Westminster Confidential: Palets, Spectacle and the Smell of 2,500 Dogs | Westminster Dog Show

II’m not afraid to say that: Dogs are in their flop era. Or maybe it’s just their owners. Those who bring a big Dane into the grocery store or holes in a cocktail bar with a giant Saint Bernard at their feet. Dog people used to symbolize sensitivity or a down -to -earth mood. Now they are synonymous with the right to white collar.

But I kept these feelings for myself under Westminster, however, that they do not take me out to be mauled by a package of Belgian Malinis.

The 149th annual Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show is the oldest constantly held sporting event in the US, after the Kentucky Derby. The first thing I noticed by entering the Javits Center, where the best racing competitions were held on Monday was that even security dogs were fancy. No boring German launches or lolling of golden retrievers here, instead the guards held well-groomed poodles or super-fit hunting dogs on a leash.

The other What I noticed was the stench. Straight-up Barnyard, especially in the back of the stage. Don’t let getty pictures of dogs get blowing out or YouTube clips of Bang Trims fool you. Even masters have to bend. The stench of 2,500 dogs representing all 50 states adds. Overall Reeked these puppies.

Archetypal indulgent mortar types (football, dance, boy) all share a Hawkish sense of their child’s exceptionalism. Ditto for some of these dog mothers staring into the competition, as if they were a 14-year-old Dunkin employee who just got their order wrong. However, I appreciated their dedication to the event dressing code, which I might describe as Sequined Business Casual.

“She’s here to do her job,” a man said of her bulldog, with all the severity of a cop at a press conference talking about how the suspect is still largely. “And so am I.”

“There are many divas here, both two- and four-legged,” said Suzanne Terrant, from Johnstown, Ohio, to show Trauster, an Icelandic sheep dog. Both Trauster’s parents were show dogs, but like any good Nepo -Baby, Trauster would just relax.

“He would rather swim in a pond,” Terrant said. “He didn’t get anything this year, but we’re proud of him anyway.”

Near Cosette, a Havanese from Montreal, stood stick-like, control style with the chest out. “She wants to be the center of attention,” said her breeder, Myriam Archamdult. After all, Cosette is French.

A dog that certainly was not French, a gray airedale, flopped over and showed his stomach in the middle of the ring and asked for pets while waiting for the judge to come over. I related deeply to this dog.

Only the winners of Best of Breed would go to Madison Square Garden Monday night, treated with all the pomp from a professional sports game. There were corporate sponsors (Purina), a Hyped-up Arena audience (ready to boo the judges’ decisions), and bizarre a performance of the national anthem to start the event. It was a special day. This year marks the show’s return to Madison Square Garden after five years away because of Covid.

The hound group came first. This was when I started to get nervous as a writer. There are only so many ways you can talk about show dogs. Tinted, athletic, perky, sweet. Fortunately, the man sitting next to me gave a long -time dog lover, continuous comments.

By the lithe, elegant Afghan dog: “It’s a psychotic race.” By Redbone Coonhound: “There we go. A beautiful dog. “By the Rhodesian Ridgeback:” They’re mute as hell. “

Of the whole toy group, which consists of small, loving accompanying pets: “I have never understood these little ones.”

The toy group was, by the way, judged by Angela Pickett, an American kennel club judge, breeder of papillons and honored life member of the Papillon Club of America from Chuluota, Florida. With its ombre-brown hair, side pan, floor-length lace evening dress and steely-eyed stare, the Pickett Westminster version of Anna Wintour, the frosty Vogue editor.

Pickett seems like the type of person I want to drink six margaritas with while she mined her to Kennel Club gossip. But she seemed ruthless in her judgment. I know a miniatrpinscher should hate to see her coming. (Comet, a Shih Tzu, who also won last year, took the award home.)

Sports are only as good as their tales: the miracle of ice, rumble in the jungle. Westminster had his own emotional top with Neil the Bichon Frisé, winner of the non-sports group. Neil’s owner, Lisa Bettis from Naperville, Illinois, spent the day before the big show in the hospital after an unspecified emergency. But she made sure to come out and hit the stage with Neil. “He loves life, loves people,” Bettis told a Fox reporter after shaking the medal. A good boy!

At this point it was around 22:00. Maybe it was neil, or the page, or that I was hypnotized after seeing dogs running in circles for eight hours, but I started considering the whole “dogs are in their flop era” theory. These were athletes who knew how to work a quantity. They lived to please, and played gamely with us people’s foibles and fools. I guess spending an evening with these top dogs can convert even the hardest hater.