114 Days With Mac

I debated whether or not I wanted to put this entry on my personal blog or this one--for those of you who also read Zemja Sojourn, there will be some overlap; if you only read this blog, you will be missing part of the story.  I suppose it is inevitable that the two blogs will meld together, as no part of my life is separate from my dogs.

In May of 2011, I lost my forever dog, Jay.  Someday I may be ready to write about him...or maybe not.  I haven't decided yet, and I don't have to decide today.  When it comes to writing, I seem to circle around Jay without fully revealing my incompleteness without him, preferring to keep all my memories in shadow.  Which is what happens when a girl's sun burns out.  The shadows loom.

Many times I have watched friends run away from emotional hurt.  I have seen them change jobs, move across the country, jump into an unhealthy (or worse--an additional) romantic relationship, or start spending a whole lot more time at the liquor store.  We all want to cope.  We all want to feel whole.  We all want to flee.  Admit it--even you!  Your eyes are skimming over these words, and you know it is true.  Grow wings, fly away.  Except, of course, for the bothersome fact that this "run away" plan is usually a huge flop.

I don't know what I wanted to do the day we let Jay go.  All I know is what I decided to do.  I decided to run, but not to run away.  To run towards something productive: towards building a more meaningful partnership with the other dog in my life--Mac.

So, Mac and I started training.  We trained plenty before, but this was a chance for me to just train HIM.  No sharing the spotlight, no back seat to the Jess and Jay hiking trips, no more sleeping in the closet because "someone" wouldn't leave him any space in the bed.  Mac was training for field, obedience, and tracking--going to class 2-3 nights/week, and wearing Jon's arm out (throwing bumpers) the rest of the time.  I wasn't sure if we were doing everything right, all I knew was that doing something--anything--was better than coming home and sitting in the driveway in tears, unable to face that Jay wouldn't be there to greet me at the door.

Mac passing his WC in Virginia, MN -- 8/13/11

And then, I started writing checks.  Because you know how performance dogs love to spend money.  :)  I entered him in Junior Hunter stakes a little too early, before he was ready.  Which was fine, we learned from it and moved on.  On August 13, Mac passed his Working Certificate (WC,) and on December 4th, he earned the last leg of his Companion Dog Excellent (CDX) title, which was the last goal I had for him this year.  In the span of those 114 days, Mac achieved six performance titles to become CH U-CD Yahtaris I Believe In Miracles CDX RE JH WC CGC.  And he did all that with style, placements, and a UKC High In Trial.  His tail didn't stop wagging once.

I don't know when it happened, or where we were when it happened, but at some point, I wasn't running anymore.  I became fully vested, I started helping him instead of just being the chauffeur/Visa swiper/leash holder.  Mac was engaged in every training session, every competition, every stake.  Sometimes I wasn't-- but on those days, he did it without me.  And like all partnerships forged from time, effort, and sacrifice, we became a team.

Mac with his ribbons from the 2010 FCRSC in Calgary.

We have more competition goals, big goals that will really challenge us both.  But we have now entered a fairly long stretch where we will be training again and not out competing as much.  So, today we started on a new journey that isn't towards any title, ribbon, or award.

This morning, Mac passed his Therapy Dog International evaluation, meaning that after some quick paperwork, he will be able to officially make therapy visits and participate in our county's Children Reading to Dogs program.  Mac excels in many areas, none more so than making people smile, laugh, or feel better.  His charm and happiness are infectious, and I am so looking forward to sharing him with anyone who needs his light.