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Where’s my Dramamine?

By Luigi and Helen

I had more of a challenge than usual at the outskirts of the Rally ring at the MOC trial Memorial Day weekend. Yes, it was my first time in the leash-less advanced ring, but you see, I am a better learner when I have the course on paper and in my own hands to read, turn it around, work through it, take the map on a walk to try out the challenging parts, then stop to let all that seep in. It’s not just that I like to work things through from all angles; it’s how my particular model of brain operates.

But that weekend, not only was there no leash for me to hold onto, there were no course handouts to hold onto either. Instead, the judge taped laminated course maps to a wall along with her laminated Rally briefing. If I wanted to look at the map from different angles, I had to tilt head left, tilt head right, and when I got to tilt head upside down, well, I walked away and sighed. Maybe I’ll get better at this familiarizing game off of walls as I proceed up the ladder of Rally success, and maybe not. We all have different ways of best internalizing information, and mine is what it is. I can adapt. Somewhat. Just don’t ask me to prep for an agility trial from a laminated postcard on a wall.

After I walked away, I thought about bringing my reading glasses next time. Maybe I could see the blurbs on the wall better. I thought about adding those glasses to the list of stuff to bring to a trial, but I keep forgetting to write that list. Otherwise, I would have remembered to bring my chair on Saturday and forgone embarrassment when someone mentioned I looked odd sharing Luigi’s ex-pen with him. I did remember to bring the chair with me on Sunday, though. Kudos to me.

Back at ringside, I watched the ring stewards transform the course for the Advanced group as I assured myself I could make up for the lack of pre-walk-through preparation once my feet touched the sacred ground in the rectangle before me. Then real time hit, and after she had tweaked it, the judge whisked us sign readers into the ring for run-throughs. Note: Walk-throughs are used more so on the West coast whereas run-throughs are an East-coast phenomenon.  This corresponds to the speed of living on each coast, which trickles down to the speed a pedestrian must reach in order to safely cross at a street intersection, or in this case, the intersection at two rally signs.

Really, though, I never understood centrifugal force when I studied it in school, but that’s OK.  Since this run-through bit, I now know its feeling and have a picture of me with my skin halfway off my face to prove it. I guess the judge was on a tight schedule, and in turn, so were we handlers. We test drove the ring while the judge parked nearby eying her stopwatch.  She may have finished humming the tune to that ol’ game show classic Jeopardy if I didn’t have the need to interrupt her, but I pulled out of my lane and screeched to a halt in front of her when I came upon a sign I needed clarification on.

I’d heard prior discussion about pivot discrimination and how some handlers weren’t correctly executing said move, so due to my overwhelming need to work things thoroughly through, I asked, “Will I be required to Plié like Baryshnikov at this here halt, pivot right, call your dog sign?”  She said something about not making things complicated. I am sure she in no way meant that she was not going to answer my question with a straight yes or no, even though she didn’t, even after I demonstrated my intentions. Double sigh. I looked at her as she glanced back at her stopwatch.  I shrugged, put my blinker back on and returned to the fast lane with the rest of the Rally drivers. Vroom!

At some point, I left the run-through. OK, left isn’t exactly right, as is usually the case. I vaguely remember one of those big hooks used on that other ol’ game show classic, The Gong Show, slide around me.  I slipped out of the ring like a banana out of its peel. This is usually what happened in college when I took tests. I was either escorted out by the Gong Show Police or given the option of a tent and sleeping bag.

Back at home base, aka Luigi’s ex-pen, I discussed with him what I’d learned during my time in the fast lane.  (“Sheet Luigi!  We have some work to do!”)

He and I then decided to go into the practice hallway, which was probably used for other things than recalls, fetching, and right-turned Pliés during weekly business hours.  Luigi and I worked on our choreography then returned to our place in line. Conveniently, we were next up.

All I can say is the judge was stealth while Luigi and I followed our dream and those little signs. I only noticed her when she asked if we were ready. That was my time to forgo using words. I always use head signals when communicating with the judge prior to our first step. Nod, smile. Sometimes I vary it with nod grimace, depending on the mood. If I use a word, it might take up space in the place where another word is waiting to be used for one of those signs. Luigi’s mind was full of those Rally terms, too. By the time I pulled up into our driveway late Sunday, he had that dazed look of Rally Trial Overload on his face.

I don’t remember particulars that happened during our turn in the ring on either day, except for the fact that Handsome Boy was a steady worker, and I steered fairly well. We had teamwork going on. The stealth judge gave us a pair of ninety-fours with matching green ribbons.  Thereafter, Luigi and I found out we could have entered Adv A and mightily have increased our chances of a ribbon of the blue, red, or yellow persuasion.  Oh hindsight!  It sometimes kicks me in the arse.

The punctuation mark to all this is Luigi and I earned our first and second Advanced Rally legs. Lemme hear a Woohoo.
“Woohoo!”