Buster's Awesome Dog Show Adventure

Ahhh.....This is Buster, and I'm SO SORRY for neglecting my blog buddies! Things have been really busy around here, and my mom has had me out relentlessly campaigning in the dog show scene. Ever see "BEST IN SHOW?" The reality is even stranger!




Here it is, folks! The Atlantic City of Dogdom. The Cotillion of Canines. I was practicing my lines..."I just want to work for World Peace..." Then mom reminded me that the judges didn't care about my intellect. Just my teeth. And other parts.



In this case, the venue appeared to have been the gracious Hudson River estate of that late paragon of Capitalist excess, Mr. Jay Gould. May he rest in peace. But his estate--Lyndhurst--was kinda cool. Add a few hundred sheep, and you'd have a terrier paradise.



Here's the routine: You jump up onto the grooming table and snarl at the Bichon Frise next door. This combing and primping takes lots of patience. Yuck! I'd rather be eating a possum.





The idea is to trot gracefully around the ring in front of the judge and try to keep your human from tripping or wandering off. This is hard work.



There are LOTS of different breeds of dog at these events. And if you think the dogs are exotic, you oughta see the people!



There are airedale people...



And kerry blue people. They tend to be a bit clannish and intense. Not like the hound owners, who just sit back dreaming of bass fishing and bourbon.



Some dogs are downright beautiful. I'd like to take her home.




And her, too! Those Aussie lasses are something... Makes ya want to sip warm Foster's lager.




The little bearded guys kept to themselves and guarded their owners like crazed velociraptors with elephantine tongues.



Speaking of tongues, mine kept getting pretty dry! Mom was right there with the spritzer bottle. It was a hot afternoon, and I had to be in good form.




It's funny how many different shapes and sizes of dog there are! You humans all look alike to me, but there are as many varieties of Canis Familiaris as there are fundamental particles in the known universe.




Didn't I see this little guy at the Target store?



I asked this fellow what sort of dog he was. He said, "Massive." He was right, but mom corrected me. What's a "mastiff?"




There were places to buy all sorts of stuff! Grooming scissors! Toys! Hot dogs!



The Sheep-Herding Professionals had that look of goofy merriment. I always wondered what pub they frequented.





There was Jay Gould's Gothic castle, complete with gargoyles and probably a private army of Longbowmen.





Rolling lawns...



An arboretum that would put Her Majesty, Queen Victoria to shame. Dad kept singing the "Internationale." It was so embarrassing.




Just before "going on," pandemonium reigns! Not a hair out of place--and don't drool! Mom's a real pain about "presentation." I wanna play in the mud!




Okay--I think I can do this!




I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.



Wow, ain't I handsome? I wonder if that Aussie chick is watching...



The only problem is, they don't give you, well, USEFUL stuff. Like chicken necks. Or squeaky toys. Or a nice dead skunk. What am I gonna do with these?