Nothing's More Nerve-racking than a Dog Show

Ott's World

"No matter how hard you train, sooner or later your dog will dream up a way to humble you in the ring."

It's 2:59 A.M., and Ott is sleeping so comfy. On her back. Hind legs splayed in a most unladylike manner. Front paws drawn up in her best please-give-me-a-treat position. Soft white tummy rising gently with each breath. Snuggled into Sandra's armpit. Head on Sandra's shoulder.

At precisely 3:00 the alarm jangles, and Ott's world explodes into the go-go activity of what promises to be a special day.

In exactly five hours, Sandra Shults and her Border collie teammate will enter the competition ring at Phoenix Field and Obedience Club's 84th Obedience Trial. Ott is ready. Ott is always ready for anything. Sandra isn't so sure. Monster butterflies have begun to thunder around in her stomach.

By 4:30 the grooming table is set up in the den. And with her personal bragging wall of 28 ribbons, nine award-presentation photos, and 12 trophies as backdrop, Ott gets groomed for her special day: toenails clipped, lustrous black-and-white coat brushed, black tail with white tip made silky.

The air is crisp at 5:30, and a full moon still hangs high in the southern sky when Sandra arrives at the site of the trial. She has shown up early to help pound stakes, stretch ring ropes, set up red-and-white-striped canopies, and generally make herself useful.

"I'm here to keep my mind off the show," she confesses. Around 7:30 she musters a wan smile and says, "I've only thrown up six times." Of course, she's kidding. Of course.

Welcome to the frenetic world of dog-obedience competition. Ott's world.

"Everybody who goes into that ring is a basket case," one observer says.

To which a veteran competitor replies, "That's because most people who get this far have invested, beginning with puppy kindergarten, anywhere from 1,000 to 2,000 hours of training in these dogs. Yet when they go into the ring, there's still a sense of lack of control. One member of the team might decide to run out of the ring.

"Put the thousands of hours of practice together with the vague feeling of helplessness, and you get high anxiety."

Under control or out of control, obedience competition is a team sport. Dog and handler (usually the owner) invariably bond as closely as human and animal can.

American Kennel Club-sanctioned obedience trials may be held as part of large shows sponsored by Arizona all-breed clubs with names like Cañada del Oro, Kachina, Sahuaro, Superstition, and Scottsdale Dog Fanciers. Or they may be free-standing events sponsored by obedience-dedicated clubs, such as Phoenix Field and Obedience Club and Old Pueblo Dog Training Club, Tucson. Or a much smaller single-breed club may hold a trial with as few as six dogs.

At any major dog show, obedience competitors are "the other guys." They heel and retrieve in the shadow of the conformation ring: the glitzy much ballyhooed "beauty pageant" part of the show. The catalog of a recent Superstition Kennel Club All-Breed Dog Show and Obedience Trial in Mesa listed 2,305 dogs entered in conformation, 82 in obedience.

Sandra has arrived at the trial this morning with Debby Boehm, her instructor at Precision Canine, where Sandra and Ott train on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Ott is not with them. Instead, Sandra's husband, Mark, delivers Ott to her at ringside five minutes before their 8:00 ring time.

"The reason I do that," Sandra explains, "is that I don't want to relay my nervousness to Ott for any extended period of time. My stress flows right down the leash, and Ott senses it."

Just before 8:00, as the final seconds count down, Sandra heels Ott to a position just outside the ring gate. Standing erect, shoulders square, with Ott in perfect heel position, Sandra begins to focus her dog's attention.

"Watch!" she says, and Ott's head snaps up. The dog's goldenbrown eyes lock on Sandra's. There is a long pause. You could

Ott's World

drop a thousand tin cans in front of Sandra, and Ott's attention would not flicker. Finally, the release: "Okay, get it!" Ott breaks the watch, leaps, and takes a small piece of stew beef (broiled with ground garlic and anise seeds) from between Sandra's lips. Then Sandra squares her shoulders again and whispers to herself, "Breathe!" The judge beckons, and in they go. Sandra purchased Ott for $50 in 1986. A bargain as purebred dogs go. But this morning Ott works like a million dollars. She heels off-leash with precision, her attention focused on Sandra. She retrieves a dumbbell over a high jump with the explosiveness of Michael Jordan driving to the basket. And in the line of 10 dogs, all within tempting sniffing distance of one another, Ott maintains a five-minute down-stay with Sandra and the other handlers out of sight. All the while ignoring the parade of other dogs being trotted past the ring, a kid eating an ice-cream sandwich, even an aggressive free-lance photographer shooting pictures four feet from her head. In the end, Sandra and Ott earn 190.5 out of a possible 200 points (170 is a qualifying score) to achieve their second obedience title, Companion Dog Excellent (CDX).

Once the dogs and their handlers have left the ring, it's, "Phew! That's over." And now it's schmoozing time.

While life around the conformation ring is politically charged, dog-eat-dog one might say, quite the opposite is true among obedience competitors. Here the camaraderie outside the ring equals (well, almost) the stress inside the ropes. Eastern dog shows tend to be indoors, but nearly every dog show in Arizona is held in a parklike setting and is a celebration of sunshine, green grass, blue skies, and just being outside with your dog. By noon this Arizona obedience trial has turned into an old-fashioned picnic at which more than one crack obedience dog has demonstrated that its best exercise is the sandwich grab. Everyone just hangs out, relieved and chatty in the wake of the earlier stress. Here's Kimberly Nelson who today is showing her parents' dachshund, officially registered with the American Kennel Club as Frank E. Furter. And Kimberly's telling the group, "It's so difficult when you're showing your parents' dog. You screw up, and your mom yells at you. Dad said, 'You better let him wear his little sweater so he doesn't get cold.' And they packed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." And then there's obedience instructor Debby Boehm telling her student, "Sumi

LIT'S A DOG'S LIFE.

hears voices when she's in the ring." To which the student responds, "Maybe it's God."

And Debby says, "Well, I wish he'd tell her to not get up during the down-stay."

Someone else is telling about the basset hound that, during a recent trial, got mixed up and retrieved its own ear rather than the dumbbell it was supposed to bring back. "Carried it in his mouth all the way back to his handler."

Ott, however, is oblivious to all of this. She's sacked out at Sandra's feet. Her chin is resting on her little blue and gold football. And she's dreaming of stew beef broiled in ground garlic and anise seeds.

Author's Note: For a schedule of American Kennel Club-sanctioned trials and shows and other information, contact the AKC, 51 Madison Ave., New York, NY 10010; (212) 696-8232 or 8233.

Phoenix-based Willard Bailey shows in obedience competition with his golden retriever, Honeybear.

Fred Griffin enjoyed the responsible and loving attitude toward pets that he saw while photographing this story.