Seeing Spot Jump

As jets scream into the sky from nearby Burbank Airport and kids on ‘blades whack pucks around an adjacent roller hockey rink, the athletes and their trainers--dogs and humans--stream in to Ralph Foy Park in Burbank before 8 a.m. There are Pomeranians, Great Danes, Yorkshire terriers, Italian greyhounds; nurses, homemakers, high school students, engineers.

This is not some casual Saturday morning outing to the park. The dogs have spent months to years training to do things like walk across a teeter board and jump through a hoop with a signal from their owners. The barking throng has been brought together for a weekend of competition in a sport known as Dog Agility.

It is nothing less than “America’s fastest growing dog sport,” says Karen Moureaux, who notes it has caught on in most states, notably California, Illinois and Texas. Moureaux is at the Burbank competition with Ravin, a female border collie, who with 282 other dogs will compete this day--in tandem with their owners--as they run a pair of obstacle courses and are judged on time and accuracy.

There are other dog sports, from greyhound racing to sheepherding and dogsledding. But this one is somehow more personal, more about the connection between dog and dog’s best friend. Dog Agility competitions, launched nearly 20 years ago in England, were given their start in Los Angeles about 13 years ago by a group including Moureaux, for whom it has become a full-time job. Now, there is a competition somewhere in the area virtually every weekend.

As the teams arrive at Foy park, folding chairs and tent-like structures are set up around the courses to create home bases in what will be a two-day competition. As owners stretch to prepare themselves and get their dogs warmed up or relaxed, depending on breed and temperament, the event’s organizers are busy setting up the two courses: standard, and jumpers with weaves.

The course--each has about 20 obstacles--is different for every competition, so the human walks through in advance to learn it. Then dog and human go through, with the human sprinting alongside the dog, steering it through in proper order, and cheerleading. Classes are determined by size of the dog and level of experience--beginning with novice and graduating to open and excellent.

Obstacles include jumps, tunnels (both collapsible and open, or “pipe”), a tire to jump through, weave poles (think slalom), a teeter board and an A-frame. It takes about 40 to 75 seconds to race through the standard course, 25 to 45 for jumpers with weaves.

“Did you walk this course?” exclaims one frustrated contestant who, like many others, feels it’s too tight, meaning the obstacles are too close. “It’s an extremely tight course made for a dog this size,” says Marilyn Bennett, holding her thumb and forefinger close together. Her dog Shilo, an Australian shepherd, definitely doesn’t fit the description.

Indeed, Shilo quickly knocks over a bar on her first jump and is disqualified, but Bennett runs her through all the obstacles anyway. Breathless at the end of the run, she takes the blame for the mistake. “It was probably my fault,” she pants. “It’s usually the handler’s fault.”

Steve Szabo, a septuagenarian, walks the course, preparing for his run with Csilla, his 5-year-old Belgian sheepdog. “This is a difficult course,” Szabo says in Hungarian-accented English. An engineer who works with robotic systems and has been competing in Dog Agility since 1988, Szabo is analytical: “You have to go for a clean run or go for time. There’s no way to do both today.”

Szabo walks through, studying the flow of the course. Numbered cones indicate the route each dog must traverse, guided by his master’s voice and hand signals. No touching is allowed, but owners point the way for their dogs, and many yell out the name of the next obstacle: “Tunnel!”

When their time comes, Szabo guides Csilla through the course. Szabo runs along gamely, if not as quickly as some, but he’s efficient and methodical, and Csilla reaches the end of the course without any mistakes. Her reward? A hunk of cheese, and a “Q,” or “qualifying” score and accompanying green ribbon.

Rocky, an Australian shepherd, nabs first place on the standard course with a flawless, speedy run, led by Rachel De La Torre. For their efforts, they receive a coveted blue ribbon--and a squeak toy. At 16, De La Torre is one of the youngest competitors but no less enthusiastic than the others. “I compete at least twice a month,” the 10th-grader says. Sometimes, school gets in the way, she admits. “I’d rather do agility than homework.” She is among those who aspire eventually to compete in national and international events.

Not everyone has a successful run. Baldwin, the No. 1-ranked Puli (Hungarian sheepdog) in the open category in the U.S., recently graduated to excellent, a tougher division where even one mistake means disqualification.

Susan Hartzler plays with Baldwin before his run on the jumpers with weaves course, revving him up. But during the run, Baldwin scoots past a table where he’s supposed to sit still for five seconds, racing instead into a tunnel, disqualifying himself. Breathless after the event, Hartzler tries to figure out what went wrong. “Why’d he go through the tunnel?” she asks, as much to herself as those around her. “I said, ‘table.’ Was my body off line?”

Despite Baldwin’s failure to qualify today at either event, Hartzler maintains her enthusiasm for the sport.

In fact, Dog Agility can get addictive, says Hartzler, who estimates she has spent as much as $7,000 on the sport over the last two years and suffered a broken ankle while training Baldwin at home.

“It’s like a drug,” she says. “You become one with your dog. It’s a rush. When you and your dog are tuned in, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.”