Back in October I went to Utah for a dog show. This was a national breed specialty, which meant Samoyeds as far as the eye could see, along with swirls of white hair floating in the air, lots of shantung skirt suits, “nude” nylons (they’re never really nude, are they?) with tennis shoes, and too many sequins for daylight. (There’s enough bad dog show “fashion” to warrant a series here.)
I was looking forward to going—and even more excited to write about it when I got back because the movie “Best In Show” has nothing on the real thing.
But nothing—NOTHING—prepared me for those four days.
The dog show itself was great. Penny did well—she made the cut in her group, which means she was considered by the judge, which was all I hoped for in such a big field of dogs from around the country. Penny’s handler had a great few days as well. Her trip climaxed with going Best in Show with a Veteran dog that she had been showing for years.
Everything went sideways for me the first morning when I went to grab some breakfast at the hotel and ran into Penny and Gracie’s breeder.
And I never shook her. Never.
I generally try to limit my exposure to her. She’s a nice enough woman, and I’m sure she means well, but she doesn’t know when to stop talking. Sitting ringside, within earshot of the handlers, judges and owners she kept up a steady commentary about who had a shitty dog, who wasn’t handling their dog well, who was showboating in the ring trying to get the judge’s attention, and on and on.
The deal with dog shows is, you never say anything about anyone’s dog. Period. You don’t criticize handlers or judges. You don’t complain that the judge looked at the wrong end of the leash (ie; chose a well-known handler instead of choosing the right dog). You don’t do any of those things. At least until you’re in the privacy of your motor home or hotel room. Then you can bitch about everyone all you want. Because you had the best dog in the ring and the judge is a moron. In public, you’re polite. You congratulate winners and console losers.
I was mortified. I didn’t want everyone to think I agreed with her commentary. It’s the kiss of death. You get a reputation and judges won’t pick your dog, handlers won’t show your dogs and “fanciers” (as we’re called) don’t want to be around you.
The long and the short of it was, she latched onto me because no one else could deal with her and she thought she found an ally. Why? Because I was too nice. I couldn’t tell her to back the fuck off like other people do. It was my version of Single White Female. So I found myself sneaking in and out of my own hotel room. I feigned exhaustion, went to my room to go to bed, and when I thought the coast was clear, I sneaked out to meet friends. By the second to last day I found myself sobbing uncontrollably in Penny’s handler’s motor home, begging people to keep her away from me.
Good times, yes?
I was so traumatized that I pulled Penny out of shows for the rest of the year and hid in a dark room while rocking myself back and forth and whimpering.
You think I’m exaggerating, don’t you?
I was never going to another dog show again. (I’m pretty sure Bill heard angels sing when I announced not only would I not drag him to shows, I wasn’t going either.)
This past weekend was the Palm Springs Kennel Club dog show, which in this area is the first and one of the biggest dog shows of the year. It’s at a beautiful location and it’s just a really professional competition. I like going but I considered sending Penny along and not going until I found out that her breeder wouldn’t be there.
I actually had a good time. Penny did well enough. On Friday she won her class and was thisclose to winning points. But, alas, always the bridesmaid…
But I think we’re close. The judges are looking at her more now than they were when she was younger. She’s matured and filled out—less gawky pre-teen and more prom queen.
There’s a saying in dog shows that the hardest dog you’ll ever finish (ie; make a champion) is the one that’s most in line with the breed standard.
I’m clinging to that one.
In the meantime, I have a clean dog and we have a pretty ribbon.
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