Time to put the puppy to the test

A good agricultural show is all about the winning – whether you're in the best jam or best donkey class. ROSITA BOLANDand her cocker spaniel Boo took a trip to Castlerea to try their luck in the dog show and found that it's a very serious business indeed

YESTERDAY, THERE were seven agricultural shows going on around Ireland – probably the busiest day of the summer for shows. Whether you were headed for the big events like Tinahely in Co Wicklow, or Castlerea in Co Roscommon, as I was, I’m sure everyone had the same experience on arrival at the venue – the challenge of finding parking.

The town of Castlerea is small, and every street, field, yard and nearby highway and byway offered a complex vehicular puzzle of double and triple-parked horseboxes, trailers, lorries, four-wheel drives and a variety of bangers.

Castlerea Agricultural Trade and Craft Show was regalvanised 15 years ago after a break of several years, and had an attendance of 4,500 last year. Among the many classes are those seeking pedigree bulls, best Belgian Blue calf, best pair of butcher’s lambs, best wooled sheep, overall best donkey, best hairy-type pony, best billy miniature goat, best fancy pigeon, and best rabbit. Among the home produce and crafts, judges were seeking the finest examples of rhubarb tart, gooseberry jam, brown hen eggs, truss of tomatoes, carrots, early potatoes, window boxes, hand-won sods of turf, hand-embroidered item, and best item made from recycled material.

I had no hand-won sods of turf, hairy ponies or pods of peas to enter into a competition. I did, however, have one small lively black cocker spaniel, that I entered for Class 138, which was for puppies both registered and unregistered between six and 12 months. I learned only yesterday that the term “registered” means pedigree, which gives a helpful clue as to how non-clued-in I was to the competitive world of showing dogs.

As a child, I sometimes watched One Man and His Dog(it's only in retrospect that I wonder where all the One Woman and Her Dogs were). I marvelled at the mysterious communication between man and beast as the dog obeyed instruction to herd sheep neatly into pens – without chasing them – while his master emitted whale-list sonic whistles. I had no idea how they did it.

What I’ve always liked about agricultural shows is how inclusive they are. It’s not just the fact that there are children’s classes in addition to adult classes. It’s that you can see both children and adults in the ring in certain competitions, and no more so than in the dog classes. Whether you’re three-feet tall or six-feet tall, the judge will give your dog the exact same attention.

The idea was to enter my dog Boo for fun, to see what the perspective from inside the showring was. But whether it’s Crufts or Castlerea, I learned yesterday that (most of) the people who enter their dogs in competitions take it very, very seriously indeed.

Probably my first realisation of this was after extracting myself and my dog from the car after driving from Dublin. My only preparation had been to give the dog a bath the previous day; an act immediately negated by the vigorous rolling she did afterwards in a garden temporarily under dust from work being done. She looked pretty much the same as always: bursting with energy, slightly scruffy, and always eagerly awaiting the announcement of the next walk.

Whereas other dogs, some of them white, looked as if they had come fresh from the washing machine. A poodle clipped like a piece of topiary sported a jewelled collar. A pair of glossy Dalmatians were sleek and imperious and looked as if they had strayed from a Disney movie.

It wasn’t the just-out-of-the-washing-machine look that unnerved me however. It was the way owners in the class before mine were handling their dogs. It must have entirely passed me by in previous years that there is an entire code of behaviour in the ring. Why were people holding up the end of their dog’s tails as if pegging washing to a line?

The ring, by the way, in Castlerea, was a square made of railings, with a border of green carpet, and an archway of fake flowers through which I half expected to see a bridal couple walk through – One Man and One Woman and their respective dogs, perhaps.

The judge for all the non-novelty dog classes was Tuam-based PJ Clarke.

Meanwhile, the car park of the NCT centre adjacent to the dog ring was empty of cars, but full of magnificent chestnut horses exercising. I kept looking at them instead of picking up hints from watching Class 137. Boo wasn’t watching either: she was asleep.

You get a sticker with the number of your class written on it, which you’re instructed to wear on your left sleeve. You don’t get asked for your name, or the dog’s name, or get any individual number. It’s very simple, and very democratic.

What the judge apparently looks for in the puppy class is good body structure, good gait, and overall signs of good health. There were 28 puppies and their owners that eventually flanked the inside railings for Class 138. One tiny girl stood with her white shaggy puppy as confidently as the man with the giant dog resembling a black bear, that I later learned was a Newfoundland. There were chocolate Labradors, golden retrievers, the Disney Dalmatians, at least three other kinds of spaniels, and many dogs with mixed-up pedigrees.

The judge was judgly in his thoroughness. Each dog in turn had to come up to either stand and be examined, or be placed on a table. He examined their teeth, which is an indicator of health. Then the dogs and owners were required to go up and down the centre of the space.

Were you meant to get your dog to sit or to lie down while waiting? I looked around. Some were sitting, some lying. One had his head through the railings, licking a child. No clues there. Then I noticed that some people walked their dogs up and down, and others did a little scampering run with them on a short lead. Walk or scamper? When it was our turn, Boo obligingly allowed herself and her teeth to be scrutinised. Then we did our display run. Unfortunately, there was no fluid display of gait: my dog believed herself at the beginning of a long and lively outing and just wanted to keep on running. Unlike other dogs who were requested to provide extra examples of gait, we were politely dispatched back to our spot.

Six dogs, including the shaggy white one handled by the tiny girl, made it to the final. Boo was not one of them, not that she noticed. A beautiful golden cocker spaniel, perfectly groomed and trained, won the overall prize. Her owner looked rightly thrilled. But somehow I think yesterday’s agricultural show will be more memorable for the little girl who found herself standing in the ring at the end of the competition with her shaggy white puppy and the five other adult finalists, all many multiples of her age.

As for Boo, well, she’s the only contender in the class called The Dog I’d Most Like To Take Home With Me.