Читать книгу Bushell's Best Bits - Everything You Needed To Know About The World's Craziest Sports - Mike Bushell - Страница 16

First things first. We shouldn’t call this ‘dog dancing’. This makes it seem like something out of a circus and that couldn’t be further than the truth. It may be what people think it’s called, but the official name of this sport is heelwork to music.

It’s why I was crouched forward, microphone in one hand and a piece of sausage in the other. I waited rather uncomfortably, having seen the trainer’s bite marks around her fingers. There was a whistle, the music played, and the patter of feet behind me was followed by the prodding of paws on my shoulder. A border collie had come in to land. She was inch perfect and had taken the sausage without me feeling a thing. My relief was greater, because we were live on air, on Breakfast, and back in the studio Charlie and Louise were applauding the daring dog routine. It was part of a feature on the rise of ‘dog dancing’, or rather heelwork to music. It’s Strictly Come Dancing, or Dancing on Ice, for you and your dog. After Pudsey and her owner Ashleigh became famous across the world for their routine which helped them win Britain’s Got Talent in 2012, interest surged. But it’s actually been a recognised canine sport since the 1990s.

It’s why I was on the quayside outside the gleaming new studios at Media City in Salford, at 9.30 in the morning, with a border collie panting proudly in my right ear as it balanced on my shoulders. It was an honour because these weren’t any old paws, they were the talented feet of Fly, who along with trainer Karen Sykes was part of the British team that had just won the European championships in Denmark. I had interviewed Karen live and she had shown me a bit of the routine that had helped lift the title.

Now you might reasonably question whether this is a sport, so with this in mind, I went along to one of the weekly training sessions held at a centre near Northampton, run by the UK’s queen of heelwork to music, Mary Ray. She worries that calling it ‘dog dancing’ will alienate people and make it seem like an act that can’t be taken seriously. Watching Mary and her dog Levi in full flow put such concerns to bed. The communication between the two was telepathic, as Levi fetched items, sat, weaved and displayed pathos and comedy with paws and expressions, all in perfect time with the music.

‘It’s very competitive,’ Mary stressed, ‘and it is that way all over the world now. The choreography is the hard part. Anyone can put music on and just work the dog, but the difference with Torvill and Dean was that they choreographed their routine to fit the music. At the time they stood out from everyone else, and that’s what we have to do. We want to be taken seriously, if for no other reason, than as a way of promoting good dog training.’

Mary Ray started the sport in 1990, strictly as heelwork training, but with music playing in the background. Then as the sport progressed and became popular, choreography became more important, and gradually the need to add variety and a greater repertoire of moves naturally evolved. The first HTM show was held in 1996, and by then the sport was already established in a number of other countries.

The freestyle element of the sport has helped to re-establish the popularity of ‘trick training’ in pet obedience clubs. Team GB became the new European champions in 2012, and thanks to the TV exposure classes are now inundated with new recruits.

‘It really helps to keep you fit, mentally and physically,’ said Jenny Deakin, who has made the final at Crufts. ‘It’s like any good aerobic exercise,’ added Sandra Hallam, who was struggling to keep up with her St Bernard, Alice. ‘We both have to stay really fit, to be able to do a whole routine in the ring for three and a half minutes, especially with Alice who certainly goes for it.’

My daughters Isabel and Sophie, who have a Parsons Jack Russell called Lilly, had come along and were transfixed. Beginners who turn up are given an experienced dog to work, and Sophie had Ozzie, a Sheltie – or officially a Shetland Sheepdog – who was weaving through her legs, rolling and trotting backwards within minutes. In contrast, I was nearly taken out by poor Ozzie, who got entangled around my legs. Mary got me to make a circle in the air with my hand, holding a tiny bit of sausage. As I went around with my arm, so Ozzie’s head followed, spinning on the spot like Dill the dog from the TV programme The Herbs.

‘Dogs don’t get dizzy,’ Mary reassured me and it seems she was right. Ozzie didn’t put a step out of place, as I tried to walk forward with my arms tracing a figure of eight between my legs. I used my head, voice and shoulders as well as my arms to guide Ozzie through. The little dog was now skipping in and out of my step and around the back so fast that I felt dizzy watching him. ‘You’re walking like John Wayne!’ laughed Mary. My gestures were far too exaggerated. This is a subtle sport, where style and elegance counts for a lot. Once you have a routine, you can start introducing props. Mary’s included a broom, a washing line and laundry basket. No doubt if I had tried this with Basil, it would have been me in the basket by the end!

For more information contact www.heelworktomusic.co.uk or www.mary.ray.co.uk