Black Ribbon

disappointment, she took the small-dog group. An instructor I didn’t know, another ascetic-looking woman, got medium-size dogs. Rowdy and I ended up in Heather’s group, which also included Michael and Jacob; Ginny and Wiz; a sporty-looking couple with the two utterly gorgeous English setters I’d seen in the canoe; and a hefty gray-haired woman and her massive mixed-breed, the two built alike, both on the model of an agility A-frame. And Eva Spitteler. And Bingo.
    The small and medium dogs moved toward distant clusters of obstacles. Our group had the first go at the A-frame, the weave poles, and one of the tunnels. We started with the A-frame. At the head of our scraggly line were Ginny and Wiz, both of whom had done a little agility before. Right in back of them were Eva and Bingo. Determined to avoid trouble, I led Rowdy to the end of the queue. We took a place behind Michael and Jacob, who, as Michael assured me and as I observed for myself, was an exceptionally mellow Akita. Akitas, like malamutes, are big, brawny, sometimes dog-aggressive members of the spitz group, and some Akitas are even tougher than the toughest malamutes.
    “He won’t do a thing,” Michael promised. “Jacob is the Gandhi of dogs.”
    Rowdy is not. His coat is too good. I swear that there’s a genetic link. Practically every mahatma malamute I’ve ever known has been a woollie. That’s dog breeding for you: angelic temperament, faulty coat; good rear, east-west front; lovely head, lousy tail; great ears, dippy topline; ideal everything, sound dog, very typey, moves like a dream, and sure enough, one testicle that never drops.
    “Well done!” Heather called out. “Praise her! Lots of praise! Good girl. What’s her name? Good girl, Wiz. Next?” Eva led Bingo forward. “This is too low for him,” she complained. “He can handle a lot higher than this. This is going to be practically just like walking.”
    “It’s plenty high to begin with,” Heather said, “and you want to make sure he gets the idea of the contact zones right now. So you just take hold of his collar, very gently, and you’ve got your food in your other hand, and you kind of use that to get him right in that contact zone, and when he’s there, give him a nice treat, and—”
    And before Heather could finish, Eva dashed forward with Bingo at the end of a six-foot lead. On the ground in front of the ascent ramp, the big yellow Lab paused momentarily. Then he bounded up, entirely missing the contact zone, skittered over the top, and leaped off the other side as if he could hardly wait to get his feet back on the ground. “Good boy, Bingo!” Eva screamed. “Good boy! You’re a natural! Didn’t I tell you? Great, great work. Good boy! With you around, the rest of these dogs look like a pile of giant turds.”
    Heather rolled her eyes briefly upward, shrugged her lean shoulders, and started instructing the massive gray-haired woman with the look-alike A-frame dog, an Irish wolfhound cross, maybe, an immense creature who turned out to be named Baskerville. Coached by Heather, the woman slowly lured the ponderous dog up and over the ramp. Then the
    English setters took their turns. The first was timid and skittish; the second, bold, surefooted, and justifiably proud of himself, a happy dog once again discovering himself good at everything. I’d wanted to watch Jacob, but missed him because just as Michael led him toward the A-frame, Eva and Bingo cut in front of Ginny and Wiz to get in line directly behind Rowdy and me, and I was busy moving Rowdy away from Bingo and trying to size up the yellow Lab’s mood.
    Then it was our turn. Before we even reached the obstacle, Heather intervened. “You do a lot of obedience,” she informed me.
    “Yes,” I admitted.
    “I get Dog’s Life. I read your column,” she said flatly.
    I nodded.
    “You better start right now getting used to working with the dog on your right,” she advised me. “In agility, you’ve got to be able to work with the dog on either side of you. So get on the other side of him, and put your food in your left hand, and...”
    Rowdy was already past the yellow contact zone. Tail zipping back and forth, a big grin on his face, he reached the apex.
    “Feed him!” Heather ordered. “Lots of praise! And then when he gets...”
    By this time, Rowdy was in the contact zone at the bottom of the ramp, and I was awkwardly shoving food in his mouth and wondering how I could possibly learn to