Ron Enzeroth and the DD's erecting the fabulous pink umbrella handler's post at the Palm Cottage SDT

This last weekend Pat and Jai and I traveled to beautiful Cottage Grove, Oregon, for Laura Vishoot's Palm Cottage SDT.  This was my second year attending.   I LOVE THIS TRIAL. 

We didn't have the magic and mystery of Derek Fisher in little boy's swim trunks laying down a beautiful winning run against everything some wanted to believe was Good and Decent, like Walmart and Coors, and other's couldn't believe only cost them $37.50 and a few beers. 

Ron Enzeroth is a warm, fun fellow and a good judge.   He took a lot of crap from me and the DDs in the evenings.   If he were more of a drinking man, or carried mace, this weekend would not have left such a deep profound scarring of his psyche, or possibly as many photos.

Favorite Moments:

Pat and Jai both got scores.  The scores were in the low to mid 30's, but my dogs tried and I tried and….it was much better than last year when Pat and I went around the post in the wrong direction, before I noticed how the panels were situated, then moved on to re-enacting the battle of Little Bighorn; one dog, four sheep and a bemused mostly silent handler,

"Pat!" was my intermittent battlecry.  "Oh, Pat!"

Last year was truly profoundly, stirringly ugly.  And then Pat went away for several (NINE!) months.  So…there was no where to go but up this year.  That makes trialing much easier. So far.  That, and beer in a can. 

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Rockingdawgs and I had a ceremonial exchange of lanyards.  She has long been a fan of paperclip smithing artistry and for nearly 6 minutes she made relentless….ah…rejoicing of the intricate twisting and bending of what once just held theoretical papers tidily together and now featured my whistle on a beaded string of what looks like hooker's teeth (BUT ISN'T!!),

("IS THIS PLASTIC!?" she asked, indicating said whistle, "Do you have this paperclip twisted around a PLASTIC whistle? O.M.G! Really?!"

The only thing that could have impressed her more, seemingly,  would have been if it doubled as a leg shaver. Next time.)

I admired her spare leather cord which didn't include beads from someone's serial killer menopause collection. 

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I drove a 4 wheeler – small stuff for most of you, but was a huge fear of mine.  I always pictured this experience ending in flames and ruin,  but it was really much easier than youtube and paraplegics make it look. Now I want to try driving one while operating a chain saw.  For sure I'm getting Pat a t-shirt that says, "If You Can Read This, The Bitch Fell off."

Thanks Bill S!  

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Next trial is in Utah. 

The Caledonia Games Traditional Stockdog Trial is held in a football field at a high school in Athena, Oregon.  I think this tradition goes back more than 6 years, but I'm not certain.  My ancestors are scottish, but not from Oregon.  I think in Hillbillyonia,where they originate, stock dog trials are held in hollers and instead of dogs and handlers, there are crying and the nonfictional version of Ned Beaty; obstacles include his pants, a dude with a banjo,  the 21st century; and, of course, there is the human equivalent of Don Couch's sheep.  The roles, however, are completely reversed.

Or are they?

I mean, I love Couch; he's funny, he's warm, he works his ass off at these trials.  His sheep are the wool-hairy shit dripping manifestations of evil incarnate.  These are not the sheep you count to drift into slumber.  These are the sheep that will someday mutate another row of teeth, some thumbs, and an arms deal with, like, the angry half of Iceland or somewhere no one expects trouble.  The sheep harbor hate and some sort of oddly aligned Chuck Norris complex.  Seriously, does he let them go to movies? (Caldwell has discounts for herds over 10 on Ewesdays) Order netflix?  

Jai didn't like the field or the sheep.  Too much pressure, too much foot stomping.  She licked her lips and blew off my flanks.  I alternated between correction and encouragement, trying to help her move these sheep around the small course.  I wasn't hoping for any sort of decent score, just for her to feel successful.  We didn't retire and she didn't grip off, but it was exhausting for both of us to stay on that field for 5 minutes.

Pat is the Pat-O-Matic.  He had a fair run on Saturday and a really nice run on Sunday. He can move these type of sheep.  His lines were straight and we made all the panels.  We timed out at the open pen. 

In the evenings there was a Time and Points trial through an obstacle field that only lacked explosives and blinking neon to make it more impossible (for us).  Pat was chased off by the worst of Couch's lot – a suspected carjacker ewe who had to weigh 500 pounds, most of it head and hoof.. I don't think I've ever seen Pat get chased off.  She turned and charged and we both squealed like a pig.   He ran a few feet but came back and she did it again.  We let the sheep run to exhaust.  It hardly seemed worth the effort to attempt to run her through the pretend clothesline and around the faux outhouse, across a cute bridge, etc etc.  If they had added a conveyor belt through a screaming ban saw and into a marinade vat…well, yes.

When the trial was over, and the sheep loaded up in Couch's big stock trailer …I didn't see who drove it home, but I picture it being that particularly nasty ewe with a hank of natty wool/hair hanging off her large mean haunches.  I picture her flipping Don off as she drove out of the gravel school lot, kicking up dirt and stones. Don standing there, coughing, never expecting this final indignity, although she is also wearing his hat and sunglasses.  He is forced to beg a ride back to Caldwell with some trucker who does not believe his story, is tired of hearing it, what kind of man is BETTERED by a Katahdin/Dorper cross, especially in his own FANTASY?   Somewhere near Baker City they are passed by a stock trailer going way too fast, careening between lanes – a gatoraid bottle filled with green sludge is hurled from the window and splatters onto their windshield.  The driver is wearing a half-eaten flat rimmed straw cowboy hat.  Baaa-ing.

