I don’t know about you, but I’m a lifer. I was raised around kennels that bred, raised and trained for the show ring. Ever since I was a kid, I loved the risk, the crowd and the drama. I loved the competition, the challenge of outwitting other kennels — and I definitely loved the showmanship. Diplomacy didn’t always come easy, nor patience. But I worked on those things. Even though (sometimes) it felt like a full-time job.
Dog shows were my circus and my theater, complete with their version of directors, producers and stars. I looked forward to my excursions into the dog show world. I was treated well by the dog show crowd. I was treated like a grown up, privy to their conversations, their gossip and ideas that would curl the hair of kids back home. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that the quality of a dog had something to do with the level of acceptance you enjoyed (or were excluded from sometimes), but that was OK with me. Just like the entertainer Star Jones when she was recently fired from the popular TV show (The View) on which she appeared for nine years, I accepted such things as “business.” The better the dog, naturally, the greater your acceptance would be into the higher echelons of the game, I also accepted an unwritten code that there were limits to such acceptance. If your dog was tooooo good, WATCH OUT!
As might be expected, my knowledge of relationships (and their many varieties) took shape at dog shows, too. Certainly, I wasn’t going to learn near as much in the sheltered farming community where I grew up and, needless to say, my school teachers soon found out about it. I still remember my English teacher squirming in her seat as she flipped through the steamy pages of my first attempt at a novel. I had used a few words not encouraged in polite church society and I guess I knew them pretty well. It wasn’t long before I was on a “watch list” among the teachers . . . but that didn’t keep some of the biggest publishing houses in the country from sending me contracts. And it didn’t keep David Merrick, the Broadway producer, from striking up a long-term correspondence with me. I was ready for the big time! Of course, back then, anyone who knew me could tell you this kid was ready for the big time from the minute he was born.
I wanted to quit school and get on with my life. I wanted to get on with it now!
Needless to say, it didn’t turn out that way. I can’t tell you the number of spiritual advisors and counselors I was taken to before Mom and Dad decided to “go with the flow” and let their son follow his own mind. Not only did they encourage me to “find myself” in this mixed up world, but Dad gave me some of the best advice anyone ever could, and I took it to heart. He said: “Take twenty years and try everything you really want to do. Live it all and go as far as you can. Then, you write about it, Ron.” All he asked in return was that I finish school. It was the best advice — and the most openhearted — anyone could give to a sixteen year old boy — and I made the promise. Those publishers would just have to hold their contracts and wait for the next Harold Robbins to finish school and grow up, I decided.
Was it the right decision? I don’t know. The market was right for steamy novels, but “steam” is always best when it warms us from head to toe. When it comes to “sizzle” I think the public is wiser today than ever. I think readers (and viewers) have discovered that, like many other things, “sizzle” is part of life . . . but not all of it. And, just like a special color in a painting, it is brightened by all the other colors making the composition.
There I go, talking like an artist again. Well, blame it on dog shows because that’s where I really learned about natural colors (OK, OK, not always natural) and how they are a blend of far more than we might, at first glance, imagine. Opportunities, too, weren’t always what they seemed to be at first glance, I found, but like a painting or a novel, it was up to you to help them along. You had to get out there. You had to jump into life and do things like going to dog shows. You had to keep busy, trying to get somewhere in what you love. If you could do that, I discovered, “something” (call it a bright energy, if you like) would take over. It would surround you. People could “see” it. They could sense it. And they are attracted to it.
Dog shows make it possible for us to get ahead in a way that other things just can’t. If some of my novels are for grown ups, well, that’s because grown ups, not kids, are the movers and shakers of the dog show world, and I guess that’s how it will always be.
When it comes to dog shows, nothing else can link you up with such a broad network of people who care about the same things you do, or give you such friendships that will last a lifetime. Maybe dog lovers aren’t all saints. Maybe we fight and gossip and rip each other apart when somebody’s back is turned. But, after a while, these things lose their importance. Why does that happen? It happens because no matter what language we speak, what religion we take to heart, or what politics we follow, nothing else can stir our passions — nothing can break down the walls that divide us — like our great admiration for beautiful dogs showing the world what they can be. Sizzle? There’s plenty of “sizzle” at dog shows. Just look behind the scenes!