Crufts

It’s that time of year again. Crufts.

And as Crufts ends, my day begins in apprehension. It’s the same every year; four days stuck in front of the telly, and Dad emerges with newfound enthusiasm for four-legged parenting.

Last year was fairly typical. After watching the Heelwork to Music finals, he decided that we were both likely to be naturals, and enthusiastically set about devising a program consisting of dance, colour, sound and light fantastic; he even invented a name for us: The Doogie Boogies. I am a Lab/Staffy Cross; dancing is quite simply not in my blood. And as it turned out, neither was it in his. Forty five minutes into practice and thankfully he accepted that we both in fact have two left feet.

At least I have two right feet as well.

But this year begins a little more promising: the Agility has grabbed his attention and as a bit of a Tom Dog, I am a little more enthused about the task ahead: running, jumping - if we can just throw in a little stick chasing and we might be onto a winner.

I'm led to the start of the course he has fashioned in the back garden and I view the array of obstacles and equipment set out in front of me with some trepidation: a broomstick spanning two chairs, the dining room table which he refers to inexplicably as the ‘pause table’ and six traffic cones arranged in a line, about a foot each apart (I have a suspicion that there are some road works nearby to here that are no longer clearly marked). It’s a good start.

I decide to put my all into this. A quick ten-yard sprint and we tackle the first obstacle: the slightly tricky stick-across-the-chair. Easy. My short but muscular legs ensure no difficulties in running straight under it. Impressed, Dad brings me round for another five attempts and I again clear it every time.

Next the so called dining room Pause Table. I inspect the table top on hind legs: nothing; no food and no toys – no point in dispelling excessive energy jumping onto the table, but acknowledging the obstacle I circle the table at high speed numerous times.

On to the cones. I weave round the first two before picking up the scent of a cat on the third. This is The One. My strong Staffy jaws effortlessly grab the cone and it’s just mere seconds before it and me are safely on the other side of the garden under my favourite tree, cone in small bite-sized pieces.

Mission Accomplished. Task Completed. Crack open the Chump.

I glance across at Dad. He gazes proudly back at me, hands on hips, silent and dumfounded. I share his thoughts:

Crufts, Agility 2009. Bring it on.