home to my parents I can see that look, intense, staring at me, or more likely staring at a biscuit just out of camera shot.

In time his ashes will come back, and I will put them together with Prin's and Bob's.  Time will cover the boxes with dust, and from time to time I will brush it off.  But wherever I will go they will come with me, and I will always be glad I knew them.  My original pack of three, Toby my first, then Bob, and Prin my inheritance, they have shaped me, loved me, made me a good dog owner I hope, and taught me more about dogs than I ever knew there was to know.

Time gives perspective.  And I wouldn't change a thing.

Decisions

And then there comes a time when old age is no longer kind to a dog.

When creakiness becomes pain, stiffness becomes unsteadiness, absentmindedness becomes confusion, and sleep becomes a relief for you both.

The first stage in making any decision is realising that there is a decision to be made.  The first painful step on a difficult road.  And it is difficult every time, no matter how many times you have been down this path with a different dog by your side.  The guilt of considering there could be life without them, your loyal dog - how could you want that to be true?  How could that be a decision you even contemplate?

Good days and bad days, from when you first realise it may soon be time it could be weeks or months.  But when the soul of my dog looks out at me through those misty old eyes and I see no joy, no spark, no hope, and he asks to be set free, how can I refuse him this, when he has asked for so little all his life?

And so I stroke that soft head again, I think of all the things we have been to each other over the years, he has given me so much.  And my decision is made, not because I don't love my dog, but because I do.  How much do we love them, these dogs, so much, and how hard is it to let go, so very hard.

 

I know I will fall back on phrases it seems we dog-owners must have said since the beginning of time, "it's for the best, the right thing to do, it wasn't fair, he wasn't happy".  None of it seems enough, none of it expresses the hurt I feel, the loss, the emptiness.  None of it explains how he told me it was time, and how he asked me to be strong enough to make the choice, even though I feel like I am losing a part of myself.

Life will never be the same without him, my shadow.  The world will not stop turning, but it should.

And then I will let him go, but I will always remember.