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Solo's Q
Solo is not an MABCR alum, but when I first got him and found myself in WAY over my head, a total neophyte trying to deal with a frightened, traumatized husk of a dog who had separation anxiety and fear aggression among his many problems, MABCR volunteers went out of their way to be available to me, to give me advice, and to keep my spirits up. I'll never forget how helpful they were — and Maryellen Miller was one of the most sage, and importantly, most patient!
Solo (and I) ran in his (our) first agility trial on Saturday — a NADAC games trial held by Kruisin’ Kanines. First class of the day was Novice Tunnelers. We got to the ring WAY too early and had to loiter around in the crowd milling near the entrance, which Solo didn’t like at all, but he managed to keep his cool. Suddenly they ushered us into a sort of holding pen (there were two: one for on deck, one for in the hole) and the next thing I knew we were on the start line and Solo was sitting there quivering, quivering, staring down the first tunnel with eyes ablaze. I let him sit there vibrating for just a second, and said as quiet as I could, “tunnel.”
Solo dove into the first tunnel with a WHOOMP and ran like a torpedo, skimming low and silent over the dirt. I took off with him, considerably less elegant than he, and cut hard across the course to beat him to the next tunnel. I’m sure I never ran so fast in my life, but I managed to get momentarily lost in the middle of the course so that slowed us down. I wasn't sure I’d picked the correct route, but we ran the rest of the way with Solo’s tail flying in joyous circles. When he realized the course was done is when he started barking at me. “No no no! Let’s do it again!”
And I thought, you know, Solo did it. He can do this. He can walk onto an agility course like any other dog and finally be just one of the zillions of Border Collies at the trial. He’s not special, he’s not weird, he’s not a freak, he’s just a dog. And I was so happy for him. I’'s all he’s ever wanted — to blend in.
We had a long wait before our next class so we loitered outside and wandered around and ran in the fields nearby with Fly. After a little while, Maryellen came and found us. She held out a little slip of yellow paper with one hand and said, “This is for Solo’s scrapbook.” It was his scoresheet and it said we had no faults (which means I picked the right course! yay!) and came in well under course time. With her other hand, she held out a purple ribbon. Then she had to explain to my ignorant self that it meant Solo had Qed.**
Solo Qed!
Maryellen is the person who introduced us to agility. This was way back when I first found myself saddled (so I thought) with Solo and still entertained hope that some kind rescuer would take him off my hands and find a home for him that was better and more experienced than mine. Back then, we came out to see a practice with Maryellen's club. Solo was not exactly on his best behavior; he barked uncontrollably, lunged randomly when people and dogs walked by, and finally threw himself down on the ground and thrashed around making frustrated noises when he realized he wasn't going to be allowed to run around and jump stuff like all the other dogs were doing. I was so embarrassed and felt like I had "LOUSY TRAINER" tattooed on my forehead, while Solo may as well have been wearing a placard reading "PROBLEM DOG." He bristled and growled at all the men and I sat there wishing we could just disappear instantly.
Maryellen came over, gave Solo a tender pat (connecting somehow while he thrashed around on the ground), smiled, and said something along the lines of, "He looks like a perfectly nice young Border Collie to me. I'm sure I could take him and find him a nice home if that's really what you want, just let me know." And I blinked, taken totally aback. You know, that reverse psychology stuff actually works pretty well. I stammered and sounded noncommittal and drove home with Solo zonked out in the back seat thinking to myself, well, if Maryellen thinks he's a nice dog, she knows way more than I do, so he must be one — and why on earth would I want to give away this perfectly nice dog?
And the next thing I knew, I was thinking of Solo as My Dog. And a little over two years later, he really and truly is My Dog — heart and soul.
Thank you, Maryellen. Without you, I might not have kept this dog. I may never have learned all he had to teach me — about dog behavior, about love, about regrets and how silly they are, about agility, about herding, about what it really means to live with Border Collies. This little purple ribbon is directly your doing. You saw the real dog inside of Solo before I did.
Melanie Lee Chang
Departments of Anthropology and Biology
University of Pennsylvania
** Qed: The dog earned a qualifying score and therefore points toward an agility title.
