To Seminar, or Not to Seminar, That is the Question

As a kid, I liked going to school.  I was the nerdy kid who took extra classes instead of study hall in high school, had even nerdier extra-curriculars in college, and still gets excited when there's conferences and symposiums to attend in my professional field.  And I enjoy training classes.  I'm in that category of people who get more of a rush training than trialing... and I get a pretty big rush trialing.   I'm also "that girl" who gets a little bit starstruck in life.  Which can be difficult when you live in big cities where a C-list celebrity may be sitting alongside you at a restaurant.   So, I would be naturally pre-disposed to wanting to attend seminars.  Because, (a) they're essentially classes on steroids and (b) there may be an agility star teaching them!  

Yet I find myself being incredibly selective about which seminars I will enroll in.

This started shortly after I began training in agility with Murray.  We were an incredibly novice team, but were already slightly addicted. Jon and I were going to my in-laws for Christmas break.  In years past, I would get a little stir-crazy in the days following Christmas.  So when I found out that a star-studded agility person (OMG they have DVDs!  and books!) was hosting a seminar, advertised as a novice class, and a mere hour from my in-laws I got excited.  I did my due diligence to make sure that it was really okay for a newbie like myself.  After I got that confirmation, several times over, I enrolled.  It was going to be the highlight of my Christmas break.

Murray completing an exercise at the awesome Nancy Gyes/Jim Basic Seminar
at Happy Dog (photo credit: Mia Grant)

Rather than feeling excited and motivated following the seminar, as I had going into it, I left feeling defeated - almost second guessing whether I should bother continuing in the sport.  

Why did I feel that way?

• I was not physically nor mentally prepared for the seminar.  Although it was billed as a novice/foundations class, in reality, most of the students in it were very experienced handlers with Masters-level dogs.  The instructor also had a relationship with almost every other student present, and so the seminar was taught to their level, leaving me in the dust, since several concepts went over my head. 

• We did not receive our "fair-share" of one-on-one instruction.  This seminar had 12 students over the course of two days, which is pretty standard.  The facility was large, so we were divided into smaller working groups for some drills.  My group was never visited by the instructor, so the instructor did not realize that I was struggling until partway through Day 2, when a group member finally called her over for help.  

• The instructor did not adjust any training to apply to the different skill levels present. When it became apparent that my dog was not able to do most of the exercises, rather than break down some of the exercises into more digestible portions, we instead were given a jump stanchion and a jump bump and I was instructed to just have my dog go back and forth over that jump bump for the remainder of the seminar.

• There was not a diverse group of dogs participating.  One nice thing about classes and seminars is when you have others that you can really learn from by observing.  I personally learn a lot by watching dogs that stride similarly to mine but are a little drivier.  I don't learn as much by watching a performance-bred border collie jumping 22".  I love watching them run, but I don't learn as much from that team as it will never resemble my own.  In this particular seminar, almost the entire class consisted of high drive border collies (it's never a good thing when someone actually asks you "is eight inches really a jump height?")

There are things that I would have done differently, in hindsight, to have made the most of an otherwise disappointing situation.  I could not have controlled the students, and had done my due diligence to ensure that he was okay for the class (even though he clearly was not!), so I don't feel guilty about being in the wrong class for our level at the time.  I do wish, however, that instead of feeling intimidated by being in the presence of some big-name agility person, that I had spoken up for myself on day one, identified my shortcomings, and insisted on a more appropriate lesson plan. While that may sound pushy, any seminar is an investment - in time and money - and if that wasn't being volunteered to me, I could have advocated for my dog and kept him happy by seeking out help, rather than relying on the two individuals who were randomly selected for my group.

