What's wrong with my dog's face?Or body? Bones and wasps, too

SUMMARY: Ancient history: Amber frothing at the mouth

Source: Friend Cathy's FB post about her dog rubbing and pawing at her face, and she found a stick that required a vet visit.

This medical emergency with my first dog, Amber, sticks in my mind and makes my heart jump even half a century later. 

She was about 2, and we went camping with friends. She was off-leash in the group campground and suddenly I noticed that she was frothing at the mouth, pawing at her face, rubbing her face on the ground--the frothing terrified me: What kind of poisonous thing had she  ingested?! Because what else could it be? As an inexperienced dog owner, I initially didn't know what to do, but eventually put my fingers into her mouth and found some small piece of bone that she had found and it had become wedged in her upper jaw, between the left and right side. 

Fortunately I was able to gradually work it out and there was no permanent damage. But I still remember that moment of horror and terror when I first saw her. Yes, as a relatively new dog owner, every little thing  that went wrong became traumatic for my poor heart.

I'm skipping over the part where, when she was about 3-4 months old, I looked out into the back yard and she was standing listlessly, head and tail drooping, taking slow, unsteady steps, and drooling. Human Mom rushed out to her and she did respond a bit. I managed to get her into the house and, in the process of setting her down, noticed that little bumps covered her stomach. Exploring: Her whole body. Hives?! I figured it was an allergic reaction to something. Fortunately was able to get her to the vet right away, and she was already feeling a little better by the time we got there. I don't recall their treatment, maybe a shot of prednisone or something? They thought maybe a bee or wasp sting. 

Fortunately I never saw that reaction again. And, for the 7 years I lived in a house whose yard border was covered with shrubs with those red hairy flowers that attract bees, she would stand out there for hours, trying to catch the bees (and sometimes succeeding).

Apparently I'm not skipping that part.

That's all  there is for now...

Amber,  at about the age of the allergic reaction.

It Has Come To My Attention

SUMMARY: Some kind of festive holiday thing? "Krismass"?

Feeling: Inexplicably uneasy and, strangely, eager.

It has come to my attention that it is, once again, despite my best efforts, December. It is apparently, without my express written permission, in a brand new year, not repeating any of the perfectly fine Decembers that our holiday factory has worked hard to produce over the years. 

For example, 1987 involved pirates sneaking into our house while we were out doing something important --such as not decorating our tree--and leaving us with a garland skull and crossbones. Remind me to never again give relatives or pirates the keys to my house. At least not while boxes of pending tree decorations are sitting around unguarded. Why has no one submitted a re-use request for this perfectly good December, which required very few holiday decorations for a last-minute reconstitution?

This one was pretty good, too. I'd have signed off on a request for this one. The 2002 when Mr. Alien took over Disneyland. Remember that? It was in all the news. Anyone who neglected to wear their aluminum foil hat was instantly brainwashed into not seeing all the thousands of tiny Mr. Alien-kins swarming the place, aiming to abscond with the rumored "Magic." I don't know whether they succeeded. But then, I never actually saw any tiny Mr. Alien-kins, having left my aluminum foil at home.

1983 had its highlights as well, although no aliens were involved. The household beasts always received a giant rawhide bone each from Santa. Santa must be a dog person. Or maybe the elves are dog elves and Santa just rolls his eyes and goes along with it. Watching them unwrap their gifts gave warm fuzzies to the humans, too. Although why unwrap the whole thing when all you need to start is one end? In fact, why unwrap yours at all when you are a genius husky and are pretty sure that you can end up with two rawhide bones if you play your cards right. If someone had played their cards right and arranged ahead of time with my department, perhaps we could have resurrected this year from the archives.

I wouldn't mind dusting off 1990, either, when everyone in the family received matching "San Andreas--It's Our Fault" t-shirts, which were enchanted like some of those old fairy tales so that we had to keep dancing and laughing while wearing the shirts until we collapsed in the living room to eat cookies, roast beef, candy cigarettes, and matzoh ball soup. My family had an eclectic idea about Christmas buffets. I'd love to dust those off, too. Do you see what I am getting at here? Asking permission is key.

