Each dog that we train and compete with is a different journey. While individuals are always unique, providing new and valuable experiences along the way, similar patterns in the learning process can be seen. The ability to recognize and embrace these stages of training can help us to make the most out of each of them. Acknowledging the early learning phases, as well as the polished results seen in later maintenance phases, are easy to recognize. But it’s the in-between phases, that can sometimes be hard to see, where some of the most important parts of the journey are.
When we start training our baby dogs, everything is kept simple; we work on skills, develop connection and communication, and eventually get to a point where we are ready to compete. The trial environment brings along its own challenges, so we often see lots of mistakes at first; “baby dog” moments. But gradually, things start to come together. We are able to accomplish some qualifying scores here and there, and mistakes happen less frequently. This is the stage where we see a lot of “almosts”. The run was ALMOST clean, with just one or two bobbles, but lots of moments of brilliance. Or the ALMOST perfect heeling pattern, with just a disconnection here and there, but the engagement is really starting to come together. This phase tends to be the longest one, with successes slowly increasing over time. I like to call this the “Editing Phase”, not only because we are refining our skills, but also because this is the time when the videos that we share tend to be pieces of our best moments edited together, rather than sharing full clips from beginning to end. For most, this stage lasts a few years. We tend to call our agility partners “baby dogs” until about the age of 4 or so, as it takes awhile to become a seasoned competitor. Although there can be variance, in general, dogs who take part in sports that require a high level of training tend to be the most competitive from around ages 5 or 6 to 8 or 9. At this age they are old enough to have the experience needed to get through a competition, even if things go a bit wrong (which they inevitably do), but not so old that they start slowing down or struggling with the physical requirements of the sport.
The Editing Phase happens in all dog sports and with every dog, to one extent or another. Just like editing videos to show our best moments, during this stage we are piecing together all of the good stuff in our performances, and trimming out the parts that we don’t want. But this phase can often bring frustration along with it, and is arguably, the most difficult part of the journey we take with our sport dogs. There is nothing quite as heartbreaking as having a nearly perfect run, but with just one missed contact, or leaving the obedience ring knowing that, if your dog hadn’t gotten distracted by that bird flying right in front of them, you would have been in the ribbons. And when this phase lasts awhile, it can be incredibly demotivating.
But, I actually think that the Editing Phase is the best part of the journey! Each time you step foot in the ring it is an opportunity to learn more about your canine partner, to build your relationship, and to figure out what still needs some “editing” in your performance. And the editing isn’t solely for the dog! Every dog teaches us new things, gives us more experience and makes us better handlers and trainers. In my opinion, this is the part of the journey where the real “meat” is. It’s the part you and your dog learn the most from, and it’s often where some of the best memories are made.
The Editing Phase is really about fine-tuning the relationship between dog and handler, making each other better through the process. Although there is always more growth that can occur, once you are at the point of being a cohesive team, the amount of actual learning that is happening (for both human and dog) drops considerably. So, take the information that you learn in this phase and use it to make you and your dog a stronger team! But also, don’t forget to enjoy this part of the journey; it only happens once a dog. Embrace it.
It’s just another part of the incredible journey that we get to take with our dogs.
There have been a lot of discussions recently in the agility world around safety and the dog walk. More people are sharing stories and videos of bad accidents, many of which resulted in serious injuries, several which were career ending. But this conversation is not a new one.
In 2019 my dog took a tumble off of the dog walk in a group training class, resulting in a broken front leg (full break and displacement of radius and ulna). There was no tunnel under the dog walk, it was a good approach, and she had already run the course before without issue. She just misstepped on the top plank, stumbled, couldn’t quite get her balance, and bailed off the side. She attempted to land safely; she didn’t try to hang on, which could have caused her to twist and fall on her side or back, but she reached towards the ground to catch herself on her front two legs. When she hit the ground, her right leg buckled under the pressure, resulting in her face-planting into the grass. When she righted herself, her right leg was dangling, and she was screaming.
To say I was distraught would be an understatement. This was my young, up-and-coming agility dog, and she was at a phase in her training where I was really encouraging her to run with more speed and confidence. She was about 2 1/2 years old at the time and had spent far more time training on dog walks than any of my other dogs ever had. We trained with the best trainers, did tons of flatwork, practiced striding, worked our way up from mats to a single plank, to two planks, then finally three, starting very low and only gradually moving up to full height. We did fitness (I have a good majority of FitPaws’s products), balance work, tricks on planks, practiced all different types of entries and exits, how to change striding and still hit the contact, etc., etc., etc. You would be hard pressed to find many who put in the same amount of time and effort to training the dog walk. A video of my training process with this dog is still currently being used as an example to promote the online running contacts class we attended (and I’m glad that it is, because I’m still really proud of the training that we did). But I was absolutely devastated about the incident, and not because my up-and-coming agility dog’s career was likely over (I mean, that was a gut punch in and of itself), but because I had asked this dog to trust me. There is an unspoken agreement between handler and dog in agility; “you can run your heart out and I will take care of you.”
I felt like I had broken her trust. I felt like I had let her down. The first thing I said after it happened was, “she’s never going to trust me again.”
