Rowan’s Debut
 Bronwen
Green is currently writing a book about her doggie adventures over the years. In an Agilitynet
scoop, you can now read the first chapter here... before it is serialised in tabloids.
Rowan, our hyper two-year-old cocker spaniel, and I had
been attending an agility class for about a year now, and we both loved it. Being a typical
cocker spaniel, he is bright, busy but blessed with the concentration span of a gnat! So it is
quite a feat to get him to concentrate on anything.
When Sue, our trainer suggested we 'have a go' at a small
local show it seemed a fun thing to do. However, the day before the show I was having serious
misgivings. That morning I had spoken to the Show Secretary to clarify how long the show would
take. Slowly the truth was beginning to dawn. The classes are quite small she said, only 50-60
dogs in some! That was small! Did I realise I had to be there before nine to walk the course?
Er... no, I hadn’t.
The next day dawned bright and cold It was August after
all. The show was literally only ten minutes from home so I was quite relaxed about getting
there. However, when I arrived, I could see I had still seriously underestimated the level of
professionalism. There were camper vans and caravans, and people had travelled from far and
wide just to take part. Having parked the car and got to the competition rings, I was greeted
with the comical sight of hoards of people running around the courses without their dogs! I’d
seen show jumpers walking the course without their horses but this was something else.
Imagine 60 people running around in a relatively small
area looking for the correct approach and ways of shaving off the odd second. Turning to the
lady next to me I asked what must be a really novice question 'Why haven’t they got their dogs
with them?'
'Oh my dear' she said ' that’s absolutely against the
rules'. Dogs don’t go into the ring until they compete.
'So where’s the practice ring?' I casually asked,
thinking they always have those at horse shows.
'Practice ring? There is no practice ring. You
practice at home or at your club'.
Rowan and I slunk away at this stage trying not to look
so amateur!
 Immediately
on our left I saw a sign that I did recognise, 'exercise area'. A euphemism for dog toilet. So
off we went, thinking I would get Rowan comfortable, then leave him in the car with the
tailgate open while I got comfortable. Then I would go and walk the course with the best of
them.
The queue for the ladies toilet was horrendous and you
only had until 9.00 am to walk the course. It was now eight minutes to nine. Needless to say
there was no queue at the men’s. So keeping my head low and eyes averted, I dashed for a
cubicle in the men’s loo, bitterly regretting the large, caffeine charged cappuccino I’d had
first thing in the morning. Luckily there were no men there as I entered. However, coming out,
I was not so lucky and several startled men jumped as I shot past the urinals.
Next was the serious business of walking the course. You
quickly learn that this is not a time for social chitchat or making new chums. The
concentration is intense and it needs to be as, there are loads of obstacles to negotiate. My
heart sank as I realized the jumps were much higher than the ones we had been practising on and
that the course was so long. The most Rowan had done was about ten obstacles in one go; here
there were twenty!
The fear was palpable
I needed another wee already. But there was no time. It was nine o' clock and the
judge was telling the contestants they had 45 seconds to get around the course. Now I
understood the sudden preoccupation of everyone in sight putting on their trainers!
We were number 22, so at least I could watch others go
through their paces first. Thank goodness we were, because at this stage other little bits of
agility etiquette began to raise their heads. Why did no one take titbits and toys into the
ring? Because its not allowed. That’s all right, I thought, as long as I've got them in my
pocket, Rowan would know they were there and would follow me. You’ve guessed it; these had to
be removed as well! Then the ultimate test of the owner’s courage, no collars or leads in the
ring. At this stage I think I was slightly hysterical as the lady next to me said 'not to
worry, this was a really low key show'. She had just returned from one on the south coast that
was a week long and had over two thousand dogs in it. Somehow that didn’t help.
Rowan watched the competitors going through their paces
and it began to dawn on him where we were, agility. So he started doing what he always does at
his weekly class, scream his head off while waiting for his turn. The gentleman in front of me
who had a wonderfully calm looking mongrel turned and said, 'he’s a vocal little chap isn’t
he?' But before I had a chance to explain that it was our first show and he was really excited,
it was our turn. Frantically rubbing sausage into my hand so it would at least smell as if I
had a titbit, when we entered the ring.
 The first three
obstacles were a straight line of fences, a good eight inches higher than anything we had
tackled so far. Pointing Rowan in the right direction and giving him a little push, off we
went. I ran down the side of the fences while Rowan decided to run in the opposite direction to
"check out" the strange man in the middle of the ring (the judge). Shrieking at the top of my
voice and waving my hand as if it contained the world’s largest sausage, Rowan stopped in his
tracks and dutifully hurled himself back towards me. Quickly positioning myself at the first
fence again, I shouted, in what I hoped was an authoritative voice, 'Hup, his command for fence
jumping. Rowan looked at the fence and flung himself over it, but obviously was surprised at
how high it was.
Moving more quickly than I had in years, we were off and
he threw himself over the next two fences and onto the seesaw. Here, I made a fundamental
error. I forgot to steady him as he reached the top of the seesaw; consequently, he hit it
running at a great speed and was fairly jettisoned off the other side and landed in an
undignified heap at the next obstacles, four fences in a square.
Brave little soul that he is, he dusted himself down and
looked at me to see if I still had the 'sausage'. I tantalisingly held my empty hand up to the
next fence and said 'hup.' Rowan had no trouble with these fences because he now had a new and
exciting way of tackling them. You run under them, far less bother and much quicker! Nothing
would then induce him to jump over them.
Conscious of the 45-second limit on the course, we
abandoned the fences. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the judge drawing a finger across
his throat; how rude I thought to pass some sort of comment on our heroic efforts. I later
found out this is agility speak for telling the scorers someone is eliminated.
Onwards we went, oblivious to the world and our
eliminated status. Over the dogwalk at a good lick, through the tunnel, over the big A frame
and the spread and under every single other fence there was on the course !
We both shot through the finish, where someone had
considerately placed Rowan’s collar and lead to a chorus of 'well dones', and 'brilliant for a
first go!' We were both quivering with excitement by this stage, heady on the partnership that
got us both around the course and already planning our next adventure. Well, maybe it was just
me doing the planning. Rowan had found my bag and was busily stuffing down as many sausages as
he could in one go.
 About
the author...
Bronwen Green lives in Norfolk with her two Cocker Spaniels
Jaffa and Rowan and a Haflinger pony called Hazel. She has been a dog owner for over 30 years
and is currently writing a book of her doggy adventures called Raiders of the Last Bark,
due to be published next year.
Apart from running her own publishing firm, she has also recently started a
company called Animal Magic which organises fun and educational activities for dogs, horses and
their owners in the North Norfolk area. For more details, phone 01263-722669 or e-mail
bronwengreen@t-cnews.co.uk
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