Flyball turns humans and dogs into teammates

Amid the din of eight dogs and more than a dozen people in a flyball ring, you'll find something deeper than what appears to be a complex game of "fetch" - a connection between human and canine.

"Dogs and humans enjoy total common energy in the game," said Jane Horsfield, who's been involved in the sport for more than 11 years. "The actual bond occurs in the after-race game, the tug game. It's almost like pack behavior. You are equals for that moment."

The sport she's talking about is flyball.

Flyball has been described as "doggie drag racing," but Stephanie Doerr, a competitor for 11 years and a judge in the sport for nearly six, likens it to "controlled chaos."

In flyball competitions, two teams, each consisting of four dog-and-handler pairs, square off in a 102-foot, two-lane course. The first team to get its dogs over four jumps, with a turn in the middle during which the dog must retrieve a ball that's ejected from a special box - and back - wins the heat. Good teams can do it in less than 20 seconds. The world record, held by Michigan-based Spring Loaded, is 15.22 seconds.

These days, competitions use electronic timers, which allows for precision to thousandths of a second. The speed always has been there; not so the electronics.

"The biggest two things that have changed are the box and the electronic timing," said Margaret Lyons of Clovis, Calif., who has been involved in the sport since 1985. "Having the lights (set into the timer) makes a huge difference."

Elaine Alston of Dana Point, Calif., who has played more than 12 years, remembers how the advent of timing lights changed the sport.

"In 1999 or 2000, some tournaments had electronics. But there was only so much equipment, so if a tournament had two rings, maybe only one was (equipped with lights and timing equipment). It wasn't until '03 or '04 that everybody had it."

One thing about flyball not true of some other dog sports is a spirit of community. It's common to see a handler from one team running a dog, calling passes or loading a box for another team.

Many handlers fell in love with the game immediately after seeing it.

"I was watching 'Animal Planet,' saw it and said 'Oh my God, they invented a sport for my dog,' " said Kathy Haney of Huntington Beach, Calif., about her All-American dog Roxie. "I would throw the ball for her and she would bring it back to me faster."

That was seven years ago. Since then, Haney has competed as part of the Orange Crush flyball club. The group was host club for the O.C. Winter Games on Jan. 19-20. Haney, the tournament's chairwoman, said 20 clubs submitted entries and 50 teams be competed in more than 140 races each day.

A typical flyball tournament usually lasts two days, with each day being a separate competition. There are rewards (usually dog toys, sometimes ribbons) for winners, but rarely is prize money involved.

Horsfield, of Fountain Valley, Calif., estimates that she spends about $7,000 per year on flyball, including motel rooms, gas, food and tournament fees. Fees run $80-$100 per team per day. Alston and Haney say their costs are about $6,000 per year, as they own and run fewer dogs. Doerr, who lives in Imperial Beach, Calif., spends a little less, but as a judge, her room is often paid for and she receives a small stipend.

Many teams average about one tournament a month, traveling to sites in California, Arizona and Nevada.

Travel wasn't a factor when Lyons - whom teammates call "the grandma of flyball" - got started.

"There were three California teams: Santa Barbara Flyers, Bark in the Park and Slow Dog in San Luis Obispo," Lyons said. "Tournaments were only one day. There were no divisions and no points."

With a lot of money going out and none coming in, the people involved have to be quite dedicated to the sport.

Competitor-judge Doerr started with a curly coated retriever, Charger, that belonged to her daughter, Missy Sands. When Sands was ready to leave for college, Doerr said, she told her daughter, "You're not taking my flyball dog."

Some folks, like Alaska's Curtis Smith, take it to the extreme. Smith and his wife, Stacy, got involved in 2002, when his wife started training a dog in February, and he picked up the training in June while working on a postgraduate degree at Duke University in Durham, N.C.

"As soon as I started, I was hooked," said Smith, who now lives in Eagle River, just outside Anchorage. "Back then, we knew we were going to bring this sport up here."

And they did, starting Alaska Dogs Gone Wild. The past two years Alaska's only club has played host to a tournament around the summer solstice. Last year, the team traveled south

to tournaments: in April to Santa Clarita, Calif., and in November to Scottsdale, Ariz. Each time they took 11-12 people and eight to nine dogs.

"It's very addictive. It gets in your blood," Lyons said. "And the dogs love it."

The latter is a sentiment echoed by most in the sport.

"When I start packing or get my flyball shoes, the dogs are right there waiting at the door," Haney said.

It's the sort of thing that keeps people - and dogs - around the sport for many years. Lyons has handled at least 10 of her own dogs in her time.

Horsfield has owned and run six flyball dogs. Her top dog, 11-year-old border collie Roxanne, passed a milestone, the Hobbes Award. This goes to dogs who earn 100,000 points and is named for the first dog to reach the mark. Only nine have done so. Roxanne reached that mark at the O.C. Winter Games tournament.

Roxanne has given Horsfield - and onlookers - a few interesting moments.

"One time, I was running her second; the dog coming back hesitated after I had already released Roxanne," Horsfield said. "I knew she was going to be early to the line, so I called out to her: 'Roxanne!' She turned and looked at me over her shoulder and hesitated, then I said 'Go!' and she turned and continued into the pass. There were a few people on the

sidelines, and the judge in the ring, who just looked at me and shook their heads in astonishment. I just smiled."

Many handlers have funny stories from the ring.

Doerr: "Lynea Gillett was running Covu, one of our Belgian Malinois. Lynea weighs, maybe, 100 pounds. She had to rerun the dog, but Covu was very excited. So she's on the ground, holding onto a hind leg and he drags her about 20 feet, so she can't get up. She held on long enough and the dog was able to make the rerun."

Alston: "This was awhile back, when the box was flimsy and it was kind of scooped in the front. The box malfunctioned, so Sandy went back and pulled the ball out, along with a strip of foam. It didn't stop the dog from coming back."