So is this thing on? Can you hear the soundtrack here? I am channeling Black Sabbath and singing you the classic rock tune Paranoid. You guys all know that one. Think of me as sort of a folk singy Emo girl wearing a stain resistant skort instead of pegged pants and silver stud belt with creepers. With some liver treats in the pockets. How did I go all emo girl? You know them, they are like the myspace version of Morrisey girls from the ’80’s, of which I never was. Late bloomer. I feel all these new tattoos coming on. Like a new hobby! Folk singing of classic rock hits and tattoo getting. Perhaps because to take the place of dog agility which, to quote Ozzy, you will laugh and I will cry. When you hear the kind of weekend I had. A weekend that has me reverting to quoting Ozzy Osborne. We may be hitting some kind of rock bottom here.
I mean really. After watching a bunch of runs, my agility pal and role model of good dog trainer, and who is a genuine doctor of PhD, says, scratching his head, “Maybe it’s not your dogs, maybe you need to go into therapy?” Sort of sums up the whole dog show weekend. And makes tattoo collecting sound better and better. And has me brushing up on my guitar strumming in hobby change preparedness.
Like let’s take Ruby. How about 1 run manic speed with no control, 1 run frozen can’t move off the startline, 1 run lopes slowly around, 1 run half slow, half speed and speed crashing through jumps. Cannot do a-frames anymore and runs around them. Like no pattern. No reason I can find. Nothing we ever seen in training. Just this whole bipolar weekend of insanity. I doubt any Q’s. Have no idea.
Like Otterpop. Who reverted to judge staring, freaking and barking. Until I HAD IT and with one last little bark, pulled her out of the ring and marched her to the car and stuck her in there, jail time. Which sadly worked and she ended up with a bunch of Q’s but still. That’s just no fun. Dog punishing by locking up in a car because she hates a judge? I could be at home practicing the chords for Foghat songs and drawing tattoos of frozen in the headlight deer standing in line art landscapes. That take up whole, entire backs.
Otterpop at dog shows is not the dog I usually do agility with. Same with Ruby, at least at this dog show. Agility is super fun with my dogs. But these weirdo Stepford dogs, 26 faces of Eve dogs, creepy girl twins out of the Shining bloody elevator dogs, I could do without.
So I dunno. Hi all you Bayteam and SMART pals that come and say hi and hope I don’t go to jail this week. More on that later. You guys all see my dogs. Usually I’m like, whatever. My dogs are weirdo, I dunno, life goes on. This weekend, closest I ever got to dogs making me sit down in my portable dog agility chair from Target and go all weepy and and write bad poetry in bic rollerball on my sneakers. Drama queen. Frustrated over a stupid dog show when polar bears are floating around on tiny ice cubes and John McCain is counting his houses on 2 hands. Like I’m not crammed into the Superdome forced to drink my own urine. But still. When I sent Hobbes up there on that dogwalk instead of in the tunnel, just wanted to crawl in a gopher hole and turn in my soccer cleats to either of the Crew Chiefs Mary. Trade them for some raffle tickets to win a shrink wrapped basket of biscuits, and leave that place, barefooted and off to the tattoo shop.