"That was a hoof that throw'd that shit bottle outta that winder," the driver  says.

"I TOLD YOU!"

Anyway.  It's a fun trial.  Who doesn't love tradition?

Jai not enjoying a swim, Kelley Creek 2011

"You need to work on consistency." DD, post Kelley Creek summation

For the first PN trial, yesterday morning, Pat came in second and Jai did a good job of getting around the course.  Pat did his usual very nice O/L/F and then he slowed down for the rest of the course and we made obstacles and we got our pen.  (Initially I had said that we timed out, because I didn't remember getting our pen. THAT is how MENTALLY FOCUSED I AM during my run…) 

Jai's outrun and lift were really nice.  She took most all of my flanks and her pace was good.  P*trick and DD both commented that you could see her confidence build during the run, she knew what I wanted and she was anticipating my whistles. 

I was very happy with both dogs, and myself for not falling off the handlers box or bursting into flames when refracted sunlight from DDs bedazzled accessories traveled across the field to ignite my 'organic' sunscreen. (I forgot to put sunscreen on. Make a note of that Handler Tip – it's one of my better ones.)

The second trial would have welcomed flames.  If you are going to be insincerely thanked off the field, it might be nice to have it accompanied by someone straight-streaming you with a high-pressured hose (and not just figuratively).   

Pat did his great outrun etc etc…and then I failed to slow him down as I should have after the fetch panels, which this time we missed. We split the sheep and never were able to recover a nice tidy package again.  I worry about Pat overheating and dying* somewhere on the field during a run, probably at or near a drive panel, the second one, and me leaving the post too early and sobbing like a baby on the field while the sheep stare from me to exhaust and decide to hang around and watch me cry because they are range ewes and it's something they haven't seen before…somehow I remind them of something that should be edible…meanwhile the judge yells THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU because I am such a bummer; everyone knows to wait and cry OFF THE FIELD. 

So…I called the run. 

Jai again did a beautiful outrun, after some redirection (horse fetish!) and a nice lift, again. She came closer to making the drive panels.  Then she decided that I should compromise a little and shut the fuck up with my "Away" whistle and the command – bilingually spoken and screeched.  She thought she'd like to go around the post the OTHER WAY.  I argued with her until it became moot because the sheep had run off course.  Thank You.

After the trial I spent a lot of time trying to decide why things went to shit so solidly on the second run for both dogs.  I mean, there are obvious technical reasons – I didn't slow Pat down; my dogs and I always struggle near the post because I expect trouble there and Jai hates that pressure.  I should have and could have reacted sooner to set things up better. BUT I CONSISTENTLY DO NOT DO THIS.

I try to remember what it is, generally, that I think about when I'm at the post and I can't.  It's like not remembering your dreams but having a sense of the pieces.  The pieces are not typically helpful.

I'm comfortable saying that last year I just stood there at the post in a sort of blind panic and hoped things wouldn't go too badly and that the time would pass relatively quickly.  This year I am somewhat calmer.  I do best when my expectations are minimal. 

My first run with Pat, my goal was to simply not kill him.*  Keep things slow so that he didn't die.  My first run with Jai I just wanted her to bring me sheep. Just that. After Wessels, where she hung around setout wagging until I called her back, and Tremonton last weekend where she decided that what we REALLY needed was a horse, I was going to be happy with her leaving my feet and coming back with the right number of the right species of animal within the alloted 6.5 minute timeframe.

Pat lived* and came in second, and Jai brought me sheep and proceeded on through the course relatively nicely. 

The afternoon trial had bigger expectations.    I think that while OTHER PEOPLE'S expectations were that I would walk upright to the post and hang around for some minutes out there with my dog while things happened that were recognizably part of the sport….MY EXPECTATIONS leapt right ahead to OHSWEETNEARLYSEVENMINUTEJESUS I have to BEAT PATRICK, CRUSH DIANNE, MAKE HELSLEY BEG ME FOR ADVICE …PLUS: COME UP WITH A LOGO. I'LL NEED BUSINESS CARDS AND A HUGE TRAILER WITH MY FACE ON IT!! AND PAT'S (slightly smaller)…AND JAI WAGGING ON THE BACK — IN 3D!!  I'm getting a monkey for SURE to ride Scout. …  He'll wear a little green hat. And a belt to hold up his jeans that will feature a huge buckle from a rodeo he was never really in…bullriding or something.  He will wear a wife beater under something that requires drycleaning.  That's evolution for you.

…Not really.  I did think that I should do better each time, though.  Plus my mind does tend to travel down these long dusty roads to no where when I should be keeping it in the here and now at the post. But that also makes me panic.  I only do well when my expectations are reasonable and I'm comfortable that I can easily achieve them. At this point…I'm mostly comfortable in achieving the Walking Upright to the Post part …and that my dogs, both, are GOOD DOGS. 

Next weekend is Athena.  I don't know how to keep my mind in the moment and calm, but that is my goal, along with not killing Pat*.  The only other consistent thing that keeps cropping up here is that I need a monkey.

*Dianne tries to bore hot holes of disapproval into my brain with her eyes each time I express this irrational thought of Pat dying on the field.  Her slapping hand twitches.