Jolene Learns the Meaning of Competition

That morning, we got up at the usual time, but I didn’t go out to do chores. Instead, I took a shower and put clean clothes on. Jolene freaked out. How did she know? It was our ORT scent work trial. Just a half-day event, and only 15 miles from home. Let the wiggle-dance begin.

The thing about being this age is that practically everything is nostalgic. I’ve never taken a dog to competition, but I have horses. My first book, Stable Relation, begins on a trip to a horse show. Some of the best days of my life have been off showing horses. We got ribbons, but the goal wasn’t to be better than others. It was about trusting ourselves beyond the mailbox. Could we be us at a show? Can Affirmative Training work when it counts?

If you are transitioning to dogs from a horse history, the first thing you notice is that there’s no trailer. Just me and a twenty-pound dog. A tiny cooler with water and snacks. It felt a little like cheating. We were on the road in plenty of time, and the memory reel of greatest hits was still playing. I remembered the times I took clients to show their horses. You could be certain that a horse and a nervous human with National Velvet dreams would come apart in a new environment. What matters is how we help the horse in that moment. Can a human quell their emotions and be the horse’s safe place? We tested it in a safe environment, but away from home.

I remember taking one of my clients with her vivacious Warmblood mare to their first dressage show. Things got pretty frantic initially, but we worked together in the warm-up arena. They found each other and even got a compliment from another trainer. I signaled it was time, and my client rode back for the final touchups before her test. She vaulted off her horse, looked me in the eye and said it wouldn’t matter how they did in front of the judge because they’d already won. Then she hugged me hard enough to crack a rib.

Interlude: A Great Blue on Infinity Pond.

Jolene and I are almost there, and I’m doing a wiggle-dance, too. After so many years away, it was an adventure I had missed. We had been working on our skills these last months, but we didn’t practice between classes. We were in it for fun. There would be three tests: birch, clove, and anise. Each test has twelve identical white boxes with scent in only one of them. It’s Jolene’s job to find the scent, and I tell the judge. The fun part is the silent conversation between us. Jolene would like you to know it’s the dog that does the proper work.

We pull in and park. The location is an ex-warehouse just off a very busy four-lane road, fitted out for dog training. Jolene is pretty wound up. She has never seen so many dogs and people in one place. It’s a near-hysterical wiggle-dance now. She stays in the truck, licking the windows and howling as I go sign in and get our order of go.

The organizer has important information for us, and this is the moment I remember that I’m nearly deaf. Her voice doesn’t carry over the urban racket. I’m struggling to watch her lips and mentally reconstruct what she is saying as she recites rules and sprinkles them with clever asides. It’s mentally exhausting to separate the two, so by the time I decipher the sounds into words, I’m mad she is telling jokes. I know she is trying to put people at ease. Everyone is friendly. Except for me and my furrowed brow.

We should have had a few minutes, but there were no-shows. They called us right away. The volunteer checked our names and asked what kind of dog Jolene was as she opened the door. There were about ten dark, cement stairs, and Jolene slammed it in reverse. Seems we don’t have those out on the prairie. I gave her an exhale, as if my breath could inflate her lungs, and told her she was a good girl. There was a tiny tremble visible in her bloomers as I lifted her into my arms and started up the steps.

Mister says, do you really think Jolene is the only dog with aspirations? I tell him I don’t think she has any, but he interrupts. He would like you to know that he had a winning day this week.

Mister had a date with the vet tech. We left Jolene at home with a big chewy and were off, just the two of us. After tens of thousands of miles together on the road, this really is his happy place. He never looks out the window, just gazes dreamily at me. Mister is a lounge lizard. A womanizer. I don’t even pretend to resist. We checked in, and he stood on the scale, proud of every ounce. His vaccination went quickly because of the peanutty-good lick mat, and then it was time to check out. This is his moment.

The reception desk is a large arc and usually has three people working behind it. Sure, they sing Jolene’s song to her when she comes, but Mister pulls rank, being the one with superior skills. He sits and softens his ears just a little. His distinguishingly gray muzzle reveals moist lips, and he lets just the tip of his tongue show. Mister is an amorist, a wolf. He quietly stares at a woman who is working behind a computer. She stops and robotically reaches for the treat jar. Overt begging is for amateurs. He makes them stretch over the desk to him. A co-worker stops typing. Now they have both given him treats, and somehow there is a crowd behind the desk. Mister seduces them with his eyes. He lets his ears do the talking.

Mister says he has the ageless sophistication of Cary Grant and an unshakable charisma that drives veterinary technicians wild. Mister is a rake, a philanderer would like to be weighed one more time, as a practical way of scoring his success. My bill isn’t ready yet.

At the trial, volunteers guide Jolene and me along. There are three practice boxes, which she totally ignores because she is busy flirting with someone who thinks she’s a corgi mix. If a horse were this distracted and wound up before a class, you would scratch out of respect for the judge. But I know this dog, and we paid for the full ride. We’ll see it through.

When an animal feels stress, they revert to their instinct. Instinct is survival; it’s calming. A flight animal might run, and a dog might lose herself in odor.

Someone introduced us as we walked into the huge testing room. Orange cones and a dozen boxes. We pause. Jolene is itching to work. I say, “Find it,” and she’s off. As usual, she runs a lap checking all the boxes, then stops at a box, sits, and gives me the cue. I translate for the judge. “Alert.”

We both hear the magic word, “Yes.” We profusely thank everyone and wiggle-dance to the exit.

Two more tests, with an hour between them. People are chatting in groups, their dogs in crates. There were folks I knew, including our instructor, who had prepared us so well. But Jolene didn’t want to be alone, so we sat in the truck and dog-watched.

It takes all three scents to title, and during the last test, I wanted to be cautious. Jolene worked the boxes and picked one. I asked her to “Show me.” I got a side-eye for the insult. She circled the box once more, her bottom landing hard. And I called it.

There was no ribbon, but I went online and ordered a hearing-impaired lapel button. The hardest part of the day was hearing people.

Jolene has letters after her name. Not that she cares. She is Andra Vinden AR SD Beyond Compare, ORT. Andra Vinden is the breeder’s kennel name. Swedish, it translates to Second Wind. Which could be my new middle name.

Back home, Jolene says what’s next? What should we do now? Mister, dozing in a reverse sploot position, says, home so soon?

To be continued…

…

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