The Show

LWP Oct. 24, 2007
Sbrowder
PLACE - “The Show”
I was eleven, fatherless and dogless. The death of my daddy had left me melancholy and slow moving. The death of my dog, left me lost. My face was stony and bare of life. I did not respond to much, nor cared what came and went in my life.
I moved through my life like a sleep walker. In my head I was waiting for my daddy to walk in the front door returning from one of his many business trips. Similarly, I expected to find my little dog waiting to be let in at the back door. Neither thing ever happened.
My mother was desperate to fill the craters in my heart or to fan some ember of interest that would spark some life back into her only child. The distraction had to be large enough to engulf all my senses. She took me to my first dog show.
A dog lover to the bone, I had read every book in our small public library concerning canines. I consumed fiction and nonfiction with equal fervor. So as my mother and I stepped into the huge convention center that Sunday morning, my ears ringing with the barking of over six hundred dogs, I
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escaped my gloomy existence. Sadness slipped from me like a discarded
backpack of rocks. I had found a place full of the animals I knew and loved the most.
My hand slipped from my mother’s hand as I began to wander around this new land like Dorothy in the land of OZ. For me, this place was a wonderland with the whole day spread out before me to explore all its vastness. My mother gave it to me like a gift.
The area was packed with show rings and grooming areas, exhibitors and spectators, venders, and food areas, cages and pens and of course dogs of every breed. Everything seemed to be happening at once without apparent order. My eyes were wide. I don’t remember breathing. I hardly knew where to begin, but truly, only leaving would be the hard thing to do.
I started with the area set aside for preparing the dogs to be shown. Here were cages for dogs waiting to be groomed or to be exhibited and pens of puppies hopping on little hind legs as I approached them. They greeted me with pink-tongued kisses. Their pungent, warm, puppy breath reminded me of one of my favorite smells - like the smell of a stable or the smell of a well-warn saddle, these smells, not perfumed but natural, resonate deep within our brains.
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There were long-haired, short-haired, black, white, spotted, short , tall,
smooth faced and whiskered. I could name all the breeds. It was if I had walked into a living world of all the books I had read.
Here the floors were strewn with little bits of dog hair snipped and scissor by expert groomers. Their dogs stood or laid quietly atop small tables with shinny chrome legs. Tack boxes nearby were filled with all sorts of equipment - powders, leashes, collars, sprays, combs and brushes.
I was fearless in approaching these groomers and their dogs. In fact, I moved about the building listening and watching the handlers, stewards, and judges as if I were a protégé. I wiggled my way through spectators and handlers and their dogs, determined to see it all up close. There were bleachers for people to sit and watch, but I was on the move. I had to see the prancing dogs like beauty queens strutting the runways. I had to hear the comments of the exhibitors as they waited their turn - “Just look at that rear drive and far reaching front gait.” ‘The head-piece on that dog is sure to put him in the top four ribbons.” “That lack of turn of stifle and long hock, will certainly not be that judges pick.”
I knew this language and these terms. I could see good foot placement. I knew a fine head-piece when I saw it. I was in my element.
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The square shaped show rings were roped off with orange colored cords.
Slick cement floors were outlined with black, rubber matting so that handles and dogs could keep their footing. Over-head lighting reflected of the dogs glittering coats. Each dog was glowing with a regal air. No hair was out of place. Each dog was a star!
I was close enough to the rings to not only see the beautiful dogs standing at attention but also to feel the breeze created as they and their handlers gaited past. The odor of their coat polish mingled with their natural doggie odor in a way that no mutt of mine had ever smelled.
Along one whole side of the crowded, noisy, building were rows of booths selling every kind of fitment a dog could need or an owner would want. Dog bowls, rainbow colors of leashes and collars to match, brushes, combs, pillows and bones, dog toys, figurines, pictures and books galore of all things dog. I fingered it all, while the venders explained and hawked their wares.
As I meandered my way around the exhibition hall, I began to look for my favorite breed - Collies - Lassie look-alikes. When I found them in one section of the grooming area, I gazed spellbound. Here in fit form was the breed I had always dreamed of having as my own. My parents had always
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put me off by saying that Lassie dogs were roamers, which required a large
fenced yard. They also said that they were a heavy coated dog which required endless brushing, which produced tons of shed hair. My dream of owning a collie was stunted. I had never been this close to a collie and yet I was far away from my dream.
But here in this magical land of dogs, far over in a quiet corner was the solution to my parents reluctance to owning a large hairy dog. They were called Shetland Sheepdogs - a miniature version of the larger Scottish Collie. Here was my “new’ dream.
I asked the breeder/owner of this diminutive breed every question I could think of concerning their care and training. The kind lady was pleased in my interest and patient with my questions. There could be no objection to these little dogs.
I rushed to find my mother, who had long since given up on keeping up with me. When I found her, I grabbed her hand pulling her through the throngs to the pen of shelties. My mother regarded both the dogs and the light in my eyes. It was a match. She had found what she needed to bring her daughter back to life.
She purchased a catalog showing all the breeds entered that day. It listed
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their classes and the ring times of when they would be shown. But best of all it listed the owners and their addresses. I knew that this book would connect me to my very own Sheltie puppy one day.
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That place, that one day, became the hobby that captured my fancy off and on till this day. At almost sixty my backyard is a play ground for two beautiful Collies. Shelties have come and gone. I have shown a few. But as an adult I went back to my first love - Collies. Having grown up reading “Lassie Come Home” at least ten times and all the Sunnybank “Lad a Dog” books, Collies have remained my steadfast companions.
That place, that first dog show pulled me away from grief and into possibilities. The ancient sport of showing dogs gave me a life-long hobby. We have traveled to many shows around the country and each time I walk into the show building, I am greeted with the same pungent odors, frenzied barking and the bustling ordered chaos of that first show so long ago.