Here's the first of many coming articles about the Briard by those who are enthusiastic about the breed. Enjoy! If you've written an article about the Briard and would like to see it on the web, please contact the Webmaster.

Laurie Beck's passion is competing in Obedience with her Briards (with a little Rally and Agility thrown in). Laurie and her current Briard, Page, have gone farther in AKC Obedience than any Briard ever has. This article, originally printed in the Wall Street Journal, relates her first steps in competition obedience.

A Woman and Her Dog: Titled At Last
By Laura Beck

Originally published December 1995, Wall Street Journal. Published here with permission of the author

My partner and I earned a CD recently, after four years and countless hours of preparation and three qualifying performances. Since then, I’ve been drawing interest and praise. The CD really belongs to Tasha, who can add it to her signature each time she paws a print. Tasha is my four year old Briard, who until last month was just my dog. Now, she is my Companion Dog, in full, Mon Jovis Tasha de l’Etat d’Or CD.

Until two years ago, I had no idea there were titles for dogs other than Champion. I associated the American Kennel Club solely with the dog shows where dogs are led around the ring on a short leash. As I can testify now, the AKC also offers a number of obedience titles: Companion Dog, Companion Dog Excellent, Utility Dog, Utility Dog Excellent, etc.

Companion Dog is the first and easiest title to earn. But then “easy” is relative. Having no prior experience as a trainer, I found easy to be quite challenging. Tasha is a Briard, by instinct a sheepherder, a leader not a follower. She, in particular, has always been more comfortable barking orders than following my commands.

To earn the Companion Dog title, you and your canine partner work as a team at three sanctioned trials earning a minimum qualifying score of 170 out of a possible 200 points. In addition, you must earn more than half of the points available for each exercise (you can’t zero out on one and still pass). The trial consists of exercises performed individually and in a group. For the individual exercises, you heel your dog on a leash, heel a figure eight, stand your dog for hands-on examination by the judge, heel off leash, call your dog to you from across the ring and return her to the heel position.

Sounds easy. However, heeling is defined in the rules book as having the dog positioned with her shoulder at the seam of your pants. When you stop, she stops automatically – no verbal cues, tugs on the leash or touching. She sits quietly by your side waiting for your next move. You’re allowed one command each time the judge starts you off and that’s it. When you walk, your companion is expected to walk with you. When you change the pace or turn left or right or do an about face, she follows suit, all the while remaining in heel position. Ideally, your dog should lift her head so she makes eye contact with your left shoulder or the left side of your face. She puts her faith entirely in you and stays glued to your left side. If you walk through the ring ropes, into a wall or off a cliff, she does too, with enthusiasm. And best of all, the two of you – at all times – should appear to be having fun.

But let’s get back to reality. I am a novice handler. Tasha is a green, somewhat jittery briard, and every trial location is a strange environment. The first trial in which we participated was indoors at the Cow Palace in San Francisco. Tasha was the only briard in obedience and several of my “briard” friends showed up to watch our performance. We were the last entrants in the Novice A (beginning beginner’s) class and by the time the ring steward called our number, my nerves were in shambles. The judge greeted me with a smile and quietly asked if it was my first time in the ring. It was that obvious.

With my friends on the sidelines, Tasha taught me humility. Instead of heeling in position, she chose to lag about three steps behind. I made the classic mistake of walking slower so she could catch up and she got even slower. When I halted, she followed suit but stood rather than sat by my side. For the heeling off leash, she let me walk part of the exercise by myself and when I got back to her, joined up for a shaky but seated finish. It was an awful performance, but somehow we earned a bare minimum of points to keep us in the running.

Group exercises consist of sit stays and down stays. Handlers as the humans are called, sit their dogs in a line and walk to the other side of the ring. The dogs stay in place for one minute – one long, nerve –wracking minute. Handlers then return to their dogs and down them. Again the handlers leave, and the dogs lie in place for three even longer minutes. One minute into the down stay Tasha sat up and we were instantly nonqualified.

The second trial we entered was at Yuba City, California. This time we were outdoors. We were fifth in line, after a bulldog and four others who at 8 a.m. refused to sit on the cold, dewy grass but otherwise put on fine performances. Tasha had no problem sitting. For the last individual exercise, the recall, I sat Tasha and walked across the ring. The judge signaled me and I called her. Tasha continued to sit. She stared at me and I stared back. I willed her to move. The judge stared at both of us. I called Tasha again and ever so slowly, she unglued herself and trotted toward me. The second command nonqualified us.

The following week, we went to a trial in Pleasanton, California. Tasha’s overall performance wasn’t as good as that at Yuba City. Heeling off leash, she was at one point so concerned about something outside the ring that she walked head first into me. But, we finished all the exercises and somehow earned out first qualification – in the jargon, our first “leg.” After all the entrants finished, we went back into the ring and received a qualifying green ribbon. A week after that, we went to Dixon Calif., and earned our second leg.

For our third and title leg, we went to the Solano County Fairgrounds in Vallejo, Calif. This time the trial was indoors in a large gymnasium-type building. When Tasha and I walked in, we were hit with a wall of noise. Six rings were arranged in groups of three, side by side with a narrow aisle down the middle. People and dogs were elbow to elbow. My heart sank. The distractions seemed overwhelming. I was seriously tempted to scratch our entry, take Tasha and run home. I didn’t and somehow, we got through the individual exercises.

Ten of us lined up for the group sits and downs. The judge called, “Sit your dog.” Tasha was already seated so I remained silent. “Leave your dog.” I issued a firm “Stay” and walked across the ring. At the other end of the line, a dog got up to sniff the dog next to him and was excused. Disappointment rippled through the handlers. One minute was getting longer and longer. Another dog got up and he, too, was excused. Finally, “Return to your dogs.” We survivors walked back to our dogs.

For the last exercise, the judge called, “Down your dogs.”

”Tasha, down.” Tasha lay down.

“Leave your dogs.” I told her to “Stay” and walked across the ring. Almost immediately, another two dogs stood up. Time dragged. Tasha shifted slightly and so did my stomach. I counted. One one-thousand, two one-thousand….

“Return to your dogs.” Just as we were starting back, the dog next to Tasha stood up. NO!! He strutted in front of her and danced in a circle. NO!!! This can’t be happening! Tasha, stay, stay, stay. My heart fluttered as I approached the dancing dog, walked around him, then around Tasha and up to heel position. The judge paused and I held by breath. “Exercise finished.” We made it!

In dogdom, earning a CD is merely a beginning step. A total of 6,923 dogs earned CDs in 1994, including 762 Golden Retrievers, 603 German Shepherds and 254 Poodles. For Briarders, however, a CD is reason to celebrate. Nine Briards earned the title in 1994- and at least one in 1995.