Not at a seminar! Photo credit: Clark Kranz

Although this was my first seminar as an active participant, I have attended subsequent seminars with other instructors, and have had very positive experiences in those.  The sting from the first one, however, have made me very picky about the subsequent seminars I have chosen to enroll in.  Having spoken to other friends who have "less-than-flashy" dogs (and further confirmed by the responses to a recent post on Daisy Peel's Facebook page regarding seminars), I get the sense that I am not alone in struggling with enrolling in seminars.  Now, when considering enrolling in seminars, these are the questions I try to answer:

• Why does this seminar appeal to me? What is the seminar subject?  Does it address my needs? If the seminar was about Gamblers skills, and I only competed in AKC Standard and JWW, I might pass (Jim Basic - can you please come back and teach your gamblers course again?).  If it's about a brand new & improved handling SYSTEM, and I'm happy with mine, I will pass.  If it's about a more specific issue, one which I am looking to improve upon, then my interest has been piqued.  Just because the seminar exists, doesn't mean that I must attend it.  I will get more out of a seminar that's addressing one of my training gaps, or building on something that I'm looking to build on, than a catch-all foundations seminar for a totally different system or a very specific seminar on something that does not apply to my team.
• Who is teaching the seminar?  Does s/he have experience teaching/running dogs similar to mine?  What kind of style does s/he have?  Some instructors have brand names, while others are more locally or regionally known.  In Southern California, we can enroll in seminars instructed by our regular, local instructors, in addition to nationally or internationally renown coaches and competitors (not that the two are mutually exclusive - we have lots of talent in this area!)  Rather than getting jazzed by someone's competitive track record, I'm more interested to know about their system or style and who they instruct.  I usually ask my instructors, or other friends with dogs similar to mine.  If it sounds like the style may conflict with ours, then I'll pass. Likewise, if 99% of their students run dogs that are vastly different from mine, I'll pass. There's probably a reason why they aren't teaching medium-speed doxie mixes.
• Who is in my class?  Unlike a lesson, in a seminar you are generally observing more than you are working.  Are there going to be students in there who have the same issues that I have?  Are there going to be students who run dogs similar to mine?  I usually ask the seminar host about the other dogs enrolled to make sure that it's not 11 border collies and my guy.  Likewise, sometimes the "steady eddie" dogs are grouped with the "young and the restless" dogs.  In this case, I will ask the seminar host why they are being grouped together.  If there's a good reason (i.e. we are doing short sequences to keep the steadies motivated and the young'ns brains from exploding) I may still participate... but if there isn't a thoughtful reason for grouping these two dog types, I'll turn down the opportunity, to avoid the risk of my dog getting a disproportionate amount of time. 
• Am I ready for this class?  This is where I must be honest with myself.  Last year, there were two seminars being offered at one facility - "Almost Masters" and "High Drive Masters."  The seminar host did not know me nor my dog, albeit my instructor trains with her.  So when I expressed interest in the class, I was very honest about our abilities - that we "met the criteria" for the latter one (we had our Masters titles) but that we were not a "high drive" team.  I also tipped her off to my instructor.  She determined that the "Almost Masters" class was the better fit for us, and it was.  Rather than trying to get into the most advanced class, we were in the best class for our needs at the time, and we got a lot of value out of the instruction.  I believe that we would have struggled and not learned as much in the more advanced class.  I would rather be honest and not get an answer that I like - whether it means excluding myself from a seminar entirely, or being told to be in a class that I don't want to take - and not take the seminar, than take one and regret it because we were over- or under- prepared.
• Do I know anyone who has taken a seminar with this person before?  What is their structure?  Any other feedback?  Each instructor has a different "sweet spot."  Some are amazing teaching in a private lesson setting, but have difficulty keeping control of a larger group.  Some excel at shorter, half-day seminars while others are better spreading their instruction over two days.  Some may be best teaching via online courses.  I like to get opinions from friends about the structure of the seminars and whether they felt that it was conducive for learning before enrolling myself.  I also like to find out the seminar size (I'd rather do fewer hours with fewer students than a longer day with double the students) and format (instruction then everyone getting a turn?  small groups with instructor circulating?).

