DOGS
I was on my way to meet some British canine stars at their training camp near Worcester, and I started thinking about that old saying, ‘never work with children or animals’. I learned years before joining the BBC that you have to treat our four-legged friends with the utmost respect.
I had a job with the Winchester tourist board as a Roman Centurion, on their guided walks of the city walls. My role was to leap out from behind a wall brandishing my sword, in a very short tunic. Over the course of a week I had been mocked by a group of punk rockers, who goaded me from the garden of a pub with their mangy looking dogs straining on the end of bits of string. One day, with the latest tour party still down the path and around the corner, the dogs moved into position. They had been let out of the pub garden and gathered on the gravel by my wall. Hearing what I thought to be the crowd of tourists, I jumped out with my sword held high, shouting my lines, but instead of intrigued faces reaching for their cameras, the audience consisted of three rows of gnashing teeth.
I recognised one breed to be a border collie and was pretty sure the others had horns and forked tails. I wasn’t sticking around for a picture and hot-footed it in my sandals the other way up the path. I vaulted up some steps, onto a bridge and past King Alfred’s Statue. The snarling of canine jaws was never far behind, until I came to a pelican crossing and realised that stopping at the lights was a police car. Huffing and puffing, I asked if the officers would do me a favour and arrest the gang hounding me. ‘The dogs, the dogs…’ I panted…the dogs which had now disappeared. They had given up the chase, probably realising there wasn’t much meat on the bone. Remarkably the policewoman kept a straight face as she reassured this pathetic excuse for a Roman and agreed to go and have a word with the dogs and their owners.
Thank fully over the years man’s best friend and I have settled our differences. I no longer dress up as a Roman Centurion, and there are numerous sports which are guaranteed to bring you and your dog together.
DOG AGILITY
There aren’t many sports in which an 89-year-old can beat a 16-year-old, but dog agility is one. Mary only got into sport at 80, but nine years later in a field near Farnham she was giving us all a lesson, beating teenagers and myself in a warm up for the UK championship to be held in Eastbourne. It was then on to the world championships in Norway. Think show-jumping, but it’s your dog going around the obstacles, chasing a clear round, and although Mary wasn’t riding her dog, she was instrumental in the outcome.
‘Stay, go, weave!’ she bellowed as her border collie raced up and down steep narrow ramps, before leaping a two-foot pole. Then it was through a long tunnel, over some hurdles, and then faster than the eye could follow, it darted through a series of poles. ‘Go on, weave, weave!’ Mary shrieked as she followed the route around the course, waving her arms, dipping her shoulders, pointing her fingers, whistling and nodding her head.
It’s not just the dogs that get the exercise and Mary’s team got a clear round. You get penalties for fences you don’t clear, and for any refusals.
‘I get nervous, yes very nervous, but wow when I go, I love it, I love it’, Mary said, roaring with laughter. This sport has obviously taken years off her, because she could have passed for 60. The 16-year-old lad who’d been out-thought and out-fought was equally enthusiastic. ‘It’s an unusual sport, but it keeps me fit. There’s a lot of running around and I like showing off our skills to my friends and family in the garden.’
I had taken my faithful old mutt Basil along, who at 12 had lost most of his agility. He was part Labrador, part Lurcher and could have got acting work as a calf. But he was reasonably fit in the autumn years of his life, and would do anything for food. His black tail wagged furiously as we went around the course, his eyes were bright and his silky coat gleamed in the sun, but it was me who was eight feet up in the air at the top of the ramp, and I ended up crawling through the tunnel, jumping the hurdles and climbing through the hoops. I thought that by showing him he might follow, but my hand signals, shoulder shimmies and voice commands were all wrong, and his sole contribution was to go for a wee. I had almost got a clear round, but of course it didn’t count.
My theory that Basil’s age had cost him his agility didn’t carry weight for long either, because the following February he managed to get my daughter Sophie’s birthday cake off the back of a kitchen unit during the night. It was way out of reach of his paws, and either he had help from a cat or he did still possess that old showjumping magic.
In truth it can take months to build up the voice commands and body signals that enable you to get your dog around the course, and many go at first just for the social side, greeting each other like long-lost friends and having picnics after the competitions. Now that was something Basil excelled at.
Dog agility started in 1978 when a committee member at the Crufts dog show was challenged with entertaining the audience between the regular competitions. He got together with a vet and they decided to show off the dogs’ natural agility and speed. By 1979, some dog clubs then started offering training and a year later the Kennel Club recognised it as a sport. Now there are competitions all over the world.
As breeds go, Basil would have been a natural in his heyday, with his Labrador and Lurcher genes, but there were all sorts there, from Jack Russells to Corgis and an Otter Hound. There are different rounds for different sizes, and all I can say is, may the course be with you.
For more information its www.ukagility.com and http://www.thekennelclub.org.uk/agility
FLYBALL
Flyball is all about speed. It’s a sprint relay for dogs, with hurdles along the way. The dogs also have to collect a tennis ball, which they release by pressing on a spring-loaded pad. Then it’s back to the starting line where another dog on the team sets off to repeat the sprint. It started in California in the 1960s as a way of keeping energetic breeds of dog fit. It’s one of the few dog-and-owner team sports that doesn’t involve hunting.
I didn’t have a dog with me when I went to a Flyball meeting near Northampton. Basil had barked his last woof, but in his pomp he would have been quick down the course, although mentally challenged by the tennis ball. However, you can just turn up as a beginner, and get paired up with a team member when you arrive. I got a Jack Russell called Spike. He was coaching me rather than the other way round. I was distracted by the noise and the passion as owners and trainers screamed encouragement and dogs strained on their leads, yelping with frantic excitement as they waited their turn.
The course is 15.5 metres long and all four dogs have to run the length of the course and back, collecting the tennis ball on the turn. There are penalties if any dog drops the ball, or if there is a foul on the changeover – for instance if the next dog in line goes off before the previous runner has crossed the starting point.
That was the problem with Spike. He really was champing at the bit to go, rearing up on his back legs, tail beating like a helicopter blade with anticipation, and it took all my restraining powers to keep him back until his moment arrived. Spike didn’t even look at the four hurdles on the course as he skipped over them like a skimming stone, and I hadn’t even got to the end of my first ‘Come on Spike!’ before he was back.
Jessica Ennis would be very proud, because the world Flyball record is 14.690 seconds. That’s over a total distance (for all four dogs) of 124 metres, and it was set by the Touch and Go team in Las Vegas.
After the first Flyball tournament was held in the USA, a Flyball box was brought back to the UK for use by the Kennel Club in 1987, and this was followed by a competition at Crufts in 1990. It has now spread to all corners of the world, and the European championships were held in the UK in 2012.
This sport means every dog can have its day. The ragged-looking mongrel gets a chance to mix it with the pedigrees. One of the competitions is specifically for mixed breed dogs, and winning teams in the main races often have mutts running one of the legs. Although border collies and whippet-like dogs dominated the line-up at the tournament I attended,