The Dog Show

16 July 2026

1188

R. Linda:

Talk about dull assignments, I got one I didn't want and shouldn't have got in the first place. A lot of staff are out on holiday (vacation to you Americans), so covering for someone else can be a bit tricky, like who is available, does the story have merit, etc. I have just come back from me own time off and was all set to get back to work. Yes, I was looking forward to covering something noteworthy and/or exciting. I had just got to me desk when Cruella waved me to her office. 

"Gabe, Laura is out with really bad allergies; she can hardly talk, and her voice sounds like she's got a mouthful of gravel. I'm going to need you to cover a story for her."

"Laura? You mean … " I didn't get to say the last name of the Laura I thought she was talking about, because Cruella said the last name of someone in what we call the "Fluffy-Puffy" section, AKA Style and Home News. 

UGH! I have been roped into these fluff pieces a few times and expected nothing different with this one.

"What this time?" I asked.

"The Bay City Dog Show."

There was silence between us, her watching THAT sink in and me letting it. What could I do? I asked her what was needed for the doggy assignment, then went back to my desk to contemplate how to approach it. 

Let me start by saying I don't think there is anything more dull than a dog show. A local one at that. It had to be a slow news day for this to happen.

I put on me doggy game face, had all I needed, and set off for the venue. I had time before the show, so I stopped at a Starbucks across from the glorified dog kennel. I sat there watching handlers and owners arriving with their well-groomed animals. Not able to tarry too long, I finished me coffee and headed across the way.

I showed me credentials and press pass, and I was directed where to go. That was the big backroom, the size of a warehouse, where all the dogs would be on tables getting that last bit of grooming in. I didn't have to look too hard, just follow the yapping and voila, there I was among the best of the best in doggy terms. 

I walked around looking for a suitable competitor to interview, but they were all so honed in on grooming that it was difficult to get their attention. I stood back and watched all this chatter, yipping, the sound of machines, hands brushing or combing, spray bottles spritzing, ribbons and other paraphernalia being put on, and I realised I was watching the competitors treat all this like the Olympics.

As I hovered around, I could overhear what sounded like espionage theories. Like, this one: "Freddie, did you see Alva's mut? It looks like she's got him on that new Pro Coat diet; his coat has a Pro Coat sheen. Go find out if that's what the change is." And off the man went to Alva's table, where she was busily fluffing out her Afghan Hound's gorgeous coat. 

I wandered over as well. I figured I'd like to know that too, maybe break the ice and get an interview going. Once the pleasantries were exchanged, I stepped in, introduced meself, and asked if I could get some tips on how 'Alva' got her dog's coat to shine. Freddie did a double-take at me, like, Is the coat that obvious an outsider noticed? 

Well, I had me answer even if Alva refused to say what it was. With Freddie standing there, she wasn't about to divulge her secret. She got very cagey and, in a roundabout fashion, told me it was all her hard work and grooming techniques. Yeah, neither Freddie nor I believed a word.

Freddie excused himself with a "I've got to get back." 

Alva whispered to me, "Pre-show rituals with those two."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, just watch." She said, continuing to brush her dog.

We both watched as Freddie got a damp towel and laid it down on the floor, then the dog was placed on the towel, a timer was set for 10 minutes, and they stepped back watching the animal.

"SOOO, what's that about?" I asked. 

"10 minutes before show time. That signals to the dog that the setting is transitioning from downtime to "show time."

"Oh, I see," I said, but I didn't. I left Alva to it and wandered over to the terriers. Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, what a bunch of loudmouths those things are. Yappy little dogs with mincing little steps. I got over there just in time for an argy to break out. 

"YOU, sir, are psychologically intimidating my dog! You can't come over and look at my dog with a mean scowl on your face, make throaty noises that sound like a rattlesnake and walk away."

This was said to a man I thought was a judge, and it was probably a bad idea to confront him if he was judging your dog. The man just smiled, then turned around, bent his head toward the terrier in question, and growled. Then he laughed and walked away. 

"Some people!" The terrier's owner said, cuddling the dog and cooing that the mean man was gone and that everything was all right. I kept walking as I was beginning to realise how seriously everyone takes the event. All around me, groomers were blow-drying their animals as if preparing movie stars for an appearance. Owners were on the side whispering about the "main judge." One handler was being sneaky and using a shampoo that's borderline unethical, guess who? Alva. It wasn't the dog food at all; I overheard her say to her assistant, "No one is looking, right?"

