Dog show. Perhaps those two words conjure up images of historic Westminster or the AKC/Royal Canin annual Orlando, Florida extravaganza. Spacious halls. Generous sized rings. Judges and exhibitors dressed in their best. Glitz and glamour. Everything on time and flowing as smooth as syrup.
But not all dog shows are so blessed. For some, cursed is more like it. Some years ago there was a memorable show in Sarasota. Ordinarily, the polo grounds would have been an ideal site but heavy storms lashed the area and the grounds, already saturated by earlier rains, turned into a quagmire better suited to swamp buggy races than dog shows. Oozing, mucky, shoe-sucking mud, churned into ruts and depressions by golf carts, crate trolleys and hundreds of paws and footwear made for a treacherous pathway to the rings. The rings themselves were almost as bad. Samoyeds, Great Pyrenees and other furry-footed breeds arrived at ringside draped around their handlers’ shoulders in an effort to at least enter the ring in pristine condition. But for all the Herculean efforts, the dogs remained clean for approximately ten feet or ten seconds, whichever came first. After that, it was a lost cause as dogs and handlers sloshed through the mire. The Maltese entry declared their ring a disaster area and withdrew en masse. In a terrier ring, the judge kindly tried placing dogs on the one relatively dry area only to discover it was already occupied by an army of fire ants, insidious insects with savage biting power. An entry of unsuspecting Wheatens suddenly began dancing about like an out-of-step chorus line as the fire ants went into attack mode.
To add to the misery, damp and bone-chilling winds whipped over the site. Overcoats and trench coats were the uniforms of the day for most judges, several of whom had probably looked forward to judging in the warm Florida sun. Suffering ring stewards were so bundled up they resembled an army of Michelin men as they handed out arm bands and marked placings with numb fingers.
“Even so, it’s not the worst show I’ve ever been to,” remarked one of the vendors at the show as he surveyed the soggy scene before him. “I’d place it third or fourth.” “So tell me about these others,” I suggested, leaning against his counter in order to dislodge a clump of mud the size of Connecticut from my left shoe. Having survived seven hours of judging in sub-human conditions, the idea there had been worse shows was intriguing. “Well,” he immediately replied, “I remember one Montgomery County show that ran quite late and it started snowing hard. The daylight faded fast and they finished up the group judging with a bunch of car headlights aimed at the ring to provide the lighting. The blustering way the snow was coming down, visibility was really limited. I knew the Westie wouldn’t score at the show because you couldn’t even see him.”
“And not all the bad weather happens outdoors,” he continued. “One year at Harrisburg (PA) some overhead pipes broke in the arena and flooded the rings. The Chessies, Labs and Porties enjoyed it but no one else was happy about the situation. Then there was Grand Rapids, Michigan, where the lights went off for several hours. And I’ll never forget New Orleans! I should have known something was wrong when only three vendors showed up. The show was inside but the vendors were outside and it was freezing out there. Even my best friend wouldn’t come out to say hello. I only made two sales for the entire show.”
By this time, a vendor from the adjoining booth joined in the conversation with some stories of her own. “Do you remember Old Dominion about eight years ago? Talk about mud! I think the only vehicle that left the grounds under its own power was the tow truck. Absolutely everyone had to be towed out! And how about that tornado that hit Waukesha a couple of years ago? Some of those pop-up frame tents were so twisted they looked like aluminum foil. Then there was the Edwardsville, Illinois show where lightning struck one of the show supervisors. He recovered but it sure was a shocking experience.”
A passerby stopped at the booth to join the conversation and chimed in with the tale of a north Florida show inundated by a sudden horrendous downpour. RVs were mired on the grounds and the local tow truck operator was positively gleeful. Charging gouging prices, he envisioned making enough to retire from one afternoon’s work. That is, until he got stuck. Then the gougees all had a good laugh while he sputtered and stomped in anger and finally had to call in another tow truck to haul his rig out.
The fates are always ready to throw a monkey wrench into the works of the most carefully planned shows and that wrench is often in the form of violent weather. Back in 1992, Credit Valley, one of Canada’s largest shows, had moved into Toronto’s Sky Dome for the first time. An immobilizing blizzard struck not only the city but right throughout the eastern portion of Canada and the U.S. Airports closed down and highways were impassable. About one third of the exhibitors never made it to the shows. Judges were stranded at airports all over North America. “We were literally picking judges out of the stands,” recalled the show chair. Headaches mounted as the Credit Valley crew juggled scheduling to allow late arriving judges to still handle assignments. They attempted to locate missing judges to learn if they’d still be attending or whether it was better to just head home. In addition, many of the Sky Dome employees couldn’t leave and their replacements couldn’t arrive to take over. “Waits in the restaurants were incredible,” according to the show chair, “and the staff was dead on its feet.” The hoped-for spectator gate was virtually non-existent. Those who actually made it to the show were rewarded with comfortable surroundings and an impeccable show site inside while the blizzard raged outside.
Credit Valley had another unpleasant surprise in store a few years later when early arrivals to the Sky Dome found a veritable fountain spouting 30 or 40 feet in the air in the center of the arena. Burst water pipes had caused the added attraction to the show site.
Rain in its many variations has caused more than its share of problems from mud to flood at outdoor shows. Decades later, exhibitors still recall the flood at Ballston Spa in upper New York State. One Briard exhibitor who was camping in her van, had originally left her dog outside in his crate when she turned in for the night. Waking to check on her dog, she found the water had risen to the point where it was beginning to run into the crate so she brought her soggy canine inside. By morning, the storm had dumped so much water that the ex-pen was all but submerged and her dog’s favorite toy, a small plastic boat, sailed round and round inside the pen, propelled by the raindrops.
Most rain falls outside but there was one instance where it rained indoors (and on a sunny day too). That was the case for St.Catherine’s (Ontario, Canada) show back in the 1980s. Pressed for a show site, the club decided to rent a giant tent to house their April shows. It was erected on a parking lot and the surface was covered by plastic astro turf. As the morning sun beamed down on the tent top, condensation form which drizzled down steadily into the rings. Unlike natural grass, the artificial turf held the water, making the surface slippery. Exhibitors were sliding and falling like small boats in a storm.
The Aurora and District K.C. had the same problem but excess moisture came from below rather than from above. Like many other Canadian shows, the venue was a hockey rink. The hockey season ran past its regular time due to play-offs so the ice was only removed the day before the show. The combination of cold cement and warm May weather caused the floor to sweat copiously resulting in acrobatic maneuvers and painful falls.
My vote for the worst show conditions goes to an event near St. Augustine, Florida, about a decade or more ago. The first clue of what was ahead happened when sleet began to pelt the van’s windshield on the way to the site. On arrival, things proceeded to get worse. The show was held mainly in an open pavilion with wind, rain, some sleet and frigid temps slamming the site. Despite having lived in Canada for 22 years, I can’t remember ever being so cold and miserable. Ever try handing out arm bands while wearing two pairs of mittens? Propane heaters fought a losing battle with their heat extending no more than three feet. There’s the saying that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. If true, show stewards (and judges) must be some of the toughest people on planet earth.
— Alice Bixler, alice@bedlamkennels.com
