Dog show
Saturday, January 29, 2005
At the Cow Palace just south of San Francisco in Daly City. A popular event. Particularly for owners of the "light-truck."
Why not just say "Dog is my God" and be done with it?
Like so.
Legend has it, the Frankfurter was renamed "hot dog" either at a world's fair in Chicago, during World War I or WW II.
The Jacksons played here in 1981. Neil Young and Neil Diamond have both heard their voices reverberate off that ceiling. In 1999, Marilyn Manson and Hole brought down the house.
Think of a circus, only much smaller, much slower and really, really quiet.
"Give us a few seconds, OK?" In fact, this was one of the few touching scenes we witnessed in a span of four hours. For the most part, the proceedings were sterile, heartless.
Roughly speaking, there were three kinds of people at this dog show: visitors, amateurs and professionals. This guy was one of the few professionals. His manner and the exchanges I watched him have with a few other professionals suggest a world where status clings to the hide of an animal. He's a hunter—of animal souls, not pelts.
I will say this, though: he was dressed better than 95% of the other owners, breeders, trainers, visitors, etc.
One of my favorite moments—and one of very few with an air of spontaneity. The dogs are tested for their patience. When I walked upon this corral, a few of the animals looked like they were napping. In general, seeing dogs interact with their masters in displays of obedience reminds me of magic. As odd as it may sound, a well-trained dog is a free dog. In the moment photographed above, it was hard to tell who was the master and who the slave.
About an hour into the proceedings, an image came to me that I was unable to shake for the remainder of my visit. "Why are there even dogs present? This show is entirely about people." I would love to make a 30-minute video documentary of a dog show with the superfluous canines painted out. Without the dogs, the viewer can focus on the real show.
Ana suggested we could even break the show up into segments, focusing on each (absent) breed.
Not surprisingly, there were representations of dogs everywhere. I was particularly impressed with the variety of portable DVD players on display. For the most part, the videos were of dogs in outdoor settings.
The. Greatest. Country. On. Earth.
Outside the main arena there were two warehouse-like buildings devoted to breeders and vendors. Some breeders pulled their chairs out to face the crowds, others would create semi-circles facing inward. This woman and her cohort were watching a video of a dogshow.
A photoshop. Really. She uses the Adobe product of the same name to produce her wares.
Who can say "no" to folk art, the purest expression of "yes."
A little girl was sitting on one of these dog couches just left of my frame. She was delighted. Her mother was saying "They're your size, aren't they?" Once again: USA #1.
Not quite. But, what I love about dog breeding is that it's so shamelessly classist. Here you have a past-time, like botany I suppose, where you cultivate yourself via a living proxy, and the kind of organic matter you use and the results you achieve reflect back upon you, the cultured person. I believe the Doberman, named after its "inventor," was an invitation-only club for many years.
