I don’t know about you, but there are times when I just can’t take the tension of a show. All the work, all the planning, all the scheming, fighting, back-biting, clawing … no wonder I’m tired by the time the show comes around!

I mean, it takes a lot out of a guy to do all that. Right?

Like the rest of you, when I started out in shows, I was as innocent as a church-going, apple pie loving farm boy can get. I had my favorite stories like Ol’ Yeller, and the ones about the Irish Setters and the mountain kid who works in the rich neighbor’s kennel, and – just like you – I memorized all those Terhune stories by heart.

Remember Glure, the cheating neighbor with the fancy show kennel? (How come so many of those stories had evil neighbors?) Remember how he bought his champions, but our hero, “The Master” and his beautiful but sickly wife “The Mistress” … they raised their own?

I remember. I remember how much I loved those puppies from Sunnybank. I loved them just as much as the Master loved them – or, at least, I imagined I did.

And I was just as stirred up when it came to beating Glure at the big dog show. “Come on, Lad! You can do it! Come on, boy!”

Oh, those were the stories … those were the times. Dog shows were playing fields where the good guys and the bad guys could duke it out – and get away with it. The dogs knew – they knew what their owners were like – and they fought it out in the show ring like boxers in front of a referee.

Suspense … sweat … tears … Tension!

So, there I was – hottest days of the year – every humid breath telling me it could be my last. Yeah, I thought: My last breath ever taken in this god-forsaken place. I’m doing this show and I’m outta here!

Water? I could have made my fortune ten times over selling water that day. Electrolytes for the dog, more water. Water! Water! Water! Hey you, in the vender’s stand, I hollered, taking out my wallet. Hand me one of those cooler things you wrap around your neck. Red? Yellow? Are you crazy? Don’t you know this s a dog show??? Give me the BLUE one – and step on it!

Ahhhhh! That’s great! Keep the change ….

I watch the clock and pace the floor. Are we ready? What do I know about this judge? Why am I putting my dog’s fate in the hands of one person this way? Why am I allowing the decision of one person – a perfect stranger – to affect me like this?

Am I not a grown up? Am I so emotionally insecure that I need strangers to decide how good my dog is? Why is the worth of my dog being measured against descriptions that he can’t do anything about? Dogs can’t feel the breed standard against which they are being compared … can they?

I don’t have the answers to all these questions as I wait for the class to be called. In the bitter smell of dog shows, I pace the floor. Careful to watch my step, I prepare myself to win or lose. Winning is wonderful, I tell myself. Winning is proof to the world that my dog is good … that the decisions made for him along the way were smart and right … that the judge is wise and experienced. Losing? Let’s not think about that right now.

But, a small part of me does think about it. A small part of me goes all the way back to school, and gym class, and standing in line, side by side, facing captains picking who they wanted on their teams … and who they didn’t.

Suddenly, I stop pacing.

Ready or not, the class is being called. I look at my dog and consider how good it feels when the judge gives us the nod . . . .

I rehearse all the excuses I’ve given when we lose ….

I realize, things have changed from high school.

This time, I’m not standing alone.