Watching the dog show on Thanksgiving is like watching the red carpet coverage for the Oscars, you never know what kind of elegant, over the top, or worst dressed accoutrement will prance, hover, or cavort into the spotlight.
The cat owner in me wishes that some mewling, hissing, Pinky-esque feline competition existed, but to be perfectly honest, canines win for form fluctuations and doggy diversity. Just the pups posing makes for a visual cornucopia, but when their skirt-and-sneaker handlers parade them around is when the real fun starts.
Contrast is classic funny. This year’s Best in Show featured a laughable pairing of a compact, sprightly, Wire Fox Terrier with a handler of rotund, clomping proportions. I’d trot and scoot if that were chasing me too, and gracious, could this dog move. His front legs locked and scissored with impressive purpose like water witching sticks. He had the most remarkable groomage – his limbs belling and tapering like a chiffon blouse and a perfectly enviable stache that would make Deadwood denizens swoon.
The Affenpinscher, a little black dust bunny of a dog perfected the skitter, his little legs blurring him into a millipede of poofed fluff. His dainty pink tongue lolled below his epic coiffure making him for all the world look like the love child of Sonic the Hedgehog and The Lorax.
The Lhasa Apso channeled quite proficiently a fringed footstool on roller skates. It’s handler was constantly brushing, fussing and primping his long silky shaggage. The scene transported me back in time to when my mom used to arrange my dress bows just so before sending me out in the world…or chasing me with a squirt bottle to smooth out the chunk of hair I cut out with crayola safety scissors with my cousin. Somehow I thought Madre wouldn’t notice my bowl bangs had suddenly transformed into the silhouette of a castle battlement.
I didn’t actually catch the presentation of the Afghan hound, but I sought out the beast post show to reacquaint myself with it’s freakish possum tail, the Norma Desmond posturing, and the Fabio hair-don’t. A narrative begs to be written about this elaborate canine, but alas, for another time. As Uncle Wiggly used to say: If you’re good, and the camel doesn’t loose his hump, I’ll tell you next time about the story of the princesses’ shoes…