While I metaphorically dragged myself through the mud, feeling guilty that there must have been something that I had done to cause this, I also found that I was angry. I was angry at myself and I was angry at the sport of agility. How could I have put my dog in a situation so dangerous? And why does the dog walk have to BE so dangerous?
I decided to share my story with the virtual agility community, hoping that maybe it would inspire some discussions about safety. I was met with a mixed response. Everyone was sorry that it had happened, and felt bad for me, but most shrugged it off as just an unfortunate and rare accident. Some suggested that the approach could have been to blame, or maybe the dog walk itself had something wrong with it. Had the ground been wet? Did I give a late or confusing cue causing a direction change on entry? There were also many who made suggestions about how to prevent accidents like this by doing balance work, muscle conditioning, stride training, regulators, teaching the “right way to fall,” etc., etc., etc.. Ultimately, the majority believed that it was something I had done, whether through lack of proper training or conditioning, or my handling of it at the time. Apparently, there is no reason why a trained dog would ever just misstep on a dog walk without there being some external factor at fault (hey guys, we watch Olympians fall and make mistakes doing their sports, I think it’s fair to give our dogs the grace and understanding that they can make mistakes too).
My story did spark some discussion, but ultimately, it died out, with the relative consensus being that the dog walk was likely to never change, as it would be too costly and time consuming for the entire agility world to make the same change at the same time. I left the whole experience feeling defeated and even more guilty. I reached out to the instructor whose class I was in when the fall happened, as well as the other students, to ask if they saw anything that could have caused the fall. All of them said no. But, I continued to beat myself about it, believing that I hadn’t trained or prepped her well enough. I spent countless hours re-watching videos of our training, analyzing what I may have done wrong. Then, I reached out personally to other, more experienced trainers, who knew me, and they were able to give me a better perspective. They assured me that it wasn’t me. Dogs fall sometimes, it happens. But even more than that, I kept hearing; “all dogs will fall off of the dog walk at some point in their career.” And this makes sense; any dog who is competitive in agility will likely spend enough time on a dog walk in their career that it would be stranger for them to NEVER fall off of one at all.
This means that there is an extremely high likelihood that every dog will take at least one tumble off of a dog walk in their career. And a dog walk accident has a higher risk of causing significant acute injury than with any other obstacle.
Now that this conversation has come around again, I am seeing the same conversations that I saw before. Let me be clear; I completely agree that there is a lot we can do in training to help prevent accidents, especially if you are going to spend the time to train running contacts. That being said, as someone who did all of the suggested training, conditioning, and everything in between, but still experienced a catastrophic fall, I personally believe that we should try to mitigate the risks of the dog walk with more than just training.
But, even beyond personal experiences and looking at this as an individual issue based on training skills and ability, I actually think that it is more important to look at the bigger picture of the sport of agility.
I don’t know if the agility culture is the same in other countries as it is here in America, but we promote agility as an activity that any dog (who is physically able) can do. There are lots of pet people, as well as those who primarily do other sports/activities with their dogs, that also play agility. It is very unlikely that most of these people would be able to put the time, effort, or money necessary into the amount of training that we are talking about to ensure dog walk safety. Most of these people (and honestly, even a good percentage of active competitors) would also lack the knowledge and skills required to execute this level of training. These people rarely have access to equipment outside of group classes. And, while running contacts are often what we associate with dog walk accidents, stopped contacts don’t fix the problem; plenty of accidents still happen with dogs who have stopped contacts.
As our sport continues to grow in popularity, and is becoming more and more visible through livestreams, social media, and even mainstream television, it’s important that we are conscious of how our sport is seen by the public. If a nasty fall occurred during a live or televised event, the repercussions could have serious and long-lasting effects on our sport.
Yes, accidents can happen, but the severity of both the look of, and often the damage caused by, a fall off the dog walk make it the obstacle most likely to result in an accident that would create an uproar from the animal welfare and animal rights crowds.
So, what should we do?
The dog walk was never intended to be executed at the speeds we see today. Originally called the “cat walk”, the intention was for this obstacle to test the dog’s balance over the narrow planks, and bravery in traversing it at such a height. In general, dogs would walk or trot over it, and at most lope. There was even a 4-way dog walk at one point, where the dog would be directed by the handler as to which direction they should go. Today, our dogs are flying over this apparatus, which still stands at 4ft tall and is no more than 12in wide.
Personally, I don’t want to get rid of the dog walk. I think that it is a unique piece of agility equipment that offers challenges that require creative and dedicated training. However, I see absolutely no reason that we can’t lower the dog walk. Lowering the dog walk will change almost nothing about the difficulty of performing it. The dog still needs to show that they can balance while traversing the obstacle, and safely hit the contacts. But a large amount of the risk would be mitigated by lowering the height. The dogs are already tested on their bravery to traverse heights with the A-frame, which is even taller than the dog walk. Almost all dogs train on a lowered dog walk before moving up to full height, so nothing about training would have to change. By lowering the height, the skills required to perform it remain the same, but at least some of the risk is reduced.
I can’t see any good reason that we should keep the dog walk at a height of 4ft. The original reason for the height is already tested on other obstacles, so it is no longer necessary here. And where else in the world would we find it acceptable for our dogs to run and jump from this height? We know that it is just about inevitable that every dog will fall off at one point or another, so why put our dogs at this level of risk if we don’t need to?
