We went to a CPE trial last weekend, the first in a year. I had to get measured (or so we thought), so we figured we get there early. Dad went with us, and we stayed in a hotel on Friday night. We haven't been in a hotel in YEARS and it was as awesome as I remember. Big bed to lounge on, lots of toys and chewies strewn around - heaven. Mom brought our deer antler chews, so Arnie and I went to town.
Bright and early on Saturday, we were at the trial. A little background - in CA, there are usually 350 runs a day at CPE trials. That means people and dogs are crammed into every square inch. So we got there early and..........we were the first ones there. We went early to measure me, too, and it turns out I didn't need that. Even though my confirmation said I needed a measurement. Oh well, good practice on getting measured, I guess. We waited and waited for folks to show up, and at 9:00, when the show started, there were only about 25 people there. The trial was tiny!!! Mom couldn't believe it. All that worrying about getting a good spot, and we practically had the place to ourselves.
Mom ended up working a lot, because she knows the CPE ropes. But we ran a bunch of runs, and did pretty good. I did a lot better than Arnie. He really had a hard time with the hot weather. There's a lot to tell about the actual runs, complete with video, so mom is going to cover that this weekend. Suffice it to say, I rocked.
The good news was there was a kick butt photographer there, and he took lots of pictures. We're really running low on glamor agility shots around here, so it was a welcome addition to the weekend. The photographer kept coming up to mom and showing her the awesome shots he got of me. I was a star.
Now to the near-death experience. After my first run on Sunday, I did an awesome job. We had played tug with my bait bag before our run, and my treats were crumbled in the pocket. So after the run, mom let me eat out of the treat bag. We finished, and as we were walking along - I FAINTED. She saw me start to wobble, and knew right away what was going on. I had inhaled my treat crumbs, literally, and they were stuck in my throat. I couldn't breath, and down I went. Mom sprung into action, lifted me up, tipped me butt-end into the air, and gave me a squeeze on my tummy. Then she kept me there, and whacked me a few times. I started sucking air, and was fine. In fact, as soon as she put me down, I started twirling and begging for more food. She was rattled, dad was COMPLETELY freaked, and the new rule is: no more eating straight out of the bait bag. Because I'm a pig.