‘He’s been in ads for Yves Saint Laurent’: Behind the scenes at a championship dog show
Eddy McCormack from Co Meath and a winning Irish Wolfhound called Feargal. Picture by Noel Sweeney
On a sunny Sunday morning, the Mallow GAA sports complex has acquired the vibe of a music festival.
A tented village has sprung up around the pitches, and handcarts are being wheeled about.
Their contents are carefully shrouded by blankets and shawls, and it is only the occasional bark that gives the game away. This is the Cork & District Canine Club 41st Annual All Breed Championship Show, and despite the festive atmosphere, it is serious business.
Look closer and see furry noses peeking out from the tent flaps, some dogs are sitting on top of pop-up tables being primped and preened, others snooze in the bellies of the handcarts.
Owners relax on picnic chairs, while regular announcements call for the next competitors. Up and down rectangular sections of grass, dogs prance. Sometimes they zigzag too, before being eased into show stance.
A leg is coaxed back to show off a hock, tails are held aloft. The dogs don’t seem to mind.
In a corner of the judge’s tent, Sorcha O’Gorman is applying hair mousse to the legs of Bhrian, a wire-haired dachshund. “It’s dog hair mousse,” she says, although she agrees, “people hair mousse works just as well.”
She has also been painstakingly plucking at Bhrian’s coat.
Most of the dogs are pros, and training starts young, for animals and handlers alike. “In this instance, you’re judging the handler, not the dog,” says Paul McCullough, who is working out the winners of the Junior Handling class.
This answers my question as to how he can differentiate between the dogs, which range from a fluffy poodle to an Australian shepherd.
I’m remembering the episode of All Creatures Great and Small, where James Herriot was judging the children’s pets class at the local fete and things nearly came to blows when he gave the prize to the owner of a goldfish.
“There are three main rules for handling,” McCullough continues.
“One is that they don’t get between the judge and the dog. They need to be able to follow instruction, and show that they know their own dog.”
In this, he obviously means that they have a rapport, rather than that the handler might be likely to pick up the lead of a border terrier when they were meant to collect a beagle.
It could get confusing to the uninitiated. There are 650 dogs at today’s show, across 195 breeds, with nine judges doing the honours. Everything is flowing so well, I start to think the committee should be in charge of larger things. Like national roads projects or something.
Surprisingly, almost all of the attendees are owners and showers, as it is a very nice doggy day out. On the other hand, any dog lover attending might get bitten — by the bug, not a dog, obviously — and start to think of showing too.
Kate Finnerty is in the Junior Handler’s class for children aged between 10 and 12, with her Australian shepherd, 14-month old Aussie, as her mum, Angela looks on.
“Kate had seen an Australian shepherd win at Crufts, and had wanted one ever since. And I said, if you want the dog, you can take him to the shows. It is competitive,” Angela continues, saying that it has been great for Kate in terms of giving her confidence, and experience in handling and training her dog.
Out in the ring, Aussie, who has benefited from a session at the dog groomers and slept in a coat so as not to muss up his blow dry, trots, sits and stands, beautifully obedient, as Kate shows him off in style.
But today another dog wins: “She handled the dog really well,” says McCullough, but adds that even though in this class he’s judging the handler’s abilities, he needs to see the handler acting in such a way that the dog is the focus.
I start to think of James Herriot and the goldfish again, and wonder at the commitment of it all.
There are Irish Kennel Club-affiliated shows across Ireland every weekend, and people also travel from the UK to take part. Having been a dog lover all my life, and dog owner for most of it, the Kennel Club had always been a bit of a mystery.
Our first dog was a “gift” from a neighbour who couldn’t be sure who her labrador had been meeting up with after hours, and our subsequent pets were always rescues. All have been deeply loved, but none, I imagine, would cut the mustard among this bunch.
Watching Christopher Guest’s 2001 film Best in Show in preparation isn’t too much help either, and I’m confused as to how some classes have only one entrant, and that entrant isn’t necessarily guaranteed a rosette.
McCullough enlightens me. Dogs can be graded as Excellent, Very Good, Good, Sufficient, Cannot be Judged or Disqualified. The top award is a Green Star.
Get seven Green Stars under seven different judges and yours is a Champion dog. According to Kennel Club rules, “Cannot Be Judged” applies when a dog doesn’t want to walk, stand and be judged (and don’t we all have those days?); while disqualification happens in the case of aggressive dogs, or “dogs who do not correspond to their breed standard”.
A dog can also be disqualified if it has a “characteristic that could threaten their future health”. In part, this is a measure to roll back the over-breeding that was causing genetic and physical weaknesses in dogs in the past.
You also can’t show a dog that has been neutered, which points to another reason for all the primping, grooming, and training.
