A FANCIER ’ S NOTEBOOK
The Glue That Binds Us
SUSI SZEREMY
After a good number of years in the dog fancy , ( I ’ ll concede only that it ’ s more than 30 years , but less than 100 ), I am convinced that the glue binding fanciers together isn ’ t our success stories , but the anecdotes of mishap and mayhem that ultimately end well , or , at least better than they might have . Acts of God , manmade tempests or quirks of human nature are at the root of the stories we share with each other in hospitality rooms , hotel bars and grooming areas . We reminisce with the people who were there when it happened , inspire wide-eyed newbies to silently wonder just what kind of sport they ’ ve gotten themselves into , and share an oral history that proves that whether we are seasoned veterans or sophomores in the sport , “ stuff happens ” to all of us .
Few of us remember which dogs won Best of Breed at Westminster in 2006 , but no one forgets the blizzard that dropped a record-breaking 27 inches of snow on the weekend before the show . Montgomery weekend has always inspired epic mud stories — shoes lost in muck , RVs towed , and handlers and dogs jumping over puddles . Be it snow or mud , everyone at both shows had a tale to tell of horrible weather that came at the worst time and impacted everyone .
A power outage plunges a show into darkness , a fire alarm sends everyone into the street ( unless it ’ s a tornado alarm ; then it ’ s everyone into the nearest restroom ). The edges of a hurricane force an outdoor show to go indoors , often into a structure never intended for a “ down and back .” A Superintendent ’ s truck is stolen the night before a show , and everything needed to hold the show is in it . The narratives are endless .
Occasionally , a story becomes dog show lore . Even fanciers who weren ’ t at Westminster that year heard about Walter Goodman carrying his Skye Terrier over his shoulders in a horrendous snow storm en route to the Garden , his aging mother barely able to keep up in the deep snow . Asked why he didn ' t carry his mother and let the dog walk , he replied , “ I ' m not showing my mother !” His Skye won Best in Show the next night , and we laugh because humor is rooted in truth , and fanciers understand the significance of showing at Westminster .
We giggle at hearing about a rabbit that ran across a ring filled with Borzoi ready to sprint , or of the Pointer that spotted pigeons in the corner of the breed ring and slammed on point only to have every other Pointer in the ring honor the point . We chuckle not so much because the situations are funny ( though they are ), but because the predictability of behavior rooted in
Whether we are seasoned veterans or sophomores ... “ stuff happens ” to all of us .
breed type is an affirmation of why we love our breeds .
Lessons learned in the trenches need not be a group experience to resonate with a spectrum of exhibitors or draw groans of sympathy : The car has been packed to the roof and we ’ re several hours into the trip to a dog show before realizing that we ’ ve forgotten the dog . Maybe we remembered the dog but ruined the only thing we had to wear into the ring . Our “ lucky ” slip falls to our ankles while gaiting the dog , or the entire 45 minutes we spent in the Group ring was with our pants zipper down , flaps open . We walk into a tent pole during a “ triangle ,” or trip over a floor mat and end up sprawled on the floor with our skirt over our head .
Anecdotal evidence of our “ humanness ” isn ’ t limited to exhibitors . Ask a judge who has ever awarded Winners Dog to a bitch , forgotten which dogs he really liked in a huge entry , or failed to table or ramp a breed that should have been . It happens .
Certain breeds lend themselves to potential disaster : White dogs attract children with orange drinks , and black ones often seem to be assigned a grooming spot next to chalked breeds . Coated breeds show on wet grass , giant breeds get small rings and toy breeds get huge ones . Some call this “ Murphy ’ s Law ” — whatever can go wrong will go wrong — but I think it ’ s what earns us our dog show “ chops .” Who wants to sit next to someone at a dinner table for whom everything has gone swimmingly well ? Aren ’ t we more attracted to and learn more from the people who have seen it all and can talk about it with a twinkle in their eye ?
What are we to learn from the moments that go awry ? Are we to become control freaks compelled to orchestrate the in-between moments of showing a dog ? No , but when stuff does happen ( and it will ), as long as no one is hurt , it can ’ t hurt to find the humor of the situation and share it .
When a torrential downpour sent Herding Group exhibitors and their dogs to seek shelter under one small awning at an outdoor show , water that had collected in the fabric burst over the frame and completely drenched the Bearded Collie , a serious contender to win the Group . Well-meaning competitors shared what towels they had with the horrified handler , but when the towels ran out , a disembodied voice called out , “ Use the Puli .” The laughter that erupted carried over into the Group ring , and judging commenced with a merry group of handlers who remember the incident to this day .
The Beardie did win the Group , by the way . DIR
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