Last night, a Giant Schnauzer named Monty (full name: GCHG CH Hearthmore’s Wintergreen Mountain RI CGC TKN FITB…I kid you not) won Best in Show at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show at Madison Square Garden.
If you’ve never seen a Giant Schnauzer, it’s exactly what it sounds like: a regular Schnauzer blown up to nearly comical proportions. Think Clifford the Big Red Dog, except Monty happens to have a black coat. When I saw him strut his stuff in the finals, I knew he was going to win.
All the seven dogs representing their respective groups—Toy Dogs, Terriers, Sporting Dogs, Nonsporting Dogs (the participation trophy of dog groups), Herding, Hounds, and Working—are elite. We are reminded, constantly, by the announcers that the dogs who compete in the Westminster Dog Show are not competing against each other, but competing against the breed standard, the platonic ideal of what their breed should be. But when it comes to the finals, these are the crème de la crème. They’re all perfect specimens, so it comes down to who wants it more. Who, if you’ll pardon the expression, has got that dog in them.
The minute Monty came out, he looked like a winner. Confident, majestic, a bit of a showoff. Right before he took his prance around the ring, he paused for a second to show the judge his beautiful profile. His handler took note of it and couldn’t help but to grin. She knew he was in it to win it.
I’ve been watching the Westminster Dog Show since I was a little girl. All little kids have things they are obsessed with—whether it be trains or dinosaurs or Pokémon. For me, it was dog breeds. I had a big book by the American Kennel Club with pictures and descriptions of all the breeds.
I memorized the exotic names: Bichon Frise, Keeshond, Sealyham Terrier, Clumber Spaniel. I knew the difference between the Norwich Terrier (pointy ears) and the Norfolk Terrier (floppy ears). I could rattle off characteristics of all breeds. “Good with children. Playful, loyal, and keen.”
In some ways, dog breeds themselves are a bit of a throwback. We’re in an era of Doodles and Poos—various dogs mixed with poodles, like the Goldendoodle (Golden Retriever + poodle), the Schnoodle (Schnauzer + poodle), the Maltipoo (Maltese + poodle), etc. Doodles are not recognized by the AKC. We’re also in the era of “Adopt, Don’t Shop.” Mutts, like my little scruffy boy, Gus (follow him on Instagram at @gusthelittleman), are also not recognized by the AKC, needless to say.
There’s no other way to put it: The AKC is snobby. It’s an elitist “sport” filled with arcane and precise rules. People get dressed up—at least those who are dog owners or friends of owners. They were tuxedoes like they’re going to the opera. The judges also dress up—I particularly pity the female judges who have to toddle around the grassy ring in heels.
The dogs, well there’s no other way to put this, are often teased and combed and poofed to the point of ridiculousness. It took me years to realize that poodles were actually cute and not these shaved and pom-pommed feats of grooming they appear to be in the Westminster ring. Some dogs—like the Kerry Blue Terrier—have so much hair in their faces, I wonder if they can actually see. The button-eyed Dandie Dinmont has a poofy pompadour that makes them resemble (an extremely adorable) Don King.
All of this is part of the tradition, which is what Westminster is all about.
New breeds have been (carefully, reluctantly) introduced over the years—and somewhere along the way the Brittany Spaniel lost the spaniel and became just the Brittany, KFC-style—but it’s remarkably unchanged from when I watched it as a kid back in the late 70s. I suspect it’s remarkably unchanged from when the dog show was first introduced in 1877.
A lot of its traditions are silly. The formality of it all. Those ridiculous grooming standards. The television coverage where a normie (in this case, sports broadcaster Chris Myers) is paired with an expert (longtime judge Jason Hoke) and is forced to ask questions like, “Why does a Pointer point?” (This was brilliantly parodied in Christopher Guest’s essential 2000 film Best in Show.)
But there is something undeniably wonderful about it all, too. It’s always refreshing to see a group of people who care so deeply about something so relatively inconsequential. Monty’s handler/owner cried when they won. (This was Monty’s third Westminster, putting him in danger of becoming the Susan Lucci of dogs.)
The world is chaotic, fast-moving, hard to get a handle on these days, but Westminster stays the same. Its formality, its civility, its stubborn cleaving to tradition is oddly comforting right now. And also, doggies!!
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