Some of it comes from a heady combination of a love of dogs, a desire to show and show off, and a healthy instinct for competition; but an awful lot also has to do with money.
While the cost of pure-bred dogs peaked during the pandemic, prices are still high. Pedigree pups can cost north of €1,000, and the offspring of a champion will attract higher prices.
Do the sums on a litter of 10 pups, and you can see how financially attractive the accolade can be. In an attempt to crack down on “puppy farms”, the Dog Breeding Establishments Act of 2010 requires larger breeding operations to register, and the Animal Health and Welfare Act of 2013 added further safeguards.
Today, the ISPCA and Dogs Trust do sterling work in animal welfare, which is still sadly necessary; while the Irish Kennel Club has a code of ethics by which all registered breeders must abide.
Seven rings in simultaneous action at the Mallow Show, and the variety of dogs is phenomenal. Pat O’Regan is showing a pair of Kerry blues, both proud possessors of plenty of Green Stars.
Showing the characteristics of their breed, they’re alert to the chance for a scrap, but in the ring they are model dogs. People come by for chats, congratulating and consoling, and sharing dog gossip.
Aelita Verreva is rushing to get her rosette, with Mexican hairless, Roxy under her arm. Roxy has just won Best of Breed. “Lola’s hair is too fluffy,” wails a small girl with sequins on her sleeves, being pulled along by a dog that is indeed very fluffy.
Leona Mihoc is taking a break with her dog, Zizi.
The dog treat stall is doing brisk business, selling healthy snacks including things to do with rabbits and compressed carrot. Squeaky toys are available. What peace-loving person would buy a squeaky toy? You’d be amazed.
People wear dry robes over their neat show clothes, and a constant stream of red rosettes is being dispatched from the committee tent.
Dobermans pace around, and an enormous Irish wolfhound is having his nether regions sniffed by an Italian greyhound – or at least the Italian greyhound is attempting a sniff: the pair are the largest and smallest sight hounds in the world.
There is a clear lack of dog dirt around the place, and it is notable how the dogs don’t cock their legs in the show ring. After all, the scents — to a dog’s nose — must be irresistible, and as the owner of any male dog will know, they want to pee on anything with an intriguing sniff.
“It’s the training,” I’m told.“They know they’re working when they’re in the ring.”
It is also astonishing how dog breeds go far beyond looks. Terriers are excitable, labradors are noble but hungry and can never, ever get enough love, whippets want to be with you.
My eye is drawn to an exquisitely beautiful Afghan hound wearing a headscarf, having a run with his handler in the nearby field. Evie Williams has brought Micah: full show name: Altside Micah Hot Prophet; over from the UK, and we chat as the Afghan can’t help but pose.
“He’s featured in adverts for Yves Saint Laurent,” Williams says, offering to whip Micah’s headscarf off. We won’t quite be seeing him in his full glory, she explains, as his long hair is held in expert bunches, Williams being a dog groomer by trade.
Micah shakes his head like the supermodel he is, in a move that wouldn’t be out of place in one of those slow-mo shots from the movies, where the heroine takes off a motorcycle helmet and surprises the hero with her extraordinary exquisiteness.
Micah doesn’t seem to care. He sits there entirely aloof, the tilt of his head suggesting that he might, perhaps, give you a second of his time for a biscuit, but that it wouldn’t do to count on it.
Ronnie Tolson has been judging dog shows since 1985, and his work takes him all over the world.
“You start off being allowed to judge one breed,” he says. “The regulations have changed, but when I started, the following year, you’re allowed to judge four breeds.”
These days he can judge any breed, and given that there are more than 400 recognised breeds in the world, that’s quite a feat. I wonder how he manages to ignore the cuteness factor, skipping appealing eyes for something more – for want of better words — caninely significant. “I judge most of the dogs on their movement,” he says. “If they move well and correctly, they are correct.”
Julie Beaumont is petting Amica, her Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever which, with apologies to the breed, looks a little like a collie that has been shrunk and dyed red.
“She’s the only one currently showing at the moment in Ireland,” says Beaumont. “But we go over to Scotland and England every now and again and see her family. She actually belongs to my daughter, Sophia Rose. We’ve had this breed since 1998, but she’s our first show dog.”
She’s doing well too, having been placed at Crufts in London. “The best thing about showing,” says Beaumont, “is the people. We started with so little stuff — now we have all the regalia — but at first people were so willing to invite us into their fold and be helpful. Perhaps,” she considers, “one of the lucky things was that she’s the only one, so we’re able to be everybody’s friend.”
- Find a calendar of dog shows in Ireland at The Irish Kennel Club, ikc.ie.
- See also dogstrust.ie
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