Otterpop cares more about riding in the truck than agility. My truck, your truck, any truck. Anyone shows up in a truck, she climbs in and waits for them to drive her somewhere. She parks herself outside our truck, which I only drive sometimes, and I have to drag her to her diesel powered car. Screw German engineering. Truck.

You know what Otterpop would like to tell everyone today? Very simple. “TRUCK”

Gustavo is Gustavo. The other day I had to go rescue him, he was stuck, shaking like a leaf and barking his head off at a rock. He still does this. I don’t think there’s ammonia in his brain anymore, I think his brain just does this.

Ruby is very happy. Ruby is a happy dog.

Our agility goals are unglued. I think of the word C H A M P I O N in my mind and it is a smoky, watercolor word. Ed Ruscha drew it big, letters the size of HOLLYWOODLAND, then erased it and all I can see is the rough edges where the lines were formerly drawn.

There are loads of dog shows coming up but we are untethered so they are fluttering off, along with pollen and bees’ wings and Axl Rose’s do-rag. Otterpop is a leader in top ten points for standard and gamblers. She also just needs to hang in there a bit longer for her LAA Bronze. Stupid pairs. Titles, a social construct to culturally mediate agility skilz. Higher titles seem like a dumb goal to me, but goals are what tether us to forward momentum. She is such a champ at 5-4-3-2-1-GO on the table that not entering anything at all might leave us shriveled up in an alley somewhere, damp around the edges and not so fresh, not quite dead but not quite living.

And we do like gamblers. Doing a gamble for Otterpop is like driving around in a truck. The bigger and uglier the out, the harder the turn, I see her mind wheels screaming, “Mutha Truckah IN THE TRUCK!” and out she goes to stomp out the problem. She screams through like a fury, she is Bigfoot and she is smashing the little trucks, she is the Muthah of all Monstah Trucks and She will Decimate all those she can pummel and smash and grind into truck paste.

If only Otterpop got it, that competing is just as good as Truck. As meaningful as Truck. Higher goals more lofty than Truck.

This is where my training failed. It’s very simple. I wanted a champion but instead, we got Truck.

Gustavo’s constitution, on the other hand, is delicate and fluted, a Victorian paper cutout, and he wafts so carefully through space and time. And sometimes into the road. He is running super, when we practice, and when we go to class. Fades out here and there but then is is HERE! And there’s a light flickering in his tunnel! But his competitive life, for now and maybe always, will begin and end in jumpers. Gustavo barks at rocks.

We haven’t given up. We are together, facing reality and reality has rocks and trucks.

I am hearing from all sides, You need to get a puppy. Even my husband warily concedes, You probably need to get a puppy.

I look around the house. Where do we put a puppy in less than 800 square feet of 2 humans and 3 dogs and 60 hour work weeks that bring home very sad little recessional paychecks? And what if the mythical puppy had eyes like Ruby and Gustavo’s deformed liver and misaligned brain with Otterpop’s personality disorder and fancied peeing in the house?

C H A M P I O N.

T R U C K.

U N T E T H E R E D.