Yesterday I published a post about dog shows. That post sat in my drafts folder for almost a year because I was trying to condense way too much drama into one post. There’s really no way to get the flavor of all the drama in 600 words, though. I could write a novel on what happens in the ring. There’s an obscene amount of crazy that goes on with dog shows. Best in Show captured a lot of it, but it didn’t even scratch the surface.

Best In Show—Best Movie Ever!

When you buy a purebred dog, especially if they’re a show dog, theoretically, the breeder has chosen the parents carefully, eliminating health issues — or at least pairing dogs that will balance each others’ strengths and weaknesses. They look at the lineage of the parents and grandparents to make sure there isn’t a history of eye problems, hip dysplasia or another genetic disorder.

You know where I’m going with this, right?

Back in September, Gracie’s breeder contacted me and gave me some names of orthopedic specialists. I had agreed to take Gracie to get X-rays after she turned 2 so I could continue the documentation of the lineage. It was also good info to have in case I decided to breed Gracie because the owner of the other dog would want proof that Gracie wasn’t going to pass on any bad genes.

Because I wasn’t thinking about breeding Gracie, I didn’t rush out to get the X-rays.

In late December, out of the blue, Gracie’s breeder called me at work, freaked out because I hadn’t done them yet. I told her that I thought I didn’t have to get them done right away. That’s when she totally became unglued and freaked out. It turns out that her two female dogs—one of which was Gracie’s mom, Sascha—were in heat and they were scheduled to be bred in a couple of days. The hitch was, the owner of the dogs she was breeding to wanted proof that Sascha’s first litter was healthy.

December is so insane at work that I barely have time to walk down the hall to the bathroom during the day—forget about leaving for a few hours to take Gracie to get X-rays.

I told her that if she could make an appointment the next day, she was welcome to meet me at my office and take Gracie herself (at MY expense, natch). She agreed, picked up Gracie, took her in, and dropped her off at my office when they were done.

I bent over backwards to help her out. I didn’t have to, because honestly? That wasn’t my problem. If her breeding was hinged on Gracie’s health, then she should have given me more notice—don’t call me  48 hours before you need them.

At first glace, the vet who did the X-rays said he thought they looked good (or so I was told). However, to get the certification, the X-rays get sent to three orthopedic vets who view them independently. They submit their results to the orthopedic board and it’s basically a majority rules thing.

With Gracie, apparently, two out of three vets thought there might be a problem. Their findings indicated that there might be a mild hip dysplasia. However, because they didn’t sedate or anaesthetise her, there’s a chance she moved—is IS pretty wiggly. It might be a bad X-ray.

This information? I found out by accident.

Gracie’s breeder was supposed to have the paperwork sent my house—of course, it conveniently went to hers last month—where she sat on it and never said a word. The other breeder is the one who found the results online—or rather, the lack of results (they don’t get posted if there’s a question). Gracie’s breeder was confronted by the other breeder and was forced to tell me. Stupid me—I thought we were still waiting for the results.

The breeder’s words said that everything was fine, it was a bad X-ray, nothing to worry about. The panic in her voice said something else entirely. I’m still not sure if the fear came from the fact that I caught her trying to hide info from me, or if it’s because she was afraid Gracie really has a problem. Most likely both.

And we still don’t know.

Gracie’s in heat and I have to wait 6 to 8 weeks after her heat cycle to re-take the X-rays.

To keep us all entertained while we wait, the breeder has created a drama worthy of an Academy Award. She’s mad at me because I’m mad at her. I don’t like being lied to. Duh. Of course I’m angry.  She’s mad at the other breeder for talking to me about it. The other breeder, by the way, is someone I know—I see her at dog shows all the time and we went to the same agility classes. The other breeder is pissed at Gracie’s breeder for lying and twisting everything around. We’re all mad at her because none of us have gotten a straight story from her as far as we can tell. (Got all that?!)

I like dog shows, as cheesy at they are. They’re kind of fun (if you’re in to dogs). 99% of the people who do this genuinely love dogs and treat them well, and make sure they’re healthy and happy. The people who show Gracie are awesome because they treat her well and they keep the whole thing fun—if we win, we celebrate with pitchers of margaritas; if we lose, we console ourselves with pitchers of margaritas.

To be clear—I’m not saying that Gracie’s breeder is in that 1%.

As much as I want Gracie to win that one last point, I’m keeping her out of the ring for a little bit. I’m considering waiting until she gets her X-rays redone in May. Most likely, I’ll have her shown before that, but it’ll be on my terms.

And Gracie’s.

Looking a little dubious about the whole thing.

Because really the only thing that matters to me is Gracie. And her health. The rest of it is bullshit.