At Madison Square Garden basketball games, fans yell things angrily, like “BOO!” or “GET THE BALL!” At the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, the crowd collectively yells, “Awwwwww!”
“Excuse me, is that Wasabi?” I asked the man in the tuxedo cradling a majestic Pekingese.
“Oh, haha, no,” he replied, his tone making it clear I should have known.
“This is one of Wasabi’s relatives, though!” he added.
“Oh! Well, I can see the resemblance,” I said confidently.
“Can’t you?” he beamed, boasting about how the dog had Wasabi’s (the 2021 Best in Show) nose pigmentation.
It was then I realized—no, I actually could not see the resemblance. At least, not in the same way people at Westminster could. To me, this dog looked like a fluffy, walking ottoman. That was the resemblance!
It was my first dog show.
“They’re all Best in Show, right?!” I joked to another human competitor a few moments later.
“Well, actually…” she corrected, before explaining that no, some dogs (for example, her dog) were superior. And there were objective, measurable standards proving this! Of course, I’d always known that everyone thinks their dog is “the best dog.” I’d just never been to a place where humans were fiercely trying to prove it. Out of 2,500 canine competitors, only one would.
At Westminster, dogs aren’t judged against each other but against the ideal version of their breed—the breed standard. Judges examine everything. The floof must floof at an obtuse angle! That underbite must be pronounced but not exaggerated! The bulldog should look grumpy! But not too grumpy! The ears must fall like a silk velvet curtain! I met one owner whose dog did not make the cut because he wouldn’t put his ears up, so he wasn’t “expressive” enough.
“What?!” I gasped, petting her tiny Chihuahua. “That’s incredibly judgmental!”
“Well, yes. They are judges.” she reminded me.
If it sounds like the humans here are obsessed with doggy perfection—they are. (And honestly, if we’re breeding dogs, we really should be demanding this level of perfectionism and care. But that’s a discussion for another day.) Battery-powered fans are placed in front of the dogs to eliminate slobber. Cooling pads help stop excessive panting. There is hairspray. So much hairspray. Chi straighteners! One man I met was in the final round of trimming his terrier’s beard. Final round? I asked. How many rounds could there be?
At one point, I made the mistake of telling someone their dog looked like my dog, Bette—a rescue cattle dog mutt. I quickly realized that resembling a mutt was not the look people at Westminster were going for. But the more I watched, the more I realized that—like actors in show business—some of these dogs really did possess more charisma than others.
The first time I saw Comet, I noticed him from across the room. Which is saying a lot, considering the room was the size of a Costco, there were thousands of dogs, and he was barely nine and a half inches (the breed standard) from the ground. When I approached, I didn’t even want to touch him. Of course, he did just have his hair straightened, and it was impeccably silky. But he was also basically an emperor! I’d seen countless Shih Tzus in my life. I’d never seen a dog like Comet. This dog! I thought. He will be Best in Show!
I watched as Comet floated across the floor with the other Toy Dogs, his hair so long and silky you couldn’t even see his legs. He looked like a little ghost hovering in front of the crowd. Only one dog from the Toy group could advance to the Best in Show round. When the judge selected Comet to advance, I was hardly even surprised.
“YES!” I cheered. “COMET IS GOING TO WIN. LOOK HOW HE GLIDES ACROSS THE FLOOR. IT’S LIKE HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE LEGS! BUT HE DOES HAVE LEGS! AND THEY’RE EXACTLY THE HEIGHT THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO BE!! COMET IS GOING TO WIN! HE WILL BE BEST IN SH–”
Wait, what? It’s Monty? The Giant Schnauzer? I gasped. It’s not Comet?!
I felt like Taylor Swift at the most recent Super Bowl—shocked and confused.
But then I was quickly stunned by my own disappointment. Wow, what is wrong with me? I’d gone from thinking all the dogs were the best dogs to thinking this Shih Tzu was robbed! Who am I? Wow! Sorry, Monty!! Good boy, Monty! Yay, Schnauzers! Congratulations, Germany! I clapped.
The next day, Monty woke up and did what Best in Show dogs do in New York City: TV appearances, ate a steak from a Michelin-starred chef at Bar Boulin, and sniffed from the top of the Empire State Building. Meanwhile, my dog and I woke up in our tiny Manhattan apartment. It was snowing in the city, and normally, I’d limit our walk to a quick, annoyed, DO WE REALLY HAVE TO GO OUT THERE walk. But today, I couldn’t stop thinking about the dog show. I liked how that’s what it was: people showing off their dogs. People were proud of their dogs.
Sure, my dog was no Westminster dog. With her overbite, crooked tail, and constant anxiety that made her way TOO expressive, she didn’t meet the criteria of any breed standard. I didn’t have a show dog. But I still liked the idea of showing her off. I grabbed her leash, put on our cutest coats, lifted my head, and puffed my chest just a little bit, as if I were a lead handler walking into Madison Square Garden. “C’mon, Bette. Let’s go,” I said, and we trotted into the park. We met all the other dogs who were not the Best in Show, but still very much the best.
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