Sidebars This Dog’s Life….By Bob Sanders
I want to come off as neither a snob nor a whistle blower, but I guess my observations are significant enough to warrant those risks. I figure you deserve to know what goes on behind the scenes at the recently concluded Westminster Kennel Club event at Madison Square Garden. Oh, yes. I know about these things. I’m a dog.
Not just any dog. My name is Gemstone Spoiled to Perfection but my best friends call me Pixie. I was one of five Bichon Frises invited to participate in the 133rd competition of that American rarity, an unsullied sport. With New York Yankee Alex Rodriguez admitting the use of steroids, I’m proud to point out that the Westminster Kennel Club Show has yet to be disgraced by charges of steroid use although rumors persist regarding how two years ago a judge was smitten by the Botox lips of a standard French poodle from Santa Barbara. We often refer to her as the Angelina Jolie of the canine world.
It may be that you are relatively unaware of the Bichon Frise. We are a proud breed of Mediterranean ancestry whose origins predate the birth of Christ. The dog you see today is the Tenerife Bichon named after one of the Canary Islands. We are happy, playful and mischievous.
It’s not easy being a show dog. Unless one achieves the kind of stardom possible at Madison Square Garden, it’s something like being a model at a Milan style show. There are big bucks involved and the dog business is a $43 billion industry. We competitors are there for various reasons and getting you to buy a dog that looks like one of us goes paw in paw with what we’re about. You probably think we’re a spoiled lot having nibbles tossed at us while we’re strutting about, but think again. Some of the judges are really weird and grope us unmercifully.
Further, there’s the matter of fitness. We’re all on strict diets and I wish I could say the same for the handlers, some of whom look like they’ve been dining exclusively on Krispy Kreme doughnuts for at least 10 years. Oh, what I’d give to put my incisors into just one Krispy Kreme.
I know a lot of you are puzzled by the handlers and their appearance. It is absolutely untrue that many of the women’s clothes are designed by the same guy who did pioneer dresses for the Mormon women found last year in the Yearning for Zion Ranch in Texas. The truth is that the Westminster is all about dogs and not people. Paris Hilton would be a distraction and decidedly less than de rigueur. The same goes for men who run around panting in tuxedos from college days. I swear one judge wears something that looks very much like what baseball umpires wore 75 years ago.
Strange things happened when I was handled by an amateur at a charity event. Some genius decided I should be paired with one of Hugh Hefner’s “Girls Next Door.” It was a disaster. First, she draped a garish chained Playboy logo around my neck and walked me around Hefner’s swimming pool. The next I knew, she had me in a bikini, then tossed me in the pool. Thank goodness I’m a good swimmer. Oh, yes. While in Southern California, the big canine buzz indicated Disney is considering filming a feature whose working title is “Desperate Housedogs.”
At the Big Apple event, we dogs stay at the Hotel Pennsylvania where they have a doggie concierge. I understand the Glenn Miller Orchestra used to play gigs there with great regularity back in the 30s and 40s. One of the Miller instrumentals was a catchy tune called “Pennsylvania 6-5000,” the hotel’s phone number. Those days and that phone number are gone forever.
In truth, I don’t enjoy staying in one of the Hotel Pennsylvania’s 1,700 rooms although it’s certainly convenient to Madison Square Garden. Sometimes I fantasize about checking into The Plaza where Eloise used to live. Boy, would I have fun at The Plaza! I can see myself checking out the Oak Room, one of New York’s great bars where CEOs and bankers hang out, perhaps searching for moral compasses. Oh, look! There’s Bernard Madoff, the Ponzi schemer still at large. I’ll just sidle up and pee all over his Pradas--maybe get some on his Brioni trousers.
Another of my beefs is with the name of the category in which all Bichon-Frises must compete. It’s called Non-Sporting and the name is a joke well-understood by the dog world. It’s a catch-all category and the very fact that such dissimilar breeds as the bulldog and the Dalmatian compete against each other is proof enough. On the other hand, it could be a break since the most obvious place for us would be in the Terrier Group. The trouble is that terriers have won the Westminster 44 times in 133 years.
Speaking of the Terrier Group, did you catch the judge doing that impression of Donald Duck? Apparently an attempt to determine canine calmness in the face of strange noises (he also whistled, gurgled and chortled), it’s a cheap shot in my opinion. Maybe the judge was auditioning for the David Letterman show? Can U-Tube be far behind?
Only one Bichon has won Westminster’s top prize. That was J.R. in 2001. In the run-up to his victory was an accumulation of 158 Non-Sporting wins on the road in 2000, the most by any dog ever. He lost but nine times that year and was named Best in Show 77 times. J.R. has a fantastic personality and I think I’m in love with him.
The Westminster Kennel Dog Show is certainly the canine world’s premier event and it was good to see Madison Square Garden sold out. As you may know, this is the time of year when the New York Knicks play even worse basketball than earlier in their pathetic seasons. I guess there are dogs and then there are dogs.
Oh, yes. I finished fourth in Non-Sporting, a hickey on my ear not helping. Wait ‘til next year.
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