The best-dressed bitch in show
Chris Hondros
Long, long ago, in a newspaper galaxy far, far away, I wrote an article for another publication about my mother’s prize winning Chesapeake Bay retriever, Pond Hollow Sylvia James. The article narrated Sylvia’s attempt to take best in show at the storied Rocky Mountain Cluster, an effort that ultimately proved futile on account of the utter cluelessness of a judge who had trouble moving without the aid of a motorized cart. I mentioned how another dog managed to beat Sylvia that day, even though it was quite clear to everyone how far superior a dog our bitch was, and that the winner probably should have been taken out back and shot, just to be put out of its misery.
Biased? Sure. Heartfelt? You betcha. I called out that dog for lacking in traits characteristic of all famous Chessies, remarked that it was “snipey” in appearance and pointed out that its dead-grass colored coat, while acceptable in the breed, was really quite inferior to the more traditional chestnut coat. Then the dog world promptly lost its mind.
Howling, irate letters flooded the newspaper’s office. The Internet message boards burst into cyber-flames. My mom was ostracized by the impetuously petty dog community, shunned at shows for the harmless musings of her foulmouthed son. Eventually the dust settled and those with any sense about them realized not to blame my mother for my remarks, and my mom was welcomed back into the fold.
“Never write about my dogs again,” she told me then. And I never did.
Until now. Because my mom’s dog went to Westminster! Yes, that Westminster. Last week! Yep, while the rest of you were sitting on your couches fantasizing about Lindsey Vonn in a Vancouver hot tub, I was pimp-limping through Madison Square Garden for the Westminster Kennel Club 134th Annual Dog Show, staring daggers into the eyes of the competition, kicking a poodle in the face just to make a statement. But this time around it wasn’t a Chessie that my mother was showing. I’d tell you what type of dog it was, but then the dog-show people would flip their hoity lids and oust my mom again; so for the sake of protection of my sweet mama, I will reveal only that the dog’s breed rhymes with “jointer” and that his name rhymes with “Gosh.” Gosh the jointer.
Is there any spectacle on earth greater than the Westminster? The answer is yes: the World Cup, Lindsey Vonn in a hot tub, and probably a really spirited PTA meeting. But is there anywhere on earth greater for people watching? I’d argue nay. Because while the dogs are certainly the focal point at Westminster, the accompanying handlers, owners, and groomers make for a peanut gallery on par with anything I’ve ever seen.
Do yourself a favor: Next time a dog show is on television, take a look at the fashion stylings of the people running the dogs in concentric circles around the Astroturf. It’s a maelstrom of pant-suits and runs in leggings and crappy blazers and orthopedic shoes. They look like they got puked on by a Goodwill, then raped by a J.C. Penney. The more impressive the dog, the less impressive the attire of its handler. It’s almost as if their complete and total dedication to the well-being of their canines prohibits them from taking decent care of themselves. The oxygen-tanks trailing behind these people serve only as pressurized exclamation points to my theory.
There are also junior handler competitions where similarly clad young children are made to run dogs around the ring to the delight of the applauding throngs. Seriously, they make kids do this. Because some parents just want to ensure that their child spends the bulk of puberty inside a locker.
But how did Gosh the jointer do? He didn’t win. In normal dog shows, there are usually awards for second and third and so on, but there is only one winner at Westminster and that was not Gosh. He didn’t advance beyond his group and thusly couldn’t go on to compete for best in show. Did the big bump he developed on his neck the night before the competition play a part in this outcome? Perhaps. These matters are for people far savvier than myself. What I will say is that he performed with grace and poise and we had the best-dressed goddamn handler in the building. I will say that we Cayton-Hollands have worked our way to our first Westminster dog show and we will be back. Because if there’s one thing we Cayton-Hollands know from years of watching Colorado sports teams, it's that there’s always next year. Gosh will rise again.
