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priscilla

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About priscilla

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    Highlands of Virginia
  1. Must say that Julie's method produced a head-slap for me. Of course! I think I could work that way fairly well (though the jury is out on the nimbleness of my brain). I like the steering-wheel tip; the one with hands clenched appropriately; and, the idea of practice with online videos. I tried this live recently at Donald McCaig's trial. Also: Robin, I'm off to buy a watch ASAP! I also thought of the ring in which we're training. It has two gates, one on the side, at about 4 o'clock, one at 12 o'clock. We always enter the 4 o'clock gate: Gate 1. So, Gate 1 to Gate 2 is "Away," while Gate 2
  2. Thanks for the tip on the gloves. Believe I'll use a magic marker instead. ;-)
  3. Thanks, y'all. I have used the very A/anti, C/clockwise trick. I still get confused. Maybe it's just a matter of practice and perspective, but I invariably lose orientation when she crosses the "midnight" position and starts in my direction.
  4. My 2-year-old Rose is progressing well in training. Her handler, on the other hand, well, needs help. I'm utterly dyslexic on my "Away" and "Come by" commands. I'm fine when she's at my feet, but once she's moving well, I lose orientation. Any hints/clues/shortcuts or mnemonic devices? Help!
  5. Hey, y'all, Thank you for the excellent advice. Julie: I heard you loud and clear. Without realizing it, I'd been letting her go, then diving in myself, expecting disaster. When I went back, I let her go and simply backed away. She still dove, but not right away and hardly with the enthusiasm of before. She then drove well, and I moved a little more helpfully in the ring. Lynn, et al: The link to Patrick's post was incredibly helpful. I watched a part of his first video last night, and it was wonderful reinforcement. I found a subtle but real shift in my own approach as I realized
  6. Thank you, Julie. And yes, I do get the idea. Maybe a mirror is the best tool for me to get.
  7. What tools do you use to slow a young dog in the ring? I've seen rattle paddles, shopping bags tied to herding sticks and a soda bottle with rocks. I need to find something instant and loud enough to break my young dog before she starts a dive. I can see it coming, but I'm too slow to catch up to her and my bag-on-a-stick (comes free with screaming handler) is about as effective as a marshmallow. The ring I'm using is fairly large — about 100 feet in diameter — but it's what I've got and, otherwise, it's perfect.
  8. Home again, home again! Below, Fly returns to the farm; Jake meets the guard dogs.
  9. Woo ... wasn't the god's name. Sorry, but it's been too many years since that gray day I switchbacked up the hill to the god's temple near the Severn bole. As I recall, "Woo" had once been a standard issue Greco-Roman God — Jupiter? Apollo? — who'd fallen into Druid purposes after the last Roman legions quit Britain. Sis and I are in a Holiday Inn at the Glasgow airport, Fly is left behind with Ian McMillan. Sis and I are flying home, Sis to Seattle, me to Charlottesville. I'll pick up Fly and Jake at Dulles, Friday about 2. Anne wrecked her car yesterday. The airbags didn't
  10. My apologies, y'all. This entry should've come before the one I posted this morning. Got my wires crossed. ------- How much room does one dog need? After we abandoned the purloined trolley, we had three minutes to buy our rail tickets and board. "First class," I said. "Oh, that's going to cost you a packet." Didn't care. We were to change trains at the first stop and, when I came back from taking Fly to the weeds, a bright red Virgin train was boarding. We jumped aboard too. Unhappy conductor but, there it was: that TICKET, and dogs were allowed, right? Good coffee,
  11. Jake Several years ago, I was at a cold, wet Scottish nursery finals. I'd noticed the fellow in the wheelchair, but other than wondering why he was subjecting himself to this, paid no attention. Until he rolled onto the course, front wheels bouncing on the rough ground with a dog at his side. Dog did nice outwork, and Ian rolled to the pen, opened the gate. Dog penned sheep. Ian let them out. Rolled into shedding ring. Dog shed sheep and took them off. Afterwards I said, "That was amazing. Who trains your dogs?" "Oh," he replied. "I train me own." Some years later I fo
  12. The Purloined Trolley After my dramatics at the Dublin airport, Aer Lingus wanted nothing more to do with me. The only other way to get a dog to the UK was via ferry to Holyhead, which is in North Wales. When my Toggle Mobile multi-country cell phone was working, which it occasionally did, we understood that Ms. Hertz didn't have any Holyhead cars but, who knew? So I booked us. When we got to the terminal on a drizzly morning, we had to assemble the monster-crate and insert Fly. A helpful person brought us a trolley to get us to the foot passenger bus. When there, at the foot of the wi
  13. Photos from Donald McCaig. Donald and Sis Fly with her breeder, James Magee The French veterinarian who gave Fly her passport to the British Isles Fly at Roscommon The trial at Roscommon Donald, Fly and STUFF.
  14. Seeing unseen Dublin Sis says I was only out for 30 seconds or so. When I came to, I was on my back. A kind soul had slipped something under my head, and Fly was pressed against my side every inch of her, from nose to tailtip. I thought: "What a Christmas card photo!" Fly was Nurse Fly, not Fly the Defender, but nobody wanted to guess wrong. The clutter of multicolored shoes and civilian pant legs became uniform blue and thick black shoes with thick black soles. They brought a wheelchair, and I couldn't help thinking that I might not be lying here if they'd brought one
  15. Enormous changes at the last minute If you, like me, have half-forgotten how to drive on the left, Ireland is a good refresher. During the years when they were "the Celtic Tiger,” darling of conservative economists, hedge funds and other financial plungers, they built roads as good as any in France or the USA. I had no problem yesterday driving three hours to Rostover and the next morning, after finishing Mrs. Magee's excellent tea, we drove four hours south and inland to the hotel Con McGarry had recommended. It was from the "Tiger" days — a traditional village pub-hotel gussied u
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