After establishing these questions to determine whether or not to enroll in a seminar, I have had several very positive seminar experiences.  Some of them are with our regular instructors, where we have the benefit of them knowing our team and teaching to our needs.  Some have been instructors who have traveled in, who have some household name for something in the agility world, and have bestowed on us some new skills, or at the very least, a new set of eyes.  I am grateful to have the opportunity to immerse myself in seminars with my amazing little teammate, and to come away with more fun homework.

Murray and the other small dog participants from Melissa Henning's wonderful handling seminar, also at Happy Dog.

I think that it is necessary for students to do their due diligence before trying to enroll in a seminar, so that they can get the maximum benefit and also focus on seminars that are most appropriate to their teams.  However, I also think that some responsibility falls on the instructors to help students get the most out of their experience.

So, seminar presenters, think about your students - before, during, and after - as individuals being pieced together.  You likely won't remember many of us months down the road - especially if we aren't local to you or don't work with you regularly.  But every student can both add value and gain value at a seminar.  Most people without the "flashy" dogs don't have delusions of grandeur - they love the game and want to improve their team.  Recognize that and appreciate that said students are willing to invest time and money to go from being a B to a B+ team - not everyone can be on the A team.  Likewise, appreciate the stellar dogs, or the "high potential" dogs.

Instructors: it's okay to be honest about your preferences.  If there's a particular sub-set of potential students that you really just don't like or feel comfortable working with - admit it!  If you only want to work with dogs of a certain size or speed, or ones that have particular sets of foundations, own up to it.  If you wind up showing some preference at a seminar, it will be noticeable (agility folks are perceptive!) and if you continuously return to the area, over time there will be a de facto student type attending your seminars... and then another type who does not talk so positively about you.  I think that most would prefer being told they're "not right" to participate in a particular seminar over showing up and feeling like they're the lesser one in the group.

Focus on giving each student their "fair-share" - if there are eight students in four hours, no one expects to have the exact. same. amount. of. time.  That would be silly.  But if one student is getting through the courses fairly clean, find the points of weakness and revisit those during their turn. Because that student didn't sign up just to show that they could be accurate - they came to learn. And be thoughtful of who you are grouping together, as - quite likely - the person with the flashy young pup isn't aspiring to have a medium-speed adult dog.

And, sometimes, things will not go according to plan.  You may have thought you had a Novice class, and then all these Masters students show up.  Tailor accordingly - stick with your original lesson plan, and add some new challenges for the dogs that are "above and beyond."  But don't just leave the one team who's "not like the other" hanging and feeling lost.

Most importantly - both instructor and students - enjoy yourselves!  Because agility is fun, and learning is fun.  And being in an agility seminar sure beats being in a statistics recitation or chemistry lab.

This post is part of the Dog Agility Blog Events Blog Event on Continuing Education.  For more posts on the subject, click here. 

The Murr is Not Impressed

Hey, McKayla...

source: ABC15

The Murr is not impressed either.

After several years of living in crap apartments with literal slumlords and loud neighbors and no outdoor space we got our own little matchbox, and moved in last month.

The new sheruff in town.

It had everything on our not-so-extensive wish list.  There was only one thing I didn't like about it...

As a kid, I was envious of anyone with a swimming pool.  But as an old lady trapped in a not-yet-30 yr old's body adult it seemed like an awful expense with a lot of maintenance to boot.  And, when you live in a major city, having a pool in your backyard means that your pool IS your backyard.  So no A-frame for us.  

Our realtor (someone we met through agility) had walked us through many an open house - some with perfectly square (albeit still small lot) yards.  "Oh, this is where the teeter could go!" "You could fit a full set of weaves here."  But the realistic part of me knew that it's better to pick the house you love with the yard you're meh about over a house that needs work... or is too expensive... or in a not great location.  Because, heck, we could just get rid of the pool.

