Best in Show
The smell of hockey pads dissipated and was replaced with fur, the parking lot littered with crates, and RVs spilled into the adjacent rugby field at Mennen Area in Morristown, NJ for the Twin Brooks Kennel Club All-Breed Dog Show—my first dog show. The rink greeted me with a pleasant exhale of soggy dog breath, like one giant refrigerated kennel.
The arena holds 2,500 blue and yellow plastic seats ascending on either side, met by a faded mustard yellow cement wall, topped off with high school hockey banners wrapping the rink. Approximately 400 dogs were competing that day, first in their respective breed categories, then groups, and finally, the coveted Best in Show.
I wandered over to the grooming area at the far end of the rink underneath the scoreboard. A large white poodle was undergoing its THREE-HOUR hair and makeup session. It’s pom-poms freshly buzzed to perfection and hair spray wafting in the air, its owner was busy taming its top tuft of pluming hair, blinding the poodle to all the ridiculousness. The scene likened itself to the beauty parlor from Legally Blonde, or maybe I’m hung up on Jennifer Coolidge and Rhapsody in White, her dog in my favorite movie, “Best In Show”. Some groomers were professionals hired to work on dogs, while others, long time breeders, obsessed over their prized pups.
According to the American Veterinary Medical Association, the number of dog owning households has nearly doubled since 1996, from 31.3M to 59.8M. That means roughly forty-five percent of US households own a dog. I became a dog owner this February, rescuing an adorable mutt named Balthazar, found on the streets of Louisiana, who on the ride home, my wife and I renamed to Blue. In five short months of dog ownership, I can begin to understand the fanatical behavior towards one’s pet. My camera roll is now filled with Blue sitting in a creek or chewing on a stick. I speak to him with more affection than I do to my wife and tend to prioritize his needs over ours.
Moving through the grooming area, I met two West Highland White Terriers perched on their stands, tethered, anxiously awaiting their pre-show rituals. Surfer, a 10-month-old Westy, was from an IVF litter. That can’t be a thing, can it? I quickly learned another nearby Westy underwent the same process, who’s owner remarked that IVF helped maintain his uninterrupted bloodline. What have I gotten myself into? Should I freeze Blue’s sperm? Does he even have sperm anymore? Is “fixed” politically correct?
I don’t know if I’d have the same perspective and openness without my experience as a dog owner, albeit limited. One Chow Chow owner explained he spends 200 days a year on the road, and I don’t think he’s an outlier. That’s Taylor Swift Era’s Tour kind of numbers. But I see the allure. All walks of life, shapes and sizes congregating for a few hours in a poorly lit ailing hockey complex to share stories, techniques, and a few good belly rubs. They’re spending time with their loved ones, who happen to reciprocate unconditionally. It’s not about the ribbons, since even in defeat the tails wag on.