They Aren't 'Just' Dogs

Posted on March 12, 2005 by Ty LeGarde 

This morning I rolled out of bed and followed my usual routine: I checked my email from my adoring fans (there was just one- my biggest fan - University Financial Services reminding me yet again how much of my working life I will owe them), tossed a hat on my disheveled head and beat feet for the coffee shop for my double blast o' Learnin' Juice.

I placed my order with John, my regular coffee bartender and as he looked at my student ID he asked me where I was from. "Minnesota," said I, and John immediately launched into Fargo-speak figuring I would better understand him or something.

Thanks for that stereotype, Coen brothers. Trust me - saying "boat" and "about" for about the six millionth time on request never gets old. I dutifully recited my lines and then John said:

"Hey, that dog they call Superman is from Minnesota, right? The dock jumping dog?"

"Ya sure, you betcha," I replied.

"That is really cool to watch; but I can't figure out why people would want to do that with their dogs." John said as he rung up my order.

"Funny you should ask; I write about Big Air.

I then launched into a three-hour slide lecture on Big Air dogs and their handlers. I'm joking. I was already late for class per my usual fashionably late policy. What really happened is as I sat in my class, day-dreaming about this column and thinking: Why do we do this? What is the deal?

How do I best explain this to the poor, uninitiated, but well-intentioned folks that ask me what this maniacal sport is all about?

The truth of the matter is there is no real good way to explain something so personally satisfying, fun, and exciting without finding the parallel that exists for the person you are trying to explain it to.

For the folks on the Retriever trial side of things; it is that tough, blind retrieve that is performed exactly how it was trained. For the Big Air types, it is breaching a never before reached distance. While these events are nice, it doesn't capture all that makes working, living, and playing with a dog a life altering experience.

How do you explain the ability to communicate with an animal, despite not speaking the same language? How do you explain the early mornings, the late nights, the frustration, and the joy that comes with training? Is there an explanation for that contented sigh your dog makes when it lays its head on your lap?

Is it possible to explain the way your dog would very literally give its life for you/no questions asked? Can you explain why you would make an emergency trip to the vet, and pay them thousands of dollars to save a dog?

How about the countless hours of traveling, hotel rooms, bad fast-food, cranky judges, shoddy dock set ups, vacation hours taken from work, and another 100,000 miles on your truck? All of this for the chance to show the world what your dog can do. Explain that dog lover.

All of us will have our own reasons. For me it is because of the enormous pride I feel when my dog does something that she and I have both worked so hard for. Together.

Gatsby gives me everything I could ever want in a true friend: loyalty, love, adoration, attention, fun, and somebody to hang out with. And that is all she wants from me. Somebody to hang out with. Even if it is just a little while because I have somewhere to go, or something to do. Just a little bit.

That's just it isn't it? Our dogs are only here for just a little bit- and Big Air is just another way we can eke out every second of enjoyment in our dog's too fleeting life. So what is "it" about my mutt and why I do this?

It is her big, brown eyes staring at me waiting for me to say something, to move, to toss a stick.

It is having a full-on conversation with her; despite the strange looks from passers-by.

It is her wagging tail wiping the coffee table clean yet again. It is a cool, crisp, fall day and her antelope like leaps straight into the air as I load my shotgun.

It is her nose to the ground, tail held high and her wild zigzag pattern as she gets birdy. It is the flush, and if I've done my job, a rooster pheasant brought back by my smiling retriever.

It is a hot cup of coffee, and a tired, snoring gun dog warming your feet after the hunt.

It is a warm, sunny, summer day and her belly flops off our dock into the pond. It is her wake as she motors back to shore and if I'm doing my job, the game starts again.

It is a clear night, staring at the stars, warmed by a bonfire, and "accidentally" sharing a cold beer with a furry pal.

It is her fierce determination to do well on the dock; because she knows I'll be happy. It is watching my Lab stare at my bobber while we laze away the day fishing.

It is my buddy's little girl delighted at the wonder of this furry beast that will bring anything she throws back to her.

It is a nap; only to wake and find I have far less of the bed than what I started with.

It is a warm tongue catching my tears.

It is a soft ear that I can't help but play with while she naps.

It is a pal that doesn't care if I'm sad, happy, frustrated, or stressed. She still loves me.

It is a full on sprint as I pull in the driveway; just so she can be the first to say hi.

It is my dog.

That is why I do this.