that far.”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “A hundred grand, huh? I thought you said there weren’t any cash prizes.”
“I meant in competitive agility. Standard is a pet food company,” I explained, “and the Standard Cup isn’t a sanctioned agility trial. Every year they put together a trial with the top competitors from each region, and the winner gets a big silver cup and a check. ESPN usually carries it, and last year Animal Planet did a whole series of shows about the dogs that were competing. The Road to the Standard Cup.”
He nodded approvingly. “Now that makes sense. I knew somebody had to be making money somewhere.”
I spared him a disparaging glance. “It’s always about money with you.”
“Sweetheart,” he assured me, and gave Aggie a smiling wink, “it’s all about money with everything.”
Sometimes I really wonder why I even like him.
“Flame is up,” called the gate steward as the crew scurried from the ring.
I pulled Cisco between my knees, crossed my ankles in front of him, and wrapped his leash securely around my palm, focusing the camera phone with the other hand. There was about to be a lot of shouting. “Watch this,” I told Miles. “They’re amazing. And if I had any money, I would bet on her.”
“I’d take a piece of that, girlfriend,” said Aggie.
Neil stepped to the start line, slipped Flame’s collar and leash over her head, and put her in a sit-stay. He walked confidently away from her, past the first two jumps, past the chute, past the tire, to the jump spiral, a five-obstacle lead out. I held my breath, but the little dog sat like a statue, her eyes boring holes into his back, every muscle in her body coiled to spring. He turned, made eye contact with his dog, and raised his hand. Almost before he completed the motion she had taken two jumps, the chute, and another jump in the precise correct sequence and was by his side, both of them in motion. The crowd was on its feet, cheering them on, as he pivoted to guide her through the spiral, over the bar jump, up and over the A-frame—perfect contacts!—to the pause table for a flawless five-second down-stay. He never said a word. It was as though they were telepathically linked. I’d never seen anything like it. A one-eighty into the weave poles, the seesaw, the broad jump, then into a blind cross around the A-frame and into the tunnel. With only four obstacles to go, the unthinkable happened. Coming out of the pivot that had sent his dog into the tunnel and swinging the opposite way to meet her on the other side, Neil lost his balance and went down in the dirt. A collective cry of dismay went up from the spectators.
Flame came flying out of the tunnel with her handler nowhere in sight. But this is what makes a championship team. Before his dog exited the tunnel Neil called, “Over, over, walk it!” He couldn’t see Flame and she couldn’t see him, but he was guiding her through the course and she was doing what she was trained to do. He regained his feet just as she touched the down contact zone on the dog walk, but he was still three obstacles behind her and there was no way he could catch up now. Amazingly, Flame looked as though she would take the last two jumps on her own, and we were all on our feet, cheering in anticipation as Flame raced toward the finish to the kind of applause and cheers usually reserved for Olympic athletes breaking a world record. We were all competitors, of course, and we all wanted the blue ribbon, but when you see something like that you start to understand why people say it really is all about how you play the game.
And then the most astonishing thing happened. As she made the turn toward the last jump and the finish line, the border collie stopped so suddenly that a cloud of dust flew up around her. She spun and barked—a typical sign of frustration in this high-strung breed—then ran back over the jump she had just taken to return to Neil and leapt into his arms. A groan of disappointment rose up from the crowd as the judge blew her whistle to indicate an elimination. I lowered the camera in disbelief. They were out.
“I guess that means they didn’t win,” observed Miles, holding out his hand for the phone.
“What a shame,” exclaimed Aggie,