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April 8, 2004
Worst in show
If you’re not a pet person, then don’t go beyond this sentence. If you’re only a cat person, then read it until you get bored or irritated. If you’re that person who shoots me an email to tell me how I’m a minion of the devil, then go ahead and do it now because you and I both don’t read what the other writes so it doesn’t matter. If you’re my supervisor then prepare to add another reason on to your list of why I should be transferred to the janitorial department. And finally, if you’re a friend of the dogs, then welcome to my world.
I’ve always figured that dog owners are a breed unto themselves. I’ve heard that after a certain point, a dog owner starts to resemble their dog. I hope this is true because I’d love to look as handsome as either of my Labrador retrievers, even if they’re both male. Quite frankly, you’d want to look like them too: broad shoulders, strong jaw line, thick silky coat, beautiful eyes, great teeth and let’s not forget the gregarious personality. Sure, I’d slobber all over you and not always be able to control my bladder but I’d be stunning and the proud owner of four trophies from the dog show. (He won, I won, same thing.)
You can also tell a person’s insecurities through their dog as I will demonstrate through the following real life incident that took place two months ago. I am now ready to share it, having recovered from the brutally traumatic incident whose scars still remain. Okay. I didn’t have anything else to write about.
B and I are friends who both own one adult Labrador each (she has a female) and their respective puppies (her pup is two weeks older than mine, although he’s considerably older than all dog owners quoted in this column, combined). That is not the only reason B and I are friends but it does form a major part of our ability to understand each other. After B had met my family over the course of a few weeks, she thought I was housebroken enough to be invited to her home to meet her family. (I knew the basics: Stay Muna. Sit Muna. Good girl.)
Imagine for a second now what it would be like if your excitement about going over to meet B and her family is overshadowed at B’s driveway by the sight and then size of the allegedly three-month-old pup who really looked like he was five months old. In the real world, when a person spots any puppy they go all gooey as one does when one sees babies, delighted to be in the presence of something so cute and healthy. But in the dog world — especially amongst dog showing people — it works somewhat differently.
As my friend T drove into the driveway, I glanced at the pup, grabbed T’s arm (as he is still driving in) and screamed (howled might be more appropriate) “that’s the puppy? But it’s so big! How could you not tell me the puppy was huge?” T — completely obvious to the inner workings of dog owners — was caught between reversing the car and dropping me home or getting out and placing me in front of the car and running me over.
As for myself, I was caught somewhere between rolling on the floor in fits of hysteria as I yelled into the air, asking God what I had done to deserve my obviously scrawny puppy at home or making a run for it with B’s pup in tow. (I would have given him back. Maybe. Not. Ever.)
As I parked myself on the driveway, greeting B’s dogs (cleverly examining the puppy’s paws, teeth, ears and chest size), I could hear T trying to introduce me to B’s brother. At the nnth “MUNA!” (and what I swear was a string of threats involving my puppy at home) I got up to greet (hiss) at my hosts, and followed them into the house, a dog attached to each leg in tow.
I knew immediately that this was not an evening of pleasure. It was an act of war. Puppy owner versus puppy owner. Dignities were at stake here. Okay, my dignity was at stake. B’s brother was clearly riding high on the success of his overgrown puppy.
As we sat in the living room, making pleasantries (how much calcium do you give your dog?) I tried to develop a strategy. Should I get rid of that mutt of a puppy that would shame me in the ring or should I ensure that B’s beast of a puppy is disqualified from entering the dog show, junior league? But because my nature is inherently a fair one, I gave up 10 minutes into this self-proclaimed ordeal and decided that when the time for the dog show comes, the better dog should win. Clearly that dog would be B’s pup.
So as you can see, I accepted defeat with a maturity that should be lauded, even if I have to do it myself. However, I didn’t do this magnanimous act before going into the other room and calling my father and blaming this entirely on him because I actually never wanted the pup we eventually got. I wanted one of B’s pups originally but my father wanted to get our elder dog’s son because apparently it’s my fault that I haven’t given him grandchildren and our puppy is the closest thing he has to a grandchild.
As a postscript I’d like to add that it has been two months since I have seen B’s pup. A lot of growing has taken place since, and I’m referring to dogs’ heights and not my maturity level. It is time to settle scores, once and for all, in the ring. May the best dog win. And it better be mine.
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