Also, I seem to recall that 1966 would be perfectly reusable, including all of our annual new Christmas nightclothes and not-annual Tressy dolls ("Her Hair Grows!"). Best thing is that they could fit all of Barbie's clothes. Worst thing was how expensive Barbie's clothes were. That Barbie sure could wow 'em at the Met, though. No, worst thing was that I couldn't fit Barbie's clothes. But I could fit my new Xmas nightgown, although I'm afraid that I outgrew it before the following Dec 24. The same thing I did every year, Pinky. But at least I had bright blue fluffy slippers at the time. Pretty sure Tressy is still around in some quiet repose in the playroom here at Taj MuttHall, so redoing that year would be a piece of cake. Or of cookies.

Even Christmas of 1956 holds promise for a revisit, because I still have Dad's hat. Pretty sure I'd look as charming as I did then. In particular, I notice no wrinkles. In me, I mean. Although, in real life, I grew, and the hat shrank.  

Or maybe I transposed the numbers and I mean 1965 instead of 1956. Why I opted to dress like a pirate at Christmas shall remain a mystery.  But, see, if we were reusing this year, perhaps I could solve the mystery. But nooooooo. Also, it is perhaps because I stereotyped pirates as having bad teeth, being visually impaired, and walking with a peg leg, that eventually what goes around comes around and I ended up with a garland skull and crossbones on my tree two decades later. Let that be a lesson: Don't stereotype pirates. Hear that, Disney? It would never sell.

(You can tell it's Christmas because you can see one of the wise men in mom's childhood creche wearing blue and kneeling just to the left of someone's horse that someone added in front. Not confessing who that might have been. Although it's possible that that horse is still in a toy box around here somewhere. Not that it has anything to do with me. But that family might have needed a better way than the back of a donkey to transport mother and child along with all that gold, frankincense, myrrh; hair combs and watch fobs; hippopotamuses; and silver, gold, and drumming drummer boys. Just saying.)

So, in the future, please ensure that you have properly submitted the requests for a December before I have to deny it because the whole corporation goes on vacation December 1, when it is too late to properly implement a new one or reassemble an old one from storage. Who knows what will happen in an unauthorized December. Just this year, I give you after-the-fact permission and will overlook your mistake this time. But don't let it happen again.

Feeling: Nostalgic. Curious. A little at sea. Transmogrifying. 

See? A perfect recreation is possible.
From a 2011 photo

Work Vs. Puppy

SUMMARY: My puppies vs my career

August 18: A friend, who retired 2 years ago and just got a new puppy, posted on Facebook, "How did we ever get out of the house when we worked and had puppies?"

My first puppy, Amber, I spent the Winter holidays (yes that includes Christmas Day) paper-training her. When I returned to work, I left her confined in the kitchen with a bunch of newspaper in one end of the room. I worked in a secure location managing and running computers and clients (imagine the combinations in that phrase) and I couldn't leave long enough to check on her during my shift.

Amber at 6-8 weeks outside my apartment.

She was mostly good about using the newspapers for the intended purpose. Whew! But I was mistaken to think that a 7-week old puppy couldn't reach anything in the room. Tsk, Amber. And I didn't know nuthin' 'bout cratin' no puppies. 

And even worse at 10 weeks. 😉 After receiving notice at my apartment that pets were not allowed (I did know that, but...), we stayed with my parents and sisters for another couple of months or so while I looked for a place to live, and they'd let her out as needed.

Amber, maybe 4 months, at my parents'. 
Note the newspapers on the floor by the sliding door.
She was pretty good about using them if no one let her out.
But I didn't know enough to put plastic underneath,
and it ruined the color of their sheet flooring.

When I got Boost at three months, I had worked at home almost exclusively for the previous dozen years. Perfect for starting a new puppy, right? A week after I got her, of course I was assigned a contract in Foster City, a commute of somewhere between half an hour and an hour, where the client required that I work on site. Of course. Because that's how the universe works.  

Working full time, and even assuming I ate lunch at my desk instead of taking an official break, that still meant I'd be away from home for nine or ten hours straight.

It was one of those times when good contracts were hard to find, and it really was a good assignment. Other than that.

[TO DO: Do I have photos of her in that small crate?!]

I explained carefully to the client's manager that I had just gotten a new puppy and why I would need access to her. And said I'd be grateful if would it be OK if I brought in her crate and put it under my desk, and that she would stay there except when I took her out for walks. He said he would check with HR, because HR had always said no to that sort of thing, and later, yep, HR said no way. 

