Well, it’s happened. Unable to contain her lust for fame, glory, and riches, my sporty sibling Tidy has enrolled her dog Fletch in dock diving school.
Dock diving is a competitive sport invented by ESPN wherein the dog runs like mad toward a body of water, launches itself, and endeavors to splash down at a distance greater than that of all the other contestants. Currently the world record is held by a greyhound named Country, who in 2005 was able to sail 28 feet and 10 inches before succumbing to the earth’s gravitational pull. Fletch’s dock diving coach Greg says that the first dog to jump 30 feet will win $30,000. You should’ve seen the dollar signs light up in Tidy’s eyes when she heard that.
She’s got a long row to hoe, though. Here is Greg’s yellow lab Butterbean demonstrating the esoteric dock diving concept of “big air”.
And here, alas, is young Fletch.
In the photo, Fletch appears to be moving backwards, out of the pool. I predict he won’t win the $30,000.
While we’re making up dog sports: my Shorty could find a cushion in the deepest jungle, the darkest forest, the tallest cornfield–and then curl up on it. She’d find it faster if there’s a teeny blanket involved.
Making up dog sports? (snort!) See www.dockdogs.com! Although I concede it was probably invented by ESPN in its endless attempt to fill air time.
My younger dog could probably give the Reverend’s a run for her money - he’d prefer to spend his life on a velvet cushion being handfed dainty bits of sirloin and being scritched behind the ears. The older one, well, she’d leap off a dock only if there were a tasty morsel of cat sh*t floating around in the water.
I’m far more surprised that a dog can sail almost 29 horizontal feet through the air in one leap than I am at any of the woman-hating Twisty comments on.
29 feet!
I long for the day when I can have a dog. For now, I’ll covet the neighbour’s dog (Jack), the dogs of spinster aunts, the dogs of spinster aunt’s sisters, and the dogs of the commentariat.
Thanks for brightening my day, all!
Let’s hope Bert’s show-off jock of a cousin doesn’t give him an inferiority complex. Then again, Bert’s the one who got that flowing hair and the mad hole-digging skillz.
Re: ESPN’s desperate attempts to fill airtime: I maintain that they would have far less trouble filling their airtime if they would confine all their programs to one channel instead of spreading them out to ESPN2 and ESPN Classic and bog knows what else.
Hey, what good is the panem without the circenses?
Ever the optimist, I’m going to hope that young Fletch’s apparent aversion to water helps him to leap ever longer distances from the dock. I’d suggest putting a large steady floating thing out for him, increasing the distance with each attempt. But I’m sure the dock-diving coach (really, some people’s jobs) has his methods.
Random question, does it hurt the dog’s neck or back muscles when he jumps into water from high up? I mean, I’ve jumped off lots of 25-30-foot cliffs into water, and I couldn’t do it too much or I’d get really sore muscles.
Bert’s the Owen Wilson of dogs. Without the suicidal tendencies… that is, over and beyond the natural doggy ones.
I think the greyhounds may have a bit of a natural advantage in dock diving.
My dog could compete with BadKitty’s in diving for the floating cat turd, but I’m not sure I’d call it sport. She’d excel at getting more noseprints on window glass than other dogs. And if they awarded blue ribbons for crotch-sniffing, I’d have to add a trophy room to my house.
My sister’s coonhound could win a tomato-picking competition if she got to eat what she picked.
I’ve got a border collie mix. She could place in the “herding children” category. My bull terrier mix is a couch potato. She blames the P for vet prescribed diets.
Butterbean is awesome. That’s one good dawg!
My minpin Chip excels at squirrel-cursing, rabbit-cursing, cat-cursing, and bird-cursing. If I’m understanding the gist of her messages to these other creatures on the other side of the fence, it boils down to variations on “Come back here and say that, you %&^#$&#@$%!!!!!!”
My cat could win any sleeping contest, hands down.
Old Fletch looks like he’s slammin’ on the brakes there.
Thanks for this bit of dog sport.
My cat challenges Patti’s cat to a duel! Regardless, I think mine could win the eat-sleep-flop triathlon.
re: ESPN needing to fill the airtime of two channels. They’d have no problem if they showed women’s sports where the athletes do not wear bikinis. Just sayin’.
My cats and myself are active Extreme Sports Enthusiasts. Our event?
Mixed Species Extreme Lounging.
We are GOOD.
Having come to this late, after reading about the rapture e-mails, I want to know who takes care of the doggies after the rapture? Or maybe the dock-diving is to prepare for following after ye olde raptured ones? Does one get raptured if one is in flight vis-a-vis Fletch?? Do I care? Naaaah. The God of the Dogs is too cool: the rapture for canines will occur without fanfare, when they are wriggling on their backs with that silly look (tongues hanging down, ears splayed, weenies on display) and then POOF! The Poobah Pooch is gone!
My Bonnie could do 30 feet in Mexico City. I’d expect her to make some political statement, though, if I was going to put her on that big a stage.
Fletch looks like he’s trying for the biggest splash category, as is his right. Dogs do not have to have fun by ESPN standards.
I deliberated long and hard on this, then decided there was nothing anti-feminist about squealing with joy while watching a dog gleefully flinging itself down a slide and into a pool! Over and over!
I’d blame the patriarchy but - but - doggie happiness!