We're Certifiable

Looking at the Rear View, Badly Rhymed Concatenating Coolness

We're Certifiable

What do you mean, "I knew that?"

Hmph.

Think AKC performance tracking. The first test in the AKC line-up is the TD, or Tracking Dog, and that's what we've been training for lately (in between the agility and random bits of obedience).

However, tracking tests aren't held just anywhere. Not only do you need the terrain and permission to use it, you need two judges, several track layers, a plethora of savvy support folks, and the entries to support the cost and effort.

Here in New Mexico, there's one TD test held per year.

An artsie view of the tracking training and test area (well, one spot along six miles of it)

Bonus pic! This is what we try to avoid. We try very hard. (I wear my riding half-chaps for a reason...)

ConneryBeagle: Tracking. Me. BAWH!

Not surprisingly, sometimes the tests fill and not everyone can enter. And either way, they put in a lot of effort per dog.

So really, they don't want you to enter until you're ready.

ConneryBeagle: I am SO READY. BAWH!

Me: Who are you looking at?

And all that is why one must certify as being ready in order to enter a test. And certifying is basically running a less formal TD-worthy track (3-5 turns, 440-500 of the longest yards on earth) and finding the glove at the end with a judge who kindly agrees to do it.

ConneryBeagle: Me! Test ME! BAWH!

Me: *deep breathing exercises*

Me: You think I'm kidding.

Yesterday, with a belated family Christmas event looming, we struck out at dawn to do this thing. A friend laid a quick starter track (short-n-sweet, high-reward) in a slightly different area, and Connery expressed enthusiasm about the whole adventure.

ConneryBeagle: I am BAWHSOME! Let's go!

Me: I think I feel sick.

We scooted back to where the track was aging, met the judge, and headed for the start flag.

ConneryBeagle: I see it! I see the start flag! Harness me! BAWH!

Me: Yeah, I'm gonna throw up.

Juuuust getting started... It is Not Warm. (That's frost on the grass.)

Tracking is unlike anything I've done with Connery before, because only one of us has any idea where we're going, and it sure isn't me. In both agility and obedience, he looks to me for guidance. In tracking, he's in charge.

ConneryBeagle: BAWHSOME ME!

Me: Can't…breathe…

My job is a subtle balance of support and suggestion, and of very, very carefully not providing Connery with inadvertent miscues of movement. I'm supposed to notice the subtle changes in his body posture, the quick flick of his nose to either side, and the change in the line tension, so I can say, through the line, "Are you sure?" until I think he is.

If I miss those subtle cues, then woe–I send those inadvertent misdirectionals, and we blow past turns or get tangled in scent pools.

Ask me how I know.

Otherwise, it's my job to have confidence in my dog.

Out there in the middle of nowhere.

Busy here! Move along!

ConneryBeagle: Trackin'! I'm trackin'!

Me: Seriously. No longer breathing. Now a zombie. With no idea what I'm doing. But the whistle would have blown if we were totally wrong so maybe…

ConneryBeagle: Turn here somewhere. Must LOOK AROUND. LOOKING!

Me: We're lost! We're lost! *brain squeaking noise*

ConneryBeagle: Nothing over here. That means I can go back to the turn and I knew it was there ALL ALONG I just had to MAKE SURE it wasn't MAGICALLY EVERYWHERE.

Me: *vision grows grey and sparkly*

ConneryBeagle: Look! IT'S A GLOVE!