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American Kennel Club trials put dogs - and humans - to the test Mail Tribune / Jim Craven Zacky D., a Weimaraner, weaves through poles during the Rogue Canine Agility American Kennel Club trials Saturday at the Jackson County Expo. The 53rd annual AKC Dog Show continues today and Monday with up to 950 dogs expected to participate. By BILL VARBLE The trickiest part of the dog agility course, hands down, is the weave. Dogs leap barriers like rabbits, plow through tunnels like moles and take to the teeter-totter like kids turned loose in a playground, but they will often do the strangest things at the weave. That's probably because it's the most unnatural behavior. A dozen poles stick out of the ground. The canine competitor is supposed to enter to the right of the first pole. Then, its head focused straight ahead, it is to weave its doggy body left-right-left-right through the other poles, a dozen in all, hugging the center line as much as it can. At Rogue Canine Agility's American Kennel Club trials Saturday at the Jackson County Expo, true to form, lots of dogs develop hitches in their get-alongs at the weave poles. The trials continue through Monday in the Compton Arena. Sunday and Monday, the Southern Oregon Kennel Club joins the canine action with conformation and obedience events in the nearby Isola Arena and a nearby barn. Admission and parking are free. Awaiting her turn on the agility course is Sundae, a 4-year-old bearded collie from Klamath Falls. Her bangs give her a movie dog look. She cools her heels in a pen with her brother, Solo, and their mother, as events unfold. The dogs were bred for herding in Scotland, where face hair protects their breed's eyes in brush. Sundae will compete today in the open standard category. Little dachshunds, toy poodles, papillons, Boston terriers and beagles run through their paces. Bigger dogs follow: golden retrievers, Australian shepherds, border collies, labs, springers, cattle dogs. The really big guys come last: Doberman pinschers, Rottweilers, Weimaraners, standard poodles, Belgian sheep dogs. Dogs compete not only by size but by experience, with excellent, standard and novice divisions. Sundae's human, Cindy Nellipowitz, of Klamath Falls, serves when her dogs aren't competing as a gate steward, helping dogs and their humans line up and get onto the course in time. To the casual observer, it all looks like a terrific amount of work. Not so, Nellipowitz says. "It so much fun it's not work," she says. Ditto the dogs. "When I ask Solo if he wants to do agility, he gets so excited he jumps up and down," she says. "He knows he's not allowed to jump on the door, so he jumps up and turns the light switch on and off." Except for the equipment, which can cost hundreds of dollars, the sport isn't terribly expensive, she says. Her hopes for Sundae today are modest, since the dog has had several weeks off training due to a family medical emergency. "If she just stays in the ring and stays happy, I'll be happy," Nellipowitz says. Sundae is the 11th dog in standard open agility. The course requires dogs to jump through a tire, race across an elevated walk, take a jump, do the weave, take three more jumps, cross an A-frame, traverse a tunnel, another jump, run through a closed tunnel with a chute on the end, cross a teeter-totter, sit still for five seconds on a table and finish with four big jumps. And it's harder than it sounds. Handlers run with their dogs, giving commands and encouragement. Sometimes it works. Then there are other times. One little dog lies down and gators around on its back in the tunnel. Others slide off the pause table. And many have trouble with the weave, which handlers try to get them through with various verbal commands, claps and some highly original ululations. Sundae is on deck as Ellie, a female boxer, runs superbly until she balks at the teeter-totter. Then Sundae is up. On Cindy's command she jumps through the tire, long coat streaming. She's over the walk, through the tunnel and over the first jump smoothly. But she misses the weave four straight times, finally seeming to lose interest as she looks off to the east end of the arena. Cindy picks her up. "It's OK," she says. Her only hint to the dog that she's unhappy with her performance is not letting her finish the course. Sundae seemed to be looking for Dick, Cindy's husband, who'd competed earlier. But there are other events for her, and nobody gets mad at her dog. "I can't imagine being without a beardie," Cindy says. Reach reporter Bill Varble at 776-4478 or e-mail [email protected] Mail Tribune Home | Ottaway Newspapers, Inc. | Dow Jones & Co., Inc. | Privacy | Contact Us Copyright � 2001 Mail Tribune, Inc.