So I took her to Foster City in MUTT MVR in her crate, and every morning upon arrival I'd drive around the busy high-rise office park and streets in an area without much extra parking or shade until I found a legal shady spot, leave the car there, and walk into the office as much as 15 minutes away. Then every two or three hours I'd go out to check the shade and usually to walk her around and play with her a bunch. That means: I was essentially taking a half hour to 45 minute break every two or three hours. 

Within three weeks, they gave me permission to work from home.

Working at home, I kept her sometimes in her crate but most often penned up in my office in her x-pen.  Plastic underneath newspapers (I'm capable of learning), although the newspapers didn't stay put with her ministrations. Mostly I was able to get her outside frequently enough for pottying.
Don't ask whether she ever decided to pull the plastic all into a heap inside the x-pen.

Geez she was gorgeous.

I tried leaving her in the kitchen (from where, by the way, she could see me perfectly well) because: No carpets. But she wasn't thrilled about that.

And those are the only puppies I've really had.  Except ... Remington... oh, well, he was about 6 months, so I guess that counts. That's another story.

British vs American Bedrooms: A Rebuttal or More Likely Just A Response

SUMMARY: After watching this video: 5 Ways British and American Bedrooms Are Very Different

Top sheets

Sheba and Amber demonstrating prehistoric
pre-duvet-cover, pro-top-sheet-and-blankets days
Blankets wore out quickly with all the washings.

I've lived in the U.S. my entire multiple decades of life. We were raised putting a top sheet between you and the blanket(s), which made sense because blankets can be a bit scratchy.  Sometimes we might have a comforter instead of a blanket, but we treated those the same way--top sheet first, comforter on top of that, to protect having to wash the comforters too often.  

However, because my dogs also sleep on my bed, my blankets would get dirty from the top side so I always had to wash them anyway. Which was hard on the blankets.

Zorro demonstrating a dog
on a duvet cover

Thirty-five or so years ago, I came upon the concept of a "duvet cover".  When I got myself a lovely down comforter, I didn't want to have to wash it (or dry clean it! Expensive!) frequently due to dog mud and hair. So I was delighted to discover, and start using, duvet covers.  Which are, essentially, two top sheets sewn together.

I realized quickly that a top sheet between me and it made no sense at all and thus stopped using top sheets (except in certain weeks during the summer when it gets very hot and I don't have a/c but still want something over me). 

Therefore, I have a stack of top sheets that are virtually never used because companies too often sell sheets as sets and I can't always get just a bottom sheet of the pattern I want.

Also, this set-up makes it sublime to "make the bed" in the morning. Quick shake: Done.

Found this in a drawer in my
bathroom last month.
Tossed it.
No idea when I last used it.

Hot water bottles

Used them as a kid, for warmth sometimes but usually for aches & pains.  My parents also eventually got a heating pad for aches & pains, but there was something pleasing (and more responsive, more close-fitting) about a towel-wrapped flat rubber bottle filled with steaming water. As long as they didn't start leaking.

Out on my own, of course I had a hot water bottle for many years. Finally splurged (gulp) on a heating pad-- and then I discovered that I could use themit to warm my bed (in small sections) before I got into it. And even keep me warm on particularly cold nights.

 And THEN maybe 25 years ago I discovered heated mattress pads and now I use mine all the time. Haven't had a water bottle in ages. But I still use the heating pad for aches & pains.

Our hot water bottles always looked like the one
on the right. I never saw a heart-shaped one!

Peng, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>,
via Wikimedia Commons
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:W%C3%A4rmflasche1.jpg

Zorro kindly demonstrating another duvet cover.
He is a skilled demonstrator of such bedding.

And another. I gottamillionof'em.

Things That Super Frightened My Pups

SUMMARY: Brave dogs, scardey dogs

I'm talking about things that are way outside the norm, things that could flat-out terrify them.

Who	What	Notes
Amber	Nothing that I remember
Sheba	Loma Prieta Earthquake and aftershocks	She'd lie on my chest for hours (45-lb husky), panting and shaking, eyes looking like she was going into shock. (Amber would just look up and go back to sleep)
Remington	Smoke alarm testing	He'd go hide in the farthest point of our long half-acre yard and not come out for ages
Jake	Nothing that I remember
Tika	Vet's office	In her last few years, would give her a little sedative ahead of time to take the edge off
Boost	Pet stores. Unfamiliar uncarpeted floors.	Various other random things
Chip	Thunder, fireworks	O...M...G
Zorro	Nothing that I can think of

More Finchester Yellow Photos

SUMMARY: Such cuties.

