A DEEPER LOOK

CANTON AND SURROUNDING AREAS (postscript)

The last day in Canton, we woke up to a phone call from the hotel management that 1) we were parked on a handicapped spot (the paint had worn off and we couldn't see it in the dark when we pulled up that night) and 2) our tire was flat.

We went out to look and sure enough, that was one flat tire. No air in that baby at all.

With less than two hours before ring time, we had to make a plan fast. We checked out of the hotel and made it to the gas station next door to try to air it up enough to make it to the tire shop. No dice. There was a big hole somewhere.

I am sitting on the curb and Lara is pushing me to figure out what I am going to do.

We've already decided that she is going to stay with the car until AAA gets there to change out the tire. She is going to handle that, and I need to decide if I am going to make it to the show, and if so, I've got to go, now, and figure out how to get there.

It is only about a mile down the road but I can't walk my dog across the highway with all his gear and my show clothes. She keep asking me what I am going to do, and for some reason I don't want to tell her what my plan is.

I am just going to sit here and wait for a miracle.

That is what I keep thinking when she asks me, but I don't tell her that. Instead I half heartedly agree with her plan to walk over to the hotel and try to hitch a ride. I start walking, wondering how this plan is going to work. Am I just going to hang out at the hotel hoping I see someone loading up for the show as well and ask for a ride? What if I don't see anyone in time? I know there are other dog show folk there, but how do I know which rooms they are in? What if I don't see anyone in time?

That's when it hits me. God helps those who help themselves. God doesn't want us to sit around waiting for a miracle. He wants us to make miracles happen.

And my miracle is right in front of me. I notice, finally, that the van that has been gassing up in front of us the whole time we were talking has dog kennels in the back. I talk to the man and he doesn't mind taking Scout and I to the show. He was just getting ready to head back to the hotel for his Dobermans that are showing that afternoon, and lets Scout ride in one of the kennels and helps me load up my gear.

He drops me off at the show grounds and wishes us luck. I am standing there with my clothes, my tub of brushes, and my dog. I had left my grooming stand and crate with Lara in the car, bringing only the bare neccessities. Now I am wondering how the heck I am going to do this. The dog can't come in the bathroom when I change. It is going to be a real pain to try to show groom him on the concrete floor.

So I make another miracle happen. I walk right up to some other Aussie owners, ones I gave the eye of the competition to the day before, and introduced myself. I am not above dropping my breeder's name to help these people place who I am. I explain the situation, and they happily allow me use of an empty crate, their grooming stand, and let me in the circle of four women there, all preparing their dogs to compete against mine, but with a spirit of goodwill.

We all walk down to the ring together, dressed in our "seventies business casual", as Lara describes our show outfits. The one who made the most friendly overtures, Kay, gave us some pointers on how to to the "L" pattern the judge was doing that day, an unusual pattern for shows. We all practice our turns and hand switches as Lara finally shows up, right about time for Scout to go in.

We get a yellow ribbon this day, third in the class of four. I walk out pretty disappointed that I paid all this money to come spend the weekend here and couldn't even make it out of my class.

I had just decided that perhaps Scout and I should turn away from conformation in favor of agility, something he might be better at, when a woman stops me out of the blue.

"Your dog should have won that class," she says, and when I start to sadly agree with the judge's decision, she says it again. "No, really, he should have won that class."

And right there, it starts up again, the random intermitten reinforcement that is just enough to keep me going, four years into it with this dog who just can't "finish", who earns just enough points to make me come back for more, but more often than not, leaves me wanting.

Maybe we'll sign up for intermediate agility. Maybe we'll finally take his CGC test, or turn our heads to obedience instead. Maybe I will get a handler for him for conformation, someone who can get the major wins that I will never be able to get. I'll still keep scanning the upcoming shows for something that might turn our luck around.

And in the end, it always comes down to a crapshoot anyway. The dog that won the class Saturday was fourth, behind Scout today. Another day, another judge, and by some miracle, maybe some more purple ribbons to come.

But meanwhile? Meanwhile, I am just going to love him, and accept us as a team, for better or worse. Above everything he is and could be, he is a well-loved family pet. That is something that, win or lose, no matter how many ribbons he has or will never earn, will never change.