Of wins, losses, and hard lessons learned

Last weekend was our local UKC agility and obedience trial. UKC trials are fun because they're really relaxed and laid back. Because we hold two trials a day, there's actually a chance of a title in a weekend. And UKC is a really good place for young green dogs and young green handlers.

Such was the case last weekend when we had a young, first-time agility competitor enter with a first-time dog. This team has been taking classes since last summer. They've made good progress and have already overcome a big obstacle; the dog's deep fear of the teeter-totter. All of us who teach are actually really proud of both the young man and his dog, but especially the young man, for sticking to it and continuing to train.

So imagine how happy this kid was when he and his dog qualified on their very first run on the first day. And when he got the blue ribbon he really didn't know what that meant at first. A couple of us explained that he had not only qualified and gotten a leg toward his title but he was also the fastest in his class and so he got a pale blue Qualifying ribbon plus dark blue first place ribbon.

Except he didn't. Unfortunately there was a mixup in scoring and instead of first, he got second place. A red ribbon instead of a blue. And being a teenager, he went from not even knowing what first place meant to anger that his win was taken away.

A couple of hours later, I caught him walking up to his Mom waving the red ribbon and asking where the nearest trash can was. He was, he said, going to throw it away. At which I (being the oh-so-diplomatic person I am) fixed him with a gimlet eye and barked, "you most certainly are NOT going to throw that ribbon away. Do not EVER throw away any ribbon you receive." Poor kid, he got the deer in the headlights look but bravely asked why not. "Because it shows disrespect for the sport and disrespect for your fellow competitors and disrespect for your dog." I stomped off, thoroughly disgruntled.

But then I realized something. We'd helped this young man develop and train his dog, but we really hadn't talked to him about what shows were like or what was expected of him at his first show, much less what he should expect of himself or his dog.

So I caught him at a quiet moment, and me, the Queen of Tact (not), gave him a talk.

"What were your goals when you came here today."

"To do good."

"But what did that mean? Did you have anything beyond that?" A blank look. No. Of course not, because we hadn't taught him how to set real goals and attain them. "Okay," I said. "You came here wanting to do well. And you did really, really well. You qualified your very first time ever in the ring. And it sucks that you had to give the first place ribbon back, but that stuff happens sometimes. That placement was not the most important thing. You will learn that in agility what's really important is the teamwork you have with your dog. She's out there working hard for you. Don't let her down."

In his second run, the kid's dog decided the teeter was scary and refused it. As is typical with dogs, she was feeling some stress. And when dogs are stressed they tend to fail at their weakest point. This teeter was our show teeter, not our training teeter. It's actually far more stable than our training teeter. But it was different, and the dog said no. So now, there was no qualifying run. Big difference from a Q and a second place.

The next morning I pulled the young man aside again. I wanted him, I said, to set two goals for the day. One had to be a goal for his dog. One had to be a goal for himself. And neither goal could have anything to do with qualifying or getting a leg. I let him think about it. But just before his first run I asked him his goals.

"My dog goal is to get her to do the teeter. My goal for myself is to praise her more and support her, so she does the teeter."

Wow. What great goals. In his first run, the dog again refused the teeter and also the dogwalk. But we gave him some tips and he came up with some ideas on his own. And in his last run on Sunday, he and his dog had a super performance. She did both the teeter and the dogwalk. This time as they came across the last jump there was a huge celebration from a young man who had learned a whole lot in just two days. He'd learned how to win. How to lose. How to deal with losing. And how to set some fair goals that changed the definition of what "winning" meant and made it incredibly sweet when it happened.

--Robin