Kerry Kapers: The Day Pixie Became "Tricksy!"

by Margo Steinman
This article first appeared in the February 1992 issue of Kerry Klips.

My old Ch. Townshend's Pixie O'Toole, CDX (1965-1978) was one of the most self-possessed dogs I have ever had. She was totally sure of herself, and wherever she was, she was "home." Animated and happy in the show ring, she was actually a rather placid, matter-of-fact, live-and-let-live, sort of dog.

When she was 2 1/2 years old, she finished her CD degree in three straight shows. Her scores were not very high, as she was a clown and loved an audience.

Her one big failing was food--she would eat anything that wasn't nailed down, including such off-the-wall items as bird seed, fish food, green tomatoes, and a few unmentionables.

When Pixie was almost 9, retired from show and breeding, I decided to begin Open (CDX) training. She hadn't forgotten her basic training, and learned the open exercises easily. In the winter of 1974-75, I began showing her in Open. She finished in six trials, passing three and failing three. At least one of the trials she failed was memorable.

I don't remember how many times she had been shown when I took her to the Conejo Kennel Club trial. I do know that it was the Sunday after our KBTCSC meeting. I know this because when I loaded the car on show day, all my supplies as Hospitality Chairman were still in the car-coffee pot, coffee, cups, napkins, etc. I simply stowed the rest of my gear, piled the dog in the car, and left for the show.

I had worked Pixie a few times prior to the show and she did everything perfectly. She really loved the jumps and would pick up anything on command. We got to the show with time to spare, so I heeled her a bit to settle her down. She seemed more animated than usual, and I thought to myself, "She'll put on a good show."

Pixie was very happy and did well on all exercises . . . until we got to the high jump. In this exercise, which is off lead (as are all exercises in Open), the handler positions herself and the dog in front of a solid board jump, 1 1/2 times the height of the dog (Editor: the height has been reduced to 1 1/4 times the height of the dog). The handler throws a wooden dumbbell over the jump, and on command, the dog goes over the jump, picks up the dumbbell, comes back over the jump, sits in front of the handler, and gives the handler the dumbbell.

Pixie went sailing over the jump, clearing it by a good margin. She almost landed on the dumbbell and looked at it as if she had never seen it before. "You want me to pick that up?" she seemed to say. She sniffed at it and looked at me. Her rear end went up in the air as she pawed at it, picked it up, spit it out, rolled her eyes at me, barking and wagging her tail. She picked up the dumbbell again, looked at the jump, and then happily ran around it (a disqualification) and proudly presented the dumbbell to me. The audience laughed, the judge marked the book, and I felt like sinking into the nearest rabbit hole. Pixie, of course, performed the remaining exercises perfectly.

She was still very pleased with herself when I exercised her after being awarded a big fat NQ at the trial. She did relieve herself, producing a most peculiar stool. It looked like, it smelled like . . . No, it couldn't be . . . ?

I made a mad dash for the car with Pixie in tow to confirm my suspicion. There, in the box of hospitality stuff, was the answer to Pixie's unusual behavior. Somehow, Pixie had contrived to remove the lid from a can of coffee and-you guessed it-had eaten a considerable amount of it! Now, what was I to do with a caffeine junkie?

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