Previous Finchester Yellow comparisons:

• Introducing the Finchester Yellow

Amber	Remington	Chip

The ears really tell the story.

Harder to tell in this photo: Amber is all yellow (no black on face), while Rem and Chip both have black muzzles.

Introducing: The Finchester Yellow

SUMMARY: Finally figured out my favorite breed's name.

In order: Amber (in 1981), Remington (in 1994), and Chip (in 2014).

(See photos of their faces.)

The Photographic Record

SUMMARY: Counting JPEGs, plus dogs on chairs.

I have this many mostly unique JPEGs labeled with the following names of my dogs:

	Boost	2786
	Tika	2720
	Jake	336
	Remington	37  210
	Sheba	10
	Amber	26

The numbers make some sense, because Amber and Sheba were before I became a photography monster and before digital, so I don't have that many to begin with, and I've scanned only a few of those.

Amber was my first dog and my special pal, whereas Sheba, although an important part of the family, always treated us like a nice place to visit between excursions into the wild, so either I didn't take as many of her or I didn't feel inclined to scan in as many as for Amber.

Remington, as my first agility dog and the first one I really thought about documenting in photos--and probably my main Heart Dog so far--has quite a few more than the earlier dogs in my photo albums, but still many fewer than the later dogs. Somewhere around 2003 I started having my film photos scanned to disk at the same time they were processed, so have a few digitized photos of him, but the rest I scanned in one at a time, and that's time consuming, so haven't done many.

(But...huh...there are a bunch more photos on his assorted web pages, and they don't show up in my disk search that found only 37. Hm. Wonder how I labeled them? Early in my digital photo age, I had a tendency to label photos like "Rem" or "dog" or "R". Aha! Yep, that revealed a lot more than 37.)

Anyway, he died in 2003, a few months before I bought my first digital camera in December of 2003, when Tika was almost 3. My dog photo count started going up faster and faster.

Jake was around just long enough (he died in 2007) for me to also get my first digital SLR in 2006 -- and that's when things really started taking off.

How I've managed to have more of Boost than of Tika, not entirely sure--except that by the time I got the digital camera, the fascination with Tika as a "new dog" was long gone, whereas I've been shooting digital like crazy for Boost's whole life.

Makes me want to go lounge in a chair with my dogs. Or a bed. Oooh, that sounds good.

My First Puppy

SUMMARY: Amber photos.

We got a puppy when I was a kid (Sam, who lived to be 13 or so), but that's not the same thing as having my own puppy when I grew up and moved out on my own. Amber was my first dog and my first puppy. (Boost is my 6th dog but only my 2nd real puppy.)

Just had a ton of old slides scanned. None seem to be really sharp and clear, but it's what I've got!

She was so tiny when she came home with me--just 6 weeks. I have so few photos of her as a very small puppy, and she grew so fast!

This is my first-ever photo of her, Christmas Eve 1978, the first day that she came home with me. That night I slept on the floor of my parents' house so I could be with her and with my family, too. This was wayyyyyy before I had a clue about crates.

This is my next-ever photo of her, sometime in the next 4 weeks--taken at the apartment complex where I lived but had to give notice and move out because they didn't allow dogs.

So we moved in with my parents for a while, while the townhouse I bought was still being built.

She loved her peanut can!

But Sam hated having a puppy around; growled at her, sniped at her, ignored her. Until one day when my Mom and I were upstairs and the dogs were outside and Mom called me over to the window--

As soon as I stepped outside, though, Sam went back to growling and being hostile.

Anyway, Amber grew up so fast! My parents had a huge sandbox in their yard at that time and Amber loved to dig in it and play with her can.

She had the most amazingly expressive face, already showing up at maybe 3 months old or so--the classic wrinkled forehead of concern:

Me can has can fun!

Gradually Sam accepted her more.

Me see green thing!

Eventually the townhouse was ready and we moved in. Here she is at 14 months--still a scrawny teenager. My girl!

(Photo credits-- erm -- some mine, some my parents')

Earthquake!