That is, until my husband jumped for in the first time and declared that there was no way in hell that we were going to dig this pool up because it was oh-so-wonderful.  Chance of future A-frame?  Shot.

When I told my agility friends that we bought our first house, they'd ask about the future agility yard, to which I responded that no, no yard because we have a pool.  And they all understand that where we live it's yard or pool - not both.  But instead of them joining in the "woe is me for not having an agility yard first-world-problems pity party" they'd exclaim "you have a pool?!?!"  To which I again would reiterate that yes, our backyard IS a pool.  

And then they'd pause.  And it would be...

"Can I bring my dog to swim in it?"

Half joking sometimes.  Not joking others.

Because, yeah, low-impact conditioning.  Sometimes better than having an A-frame out back.  

Except that The Murr is not that dog who thinks that dock diving is the best thing ever.  It took months and boatloads of treats for him to do this by his own wanting.

So, the mission of the past month has been to get The Murr to swim.  Because if we're not using our backyard for explicit agility training, let's have one well conditioned dog... and put this money pit pool to good use.  And no, no adorable videos of him with the look of determination in his eyes, because I'm too busy in the water with him, holding up a piece of hamburger for him to swim to.  Really high value treats are the only things worth swimming to.  But he's getting the hang of it.  

Our approach has generally been this: 

1. Get on our swimsuits and put some super-high-value treats into Tupperware.

2. Bring the Murr into the water with us (can't say he loves step 2).

3. Line ourselves up on the short sides of the pool.  One of us holds up treats, and the other one releases him.

4.  As my husband says, "the look of determination in his eyes is creeping me out."  

5.  Rinse and repeat for about a 5 minute session.  By the end of the time, Murray is excited.  With some restrained recall he is just as excited as when we do start line restraints - barking, motoring, actually having a good time.

And the little bugger can move - he's getting the hang of it.  He doesn't love swimming yet, but is liking the treats more than he's disliking swimming.  He probably just doesn't love it because he truly looks like a drowned sewer rat when wet. 

But maybe that's okay that he doesn't love it, because this is what he did on move-in day.

**This post is part of Dog Agility Blog Action Day.  To read other posts about what agility addicts are doing outside of the ring, click here.**

Recalibrating Success

Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.  - Winston Churchill

Several months ago I wrote about how I was defining success, and as Murray has become more confident in the ring, I've realized that I need to recalibrate what I consider to be a successful run.  Except this time, it's all on me.  Because The Murr is pretty gosh darn awesome these days.

The Murr and I participated in our first BIG agility trial in April.  USDAA Regionals was just a hop, skip, and hourlong drive away and we were pumped.  Despite the proximity, we were going to share a motel room with our friend and her dogs as a "test" for Cynosport (because having The Murr wreaking havoc on the inhabitants of a motel room for a week would surely dissolve even the best of friendships).  The whole week preceding, I couldn't wait.  PVP team shirts arrived and were gorgeous.  Everyone and their mother was going.  There was nothing to worry about!

And then we started off shaky.

Our first run was Team Jumpers.  It was perhaps the most technical course of the morning, and counted towards team rather than individual accolades.  We were starting with the little performance dogs, which meant Murray would be up before most.  As people from other rotation groups started gathering over by us, we realized that this was the course that everyone was sweating.

We started our run alright, but as Murray entered the weaves at 6, there was a handler tugging with her dog right alongside the fencing.  Like, right alongside the fencing.  Which caused Murray to exit the poles and go investigate, which caused me to worry that he'd start barking and possibly leave the ring.  Fortunately, I got him back and we restarted the weaves, finishing in a "well at least we got a time" time and with not a lot of confidence.  All day that first day, we had bobbles throughout, mostly due to indecisive handling - no Es, but nothing that I was particularly proud of.  And nothing that was doing justice to The Murr and the level of effort that he was exerting.