"You should have put that stuff in a different bottle." The assistant said, looking around nervously.

"I know, I forgot I was in a rush!"

I noted that mentally and walked on like I heard nothing. I got to the French poodle section, and wow, talk about glamour pusses, these dogs are it, and they know it. Snooty noses in the air, impeccibly groomed, they mirrored their equally snooty owners. One handler even spoke French to her charge. She told me she was convinced her charge understood French better than English. 

I'd never seen a dog with its own hairdresser. I barely know people with one, let alone all THIS pampering at a dog show.

I was almost taken off my feet when the call for the Afghan Hounds was announced. It amazes me that these people can identify eighteen varieties of spaniel at fifty paces, and here I was trying to determine which end of the Afghan Hound was the front.

If that wasn't disconcerting, a burly Marine in fatigues was walking down the aisle with, of all things, his Chihuahua. The tiny thing wagged its tail at me like we were old friends. I bent down to pat him and asked, "What do you call him?"

"Tank." This said without batting an eyelash. 

I found out the dog was a 'support dog' for an Irish Setter. Who knew? I also found out the dogs are impeccably behaved. Their owners, on the other hand, required considerably more training. I had entered the world of strange customs almost as if I was embedded with an eccentric tribe of dog lovers.

It was time for the competition, so I walked out to the show ring. The first set of dogs out were the Toys. Each one was examined by a judge, teeth, coat, confirmation and then told to trot around the ring. All very professional UNTIL the announcer came on over the loudspeaker and treated every lap around the ring like the Kentucky Derby. Talk about overly enthusiastic, this guy certainly was. I had to wonder if he called races in his spare time.

It was then that it got even weirder for me. I was standing at the entrance to the ring when this well-dressed gent with a Springer Spaniel was making his entrance. He stopped suddenly when he reached me, handed me the leash and said, "Oh no, I've got the runs." And off he ran, leaving me holding the leash. It was then that the announcer called me to the judges' table. I was like WHAT? I pointed at meself and he nodded. What to do? 

I did what I usually do without thinking, I took the dog to the table and lifted him onto it, as I'd seen the handlers do. And, since everyone was assuming I was his professional handler, I found meself fielding questions from the judge. I had no clue how to answer. The ones about grooming techniques and bloodlines, I mumbled me way through. The dog, of course, behaved perfectly; it was I who should have had points taken off. The run around the ring almost filled me with pride, the announcer was very complimentary to ME! Said how I had great form and handled an "exceptional representative of the Spaniel breed.

I was shaking me head in amazement when a teenager who had already had two dogs in competition came out with a third. He was all of 18 and was very serious about his handler role. He was so good with his dogs, you could tell they loved him, which impressed me. Yes, I was thinking he was the most competent person in the building. 

Well, he won in all his competitions: the toy, non-sporting, and herding groups. This was me man. I needed to interview this guy, I told meself, and so I did. 

His name is Johnny Gallagher, and he owns two border collies. The dogs at the show he is the trainer/handler of. He told me about his background and how he got into the "dog circuit," and I was impressed by him. For an eighteen-year-old, he was well spoken, polite and confident. Reminded me of me eldest, he did. 

Just as I was wrapping it up, a scruffy stray dog trotted into the ring. Where it came from, nobody knew. Since I was closest to the dog, the powers that be waved me to try to catch it. I was hoping it didn't bite, and softly called it. It sat down very obediently and wagged its tail as I approached. As soon as I got my hand on its collar, it wiggled around and licked at me hand like it was my dog! The crowd's reaction was phenomenal; they all "ahhed" at us and started clapping. It was just the icing on the cake, so to speak, here a stray mut stole the hearts of the pediagree crowd. 

I did think back home, if your dog wins a competition, you tell the neighbours. Here, they hire a photographer and update the family Christmas card (of which I am in a photo with the owner of the Springer Spaniel and a few others, everyone except the gent in the loo). Won't that be a surprise to some when they ask WHO'S THAT?

Gabe

Copyright © 2026 All rights reserved