SUMMARY: Twenty years ago today.

Twenty years ago this evening, just after 5:00 p.m., the Loma Prieta earthquake hit.

It was NOT the big one; registered a mere 6.9. For most of the millions of residents of the San Francisco Bay area, damage looked no worse than this (one of our chimneys) and mostly much less:

or this (a neighbor's chimney)

I already posted a brief, general account here two years ago.

And I posted some of my photos and other memorabilia on my photo site, with additional commentary about the quake.

I took no photos of the dogs and their behavior (well, I was a little preoccupied). But here's how it went with the dogs.

I was at work when the quake hit, about 15 miles from the epicenter and about 2 miles from home. After the main shaking stopped--and it continued for about 30 seconds, which feels like an eternity when the ground is shaking so hard that you can't really walk--we all evacuated rapidly into the parking lot, where we gathered around our cars listening to the car radios. (Remember--no cell phones, no world wide web. This was "the good old days"!) Aftershock followed by aftershock rolled across the earth, but none so bad as the original quake.

When the aftershocks had died off somewhat, upper management checked out the building quickly: It was a mess (yes, that's the air conditioning ducting hanging out of the ceiling and my co-worker's collapsed bookcase), but didn't look like it was on the verge of collapse. so they escorted us into the building in groups of 3 at a time--to dash in, grab our purses or car keys or wallets, and go back out the the parking lot.

So I couldn't get home for at least half an hour to an hour after the initial shake. I made a quick pass through the house, saw the disaster of broken glass and liquids in the kitchen and assorted disarray, damage, and breakage in other parts of the house, so hustled my dogs out of the house into the driveway. There we sat in the pleasant evening on lawn chairs, listening to the radio (battery-operated--no power!) and hoping that eventually my husband would call and tell us he was OK.

Sheba, our Siberian Husky, was panic-stricken. She was a known escape artist from way back, and the moving earth drove her into a frenzy of trying to get away. We were lucky once because my mother-in-law was staying with us at the time, was in the kitchen looking out at our driveway gate when the quake hit, and could see the gate swing open and Sheba try to make a break for it. We were lucky again as the days and aftershocks wore on that Sheba never did escape; one friend's dog took off and was never seen again, despite all of us plastering the neighborhoods with LOST DOG signs. The humane society reported a vastly increased number of stray dogs in the days after the quake.

Sheba hated every minute of it. I think that she was in a literal state of shock herself; eyes wide, panting uncontrollably, not interested in eating, shaking and trembling every time an aftershock came, and continuing to do so for a long time after each one. On that first night, I didn't feel comfortable sleeping in our second-floor bedroom (especially with the bureaus and closet doors and such strewn around, and especially not with the aftershocks continuing). So we opened the sofabed in the one-story part of the house and slept there.

Or, should I say, TRIED to sleep. Sheba was not a cuddling dog. But all that first night, she lay on my chest, her haunted eyes staring almost blindly at me, panting and shaking and drooling. She was 9 at the time, and I was afraid that she was on the verge of a heart attack. Took me a very long time trying to get a dial tone on the phone to call the vet. Not because the phone lines were down, oh no! But because everyone's first reaction was to pick up the phone and start calling people! So all the lines were overloaded. The radio kept telling us to STOP CALLING if it's NOT AN EMERGENCY so that people who NEEDED to use the phone for important things (e.g., calling 911) could do so.

Eventually I gave up on contacting the vet that day (and possibly the following day). She didn't relax for several days, and I'm not sure how much sleep she got during the first couple of days.

Amber, our German Shepherd/Golden mix, as a counterpoint to the husky, remained unimpressed by anything having to do with the earthquake. On an aftershock, she'd lift her head wherever she was sleeping at the time, look around in mild annoyance at the disturbance, and go right back to sleep immediately afterwards. Thank goodness, because having TWO dogs shaking and drooling and panting on my chest all night would have been a little too cozy.

And neither of them EVER gave any indication that they had an inkling about an earthquake or aftershock about to occur. None of my dogs ever have. Dang worthless earthquake predictors.

I was amused, however, when my office eventually reopened (after the earthquake safety inspectors had been through) and discovered this on my Far Side calendar for the day after the quake:

Why Agility?

SUMMARY: My sport of choice, but why?

