This afternoon I went out and worked Pat one last time before the trial…  One of the bitches at Dianne's house is in heat so Pat was a mess. He didn't listen, took the wrong flanks, wanted to work for Dianne, thought seriously about humping Ann's leg.  Nice.  It wasn't pretty.  In turn I responded, as I do, with frenzy.  At the pen, I said, "AWAY!"  when I should have said, "A-way".  Dianne reminded me that it's important how we say our commands, especially when things are ramping up or the pressure is more than usual.  

"You screeched at him, 'AWAY!' …. he responded as Pat will, in a frenzy.  You need to say it softly and draw the command out if you want him to respond more calmly.  Use 2 syllables and you will get 2 syllables.  Shout out one fast command and that's what you'll get."

I have reconciled myself to accepting whatever happens.  We'll do our best. I love Pat, he's a great dog and we both have
issues.  If I end up being the Poster Child for all that can go
wrong…so be it.  I think facing the Worst Trial Experience Ever could be worth something in itself.  I am learning a lot, slowly.  

Tomorrow I leave for Seattle. I've bumped it up a day. Cienna and I both miss my mother.   I'm taking Scout with me for company. 

I might blog, I might not. I'm looking forward to the Dina Martina Xmas show. This will be my third season.

My last 2 posts have been fiction.  As such I should clarify a few things:

1) These characters are not based on anyone whom I currently know.  (Not so far, anyway. It is a work in progress). Much of this I originally wrote a few years ago on a blog I had entitled, "I Am Eating My Husband's Soul"….a blog which eventually was discovered by my mother-in-law who now, thanks to my writing and liberal use of real names, thinks I am INSANE.  Clinically.  Not "madcap" in the fun way that is slightly edgy but still entertaining to hang with.  We're talking crazy enough to cage her son (my husband) and feed him laxatives until he renounces sci-fi television.  It doesn't help that my mother in law is NOT A DRINKER.  That never helps.  It wasn't the first time and won't be the last time that things I've written and thought funny have actually alienated me from my mainstream christmas card recipients.  I will go too far in my writing. If you don't like it, don't read it. This is a blog, I'm not trying to rewrite your bible or give tips for good clean living.

2) This is still my training blog. I hope to organize it so that fiction and reality posts are at least displayed differently.  I know some people only want to read actual training experiences.  Sometimes I feel that I'm at a level with herding where my progress doesn't lend itself to the daily posts I'd like to discipline myself to write.  I suppose i could start yet another blog….and have two, but for me that might mean I wouldn't update either. I'd eat more instead.  I'd dream of writing, while having another handful of chips. Open another beer and think of a post, clean my house instead of writing….etc etc.  Go for a run and construct a perfect sentence.  Right now the 2 things I love most are writing and herding.  I want to maximize my time with each. blah blah blah. How I run on.  That'll do, eh?

3) There is no number 3. I just like the number. Two seems so inadequate.

Evelyn suggested that I use her 'Communicator', Miguel, to help dig into Mizti's biting problem.  She also suggested that I not call it a 'problem' so much as an 'opportunity' because problem is negative.  Mitzi is a sensitive dog.  I need to set her up for success.  AND children need discipline, it's true; still, Evelyn was clearly nipping off the Bailey's and Pam cannister with her morning coffee. 

Miguel is actually Evelyn's ex-husband.  ('Miguel' was 'Mike' up until a few months ago, when he found out that that his real Mother might be Spanish (Mexican).  He then had surgery to enable him to roll his r's.  He has adopted a fake spanish accent and head bands.  He watches the Dog Whisperer to perfect his accent, which, sadly, sounds vaguely irish at this point in his transition.)  

Evelyn is my dearest friend, but mixing alcohol with cooking spray has
caused her, on more than one occasion, to put wild unrestrained faith
in whatever shirtless man is convenient at the time. Miguel is not an Animal Communicator. He is an opportunist who uses his one-eyed poodle, Sandra, to do his dirty work, his talking, for him.

When they moved in together, according to Evelyn, Miguel had Sandra speak "frankly" to Evelyn's cats, Tonto and Lingus.  He had the nappy little cylcops tell Evelyn's 6 year old kitties to respect the new tenants's boundaries — stop laying on Miguel's things, scratching around in his dry-cleaning basket, and hissing and yowling their bitchy Mariner's Catch breath all over the place "for no reason".  The cats ignored all and continued to leave clumps of hair on both he and Sandra's pillows and on more than one occasion horked "deliberately" all over Miguel's Golf Pro magazine. 

Sandra claimed that the cats were laughing at them.  Trying to force them out.

According to Miguel, the one-eyed dog continued to try to be reasonable, to suggest that they, the cats, should stay confined to the laundry room and garage until they wanted to "behave as part of the  family"….and the cats communicated back that they "should go f**k themselves; the cats wanted to be 'set free' , to be released back into their  "native ecosystem", which Miguel promptly did, although where this was remains to this day a vague mystery.  Where besides an aging alcoholic's upscale condominium would a pair of de-clawed and bejeweled Persians feel they belong?

After the divorce, Miguel moved into Evelyn's garage.  Evelyn has a soft heart. She is always trying to find him work.

Sandra's one eye gleems pure watery evil.  I do not trust that dog to translate shit.

Chapter One

Mitzi keeps biting people. Well, not people, per se, but children.  My friend Evelyn reminded me last night that "Children are our future…"
Evelyn was stoked to the gills on vicodan and her canteen of Dentini (Bombay Sapphire gin, splash of vermouth, 2 sticks of Dentyne gum — her dentist recommended it. Four out of Five do, apparently) at the time, however, and may have actually said 'Drilling is our Future." or "Real Gin is our suture."
That would be more like her.

Still, the problem remains, Mitzi's biting must be addressed.  I do not need Our Future bleeding all over my carpets while the parents threaten to call lawyers.  Mitzi is a Well Bred Dog.  It pains me to say it, but if I had to lay money on my border collie or that whiny little beast byproduct with the perpetually drippy nose next door leading us into tomorrow…well, let's just say toughen up your shanks, sissy pants.

_______________________________________________

This is fiction. I'll move it over into a category on the side later.  I'm playing with the idea of a longer thing..