Miss-Delectable
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Deaf dog has learned sign language, agility trials | HamptonRoads.com | PilotOnline.com
Ivy May the beagle is white like Snoopy, with little spots of color.
She has chestnut freckles on her droopy ears, and one eye brown and one eye blue.
She climbs the cat tree in Rita Phoenix's house to sit on top, looking down.
Her nose is not as big as Snoopy's.
That makes sense.
Ivy May is a purebred with registration papers, the first dog Phoenix ever bought, and that's saying something, because Phoenix has owned many, many dogs before her.
They live at the doggie playland on Centerville Turnpike formally called the Family Dog Club, but known to its owner, Phoenix, as the beagle farm. The original beagle died in 2009. After grief let go, Ivy May came to fill the void.
They met at the airport. It was love at first sight.
Within an hour of Ivy May's arrival, Phoenix suspected something wasn't right.
She clapped her hands. She dropped things. She spoke.
No reaction.
Phoenix's dogs play games. They like agility courses, with tunnels to run through and see-saws to tilt and jumps to hurdle.
Agility handlers run around the ring, calling and whistling and praising and shouting commands so their dogs know what to do next.
But Ivy May was deaf.
Phoenix began teaching Ivy May sign language.
Ivy May learned the gestures for her name, sit, stay - sometimes - and some of the agility moves.
But she still followed her nose because she's a beagle, and that's what beagles do, and, after all, she couldn't hear Phoenix calling her to come back when she followed some scent trail along the ground and off the course.
It was a good nose, but it led her astray. Phoenix had to become, as she put it, more interesting than dirt.
She focused on smell.
After 18 months of training, Ivy May debuted her agility skills at a late February competition sanctioned by NADAC - the North American Dog Agility Council.
Ivy May stared at Shetland sheepdogs blurring past and at spring-loaded poodles and at collies and boxers and shepherds. Not many beagles do agility. Phoenix waved her hands to get Ivy May's attention. They went into the ring.
Dogs and handlers must be separate in the NADAC agility ring, or face disqualification. No leads, no collars, no patting.
Not the slightest touch.
Phoenix tossed the leash onto the ground. Ivy May looked up at her.
They trotted to the first jump and Phoenix gestured. Ivy May jumped over.
They trotted to the second jump. Same thing.
Third, fourth, fifth. Same.
All the way around the ring, Phoenix signed with steak-scented fingers, and Ivy May focused on the task at hand. She trotted with her nose up and kept both eyes - one brown, one blue - on Phoenix. Ivy May cleared the last jump, and Phoenix gave her two thumbs up, a gesture every beagle on the beagle farm understands, a universal sign: Good job.
Then her hand went in her pocket and came out with a scrap of meat.
Ivy May loved it with her tongue.
Tasty.
Ivy May is still a novice with a long way to go if she wants to catch up to the other agility beagles on the beagle farm, with their ribbons and trophies and titles.
She doesn't quite get some of the obstacles - going in and out the weave poles, for example. She's still learning.
But Ivy May is going places. Phoenix can sense it.
Ivy May the beagle is white like Snoopy, with little spots of color.
She has chestnut freckles on her droopy ears, and one eye brown and one eye blue.
She climbs the cat tree in Rita Phoenix's house to sit on top, looking down.
Her nose is not as big as Snoopy's.
That makes sense.
Ivy May is a purebred with registration papers, the first dog Phoenix ever bought, and that's saying something, because Phoenix has owned many, many dogs before her.
They live at the doggie playland on Centerville Turnpike formally called the Family Dog Club, but known to its owner, Phoenix, as the beagle farm. The original beagle died in 2009. After grief let go, Ivy May came to fill the void.
They met at the airport. It was love at first sight.
Within an hour of Ivy May's arrival, Phoenix suspected something wasn't right.
She clapped her hands. She dropped things. She spoke.
No reaction.
Phoenix's dogs play games. They like agility courses, with tunnels to run through and see-saws to tilt and jumps to hurdle.
Agility handlers run around the ring, calling and whistling and praising and shouting commands so their dogs know what to do next.
But Ivy May was deaf.
Phoenix began teaching Ivy May sign language.
Ivy May learned the gestures for her name, sit, stay - sometimes - and some of the agility moves.
But she still followed her nose because she's a beagle, and that's what beagles do, and, after all, she couldn't hear Phoenix calling her to come back when she followed some scent trail along the ground and off the course.
It was a good nose, but it led her astray. Phoenix had to become, as she put it, more interesting than dirt.
She focused on smell.
After 18 months of training, Ivy May debuted her agility skills at a late February competition sanctioned by NADAC - the North American Dog Agility Council.
Ivy May stared at Shetland sheepdogs blurring past and at spring-loaded poodles and at collies and boxers and shepherds. Not many beagles do agility. Phoenix waved her hands to get Ivy May's attention. They went into the ring.
Dogs and handlers must be separate in the NADAC agility ring, or face disqualification. No leads, no collars, no patting.
Not the slightest touch.
Phoenix tossed the leash onto the ground. Ivy May looked up at her.
They trotted to the first jump and Phoenix gestured. Ivy May jumped over.
They trotted to the second jump. Same thing.
Third, fourth, fifth. Same.
All the way around the ring, Phoenix signed with steak-scented fingers, and Ivy May focused on the task at hand. She trotted with her nose up and kept both eyes - one brown, one blue - on Phoenix. Ivy May cleared the last jump, and Phoenix gave her two thumbs up, a gesture every beagle on the beagle farm understands, a universal sign: Good job.
Then her hand went in her pocket and came out with a scrap of meat.
Ivy May loved it with her tongue.
Tasty.
Ivy May is still a novice with a long way to go if she wants to catch up to the other agility beagles on the beagle farm, with their ribbons and trophies and titles.
She doesn't quite get some of the obstacles - going in and out the weave poles, for example. She's still learning.
But Ivy May is going places. Phoenix can sense it.