Many Muddy Paws passed along this topic from another blogger and made her own post on the subject. What got you into your sport of choice...why that one, why not another type of dog sport? What else have you tried, but don't care for? What haven't you tried but would like to? 

 Sometime in my teens, I decided that I wanted to train an Obedience Champion dog someday. When I got my first dog, Amber, I taught her come, sit, heel--but I had no real concept at all of how demanding obedience standards were. Not that it mattered; when I signed up my mixed-breed dog with an AKC obedience class, they told me essentially that, if I wanted an obedience champion, I should get a purebred dog. I gave up on that idea for many years.

When Remington came along, I took up the competitive obedience thing again; Mixed Breed Dog Club of America and UKC (and others?) provided same titles with same rules for non-AKC dogs. Learned a lot. Took private lessons from an instructor with a lot of successful students. Remington did very well. 

But I didn't find it exciting, really, or particularly active, although the ideas for training intrigued me. Practice was dull dull dull. And, the more I found out about the rigid SUBJECTIVE performance standards, the less thrilled I became. But I kept with the training with that "obedience champion" goal in mind until I broke my foot in early 1997. 

 I loved teaching him tricks; taught him everything I could think of, bought books and taught him more; tested out of "acting" level 1 and went into level 2 where we already knew several of the tricks. Tricks are a great crowd pleaser and turned out to be handy when he had to spend a lot of time at the doggie hospital for his cancer. Made him popular there and gave him something to do besides worry. We took a couple of 6-week sessions in scent tracking. Oh, mannnnn talk about dull practice! Although it's fun to see the dog start to get the idea and follow a track through a field, practice was: Find a seldom-used field (around here? tough). Spend about 10 minutes setting up a track. A couple of minutes following the track. Now, if the field is big enough, spend 10 minutes setting up another track. A minute or two following it. And then you're out of field. And not supposed to use the same field again for a week. Bleah. 

 
When I broke my foot, a friend arranged the loan of a sled-racing training cart with wheels. Remington was less than thrilled and preferred to have someone else do the pulling. 

The year before my broken foot, I had started competing in agility. Just 6 trials that year. As my foot healed, I discovered that I wanted to spend time doing agility. Never went back for more obedience lessons, tracking lessons, or "acting" lessons. 

I like agility because it involves both of us acting as a team at all times on the course, it's exciting, it's physically active and calorie-burning for both of us, it's mentally challenging for both of us, I can practice in my yard (now that I have enough equipment and almost enough space), judging is largely objective, not subjective [mostly], and all of my dogs have seemed more than eager to do it any time, anywhere. I've watched flyball, dock diving, freestyle (dance), rally-O, disc dog, herding, and lure coursing, and have read up quite a bit on all of these sports. 

•  Obedience and rally-O work you as a team and you can practice in your yard, but none of the rest (for me and my dogs, anyway). 
•  Tricks fill several of the items but not the physically active or calorie-burning bit, and "judging" is very subjective if you enter any kind of contest. 
• Dock diving and flyball are all about the dog; all the handler does is get the dog excited and then watch him go. (Sorry, fans of these sports, I know there's training involved, but really--the handlers are watchers, not participants.)
• Scent tracking--nothing there for me.
• Lure coursing: Boost will do it sometimes but sometimes not; it terrifies Tika; and it's VERY expensive for what you get IMHO. And no teamwork, no training, nuthin' except fast running for the dog.
• Disc dog: Maybe if I thought I could throw a frisbee worth beans, it would be OK, but physically it's still more about the dog and performance standards are largely subjective.
• Freestyle: Just doesn't appeal to me.
• Herding: Have had Boost on goats/sheep a few times. It is a complete blast watching the instincts guide her. If I had a lot more time and money, I'd probably pursue this just because of that. But--can't do it in my yard, not even in my city--too urban, there's just nowhere available! 

The mentally challenging part of agility is important for me; every course is different, so you're designing strategies during the walkthrough even for numbered courses. And the execution is done with your partner moving at 5 yards per second and you have to adjust on the fly as Things Happen. 

And one big thing: even after all these years, when I walk up and see an agility course with its brilliantly painted equipment in glowing rainbow colors spread out across the bright green lawn, it gives me the same Disneyland thrill and awe that hit me the first time that i ever saw an agility course, that night at Power Paws when I drove up to see what it was all about.