The next morning, I said to my roommate/friend that I had regretted entering Regionals PSJ (performance speed jumping).  Now, I love the PSJ class - the emphasis on speed, the A-frames (Murray loves his A-frames), and the small purse that we occasionally earn.  But Murray's PSJ Qs have generally come from less competitive trials - we had never gone head-to-head with any of the super-fast dogs, as most had earned their PSJ Qs early in the qualifying period and then refrained from entering the class.  Although I try not to focus on the Q, I wondered why I spent $30 on entry fees to run a course that we had no chance in hell of qualifying in, given the dogs who would be undoubtably setting the time.  I could have spent less than half of that fee to run in PII Standard where it would be my dog versus the SCT clock.  

As we walked the course, I knew that we (a) had no chance in hell of making time unless every fast dog Ed, (b) that every fast dog wouldn't E, as there were limited off-course opportunities, (c) had to take every risk imaginable and just go for it.  Not to Q, because we had no chance in hell, but to have a respectable showing.  We joke that The Murr likes to "anger run," meaning that when he's mad, he runs faster.  He gets mad by getting wet and by getting riled up.  In reality, the "anger running" is more a result of any stress energy that I have being diffused by this game of pissing him off, but anger running is catching on as a Murrism, so we'll leave it at that.  We went to the hose, wet him down, and then a couple of friends and I got him revved and MAD.  To the point that one of said friends remarked (in response to Murr's barks) "oh shoot, I'm leash running for him.  I don't feel safe now."

We went to the line, wet and mad and ready to go.  I did sends that I would never do at a trial (because ohmygodrefusalohmygod).  I never for a second doubted that he'd do anything but accelerate and take the obstacles in the lines that I ran towards.  We both left everything on the course.

Because some of the other 8" dogs were in other rotations, we had no idea where we stacked up, but it didn't matter.  Murray had one of his most fantastic runs ever - solid weaves, excellent commitment, and nice ground speed.  I had seen the super-fast dogs run and they all got through the course clean and were running even faster than I had seen them do in local trials.  So success on this run was the run, not the outcome.  Imagine my surprise when the results were posted and The Murr made it to the Finals.  He had the slowest of the qualifying times, but was only a few seconds behind dogs that usually run a good 15 seconds faster than us, with handlers that were running as aggressively as possible.

And as much as I said that earning a Q fell into the "no chance in hell" category, both my instructor and I knew that getting a Q in the Finals was REALLY REALLY REALLY in the "no chance in hell" category, as the criteria is cut from 25% of the top 3 score average to 15%.  But that was okay.  We were going to leave it out there and run!

I felt that our experience in PSJ at regionals was the utmost of success, Q or NQ (and ultimately NQ).  We were running like we train, taking risks I usually cop out of, and just going for it.  Because, yes, agility is a timed event - even if I forget that sometimes.

A few weeks later we ran in AKC under a judge that we were over time with last time we had run his JWW course.  Again, it was a "behind the eight ball" sort of day - the course had some obstacle discrimination, it was hot as heck, no tunnels (Murray's accelerator), and a very efficient small dog line wheeled.  So all we could do was "not wuss out of it" and go.  Wet?  Check.  Getting angry?  Check.  And again, a fast run for the little man.

I spoke to my instructor following Regionals and said "that was too much damn fun, I just need to do this and risk more failure."  She looked at me like "duh", though commented that there wouldn't necessarily be more "failure" as we know his capabilities.  My dog is trained to do backsides, and obstacle discrimination, and some distance.  But it's me holding him back from his full potential when I wuss out at a trial, playing things safe to salvage a Q.  By just going for it, and assuming that if I don't take every risk in the book that I won't be able to complete the task, agility is far more fun.  Recalibrating my measure of success, not for my dog, but for me as his teammate and handler, is the real way to improve our team and continue on this path with much enthusiasm.

**This post is part of the Dog Agility Bloggers Action Day.  Check out more posts here.**