12+   The local dog club, where I volunteered as a trainer for twenty years, ran season-ending Fun Days with events like Fancy Dress, Agility Slalom, Waggliest Tail and other novelty races that changed from year to year. One of my favourites was the Sack Race, where my dear old dog and I always placed third.

The rules were simple, like a schoolyard sack race, except the human competitor had to hop to the finish line with their dog on a leash beside them. Sounds easy, huh? Well, you try jumping about beside your dog and see how excited and in your way they get!

Fortunately for me, my old black lab, Harry, was calm and biddable as long as there was no food or ball involved — he was a disgrace in the Saveloy Relay and the Balance-a-Frisbee-on-Your-Head-and-Squeeze-a Ball-Between-Your-Legs Race! (Woof, is that my ball, Robert?)

However, the weak link in the Sack Race was me. Back then, I was in my mid-forties and didn't have the same spring in my hop of younger competitors, and Harry and I kept placing third.

But I didn't mind. We both had fun (at least, I did, and Harry got treats), which, after all, is the goal of a Fun Day.

Sorry, Family and Friends

One year, in the run-up to Christmas and the end of the training season, I was in Perth visiting family and friends for a few days. But I'd booked a Saturday return flight to Sydney, so I had to meet up with people during the working week, which was a little tricky.

"Why aren't you staying for the weekend?" they'd ask.

"Because I've got to get back for my dog club's Fun Day on Sunday," I'd explain. And in response to their quizzical looks, I'd add, "Harry and I always come third in the Sack Race, and I don't want to miss out this year."

So on Sunday morning, bleary-eyed after the long Saturday night flight from Perth to Sydney and the two-hour time difference, I headed down to the dog club with Harry for the Fun Day.

The Mental Approach

We warmed up with a well-placed second in the Good-O Eating Race (splitting a pair of gobble-guts Golden Retrievers), and then I stepped into the hessian sack for our signature Sack Race. We easily won our heat and the semi-final and joined our fellow competitors on the starting line for the final.

As with any competitive sport, the mental approach to the Sack Race is as important as physical prowess! And this year, despite mild jet lag, I felt confident when the starter called, "Go!" Midway down the field, it seemed my confidence was well-founded — I was hopping strongly, and Harry and I were in the lead by two hops.

But younger competitors were gaining on us as we neared the finish line, and my legs began buckling. With less than half a dozen hops to go, Harry and I looked like we'd have to settle for second place.

And then I remembered the story I'd told family and friends in Perth, how Harry and I always came third. So, I eased up and let another competitor pass us before making a final long hop and lunge to secure third place.

Writing Sacrifices

Like that distant dog club Sack Race, I've often made sacrifices in my writing for the sake of a story. In On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, Stephen King urges writers:

"Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler's heart, kill your darlings."

As Ruthanne Reid expounded in a post on King's quote on The Write Practice website, How to "Kill Your Darlings" and Survive the Process:

"Darlings, in writing, are those words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, and even chapters that we are often most proud of. We love them, to the point that we almost don't care if those bits are clear to readers or not. The problem is they can get in the [way of the] readers' point of view."

I keep this in mind when writing, but more so when editing. It has led to heart-breaking sacrifices, but as I've learned, "killing my darlings" is worth it for the sake of a story, blog post, or article.

I knew that coming second in the dog club Sack Race wouldn't make as good a story as third place. Not winning didn't bother Harry because he still got treats. And we went on to compete in the Saveloy Relay, where we came last, but he ate all the saveloy sausages.

Yes, my dear old Harry disgraced himself again. But it was worth it for the sake of a story!

© 2018 Robert Fairhead

N.B. You might like to read Blind Faith in a Dog, a post about another of my dog club Fun Day favourites with old Harry, the "Ned Kelly" event. And my homage to Harry, My Good Dog and Muse.