They Were Undressing My Leg With Their Eyes at Westminster

PHOTO CREDIT: Photos provided by Ann Yoo

“In the whole history of the world, there is but one thing that money can not buy “¦ to wit, the wag of a dog’s tail.”

Henry Wheeler Shaw penned these obscure words in one of his many books published under the pen name Josh Billings in the late 19th century, in the days when he was the effective Frank Stallone to Mark Twain’s Sylvester.

Unfortunately for Mr. Billings, he died in 1885, two years before a group of hunters staying at New York’s Westminster Hotel (That’s where hunters stayed in those days? I always had to sleep in the deer stand so aliens wouldn’t find and probe me.) decided to prove that they actually did have enough money to buy the best wag breedable in coon dogs and do it annually. Josh Billings must have rolled in his grave, which may or may not have been unmarked and next to Twain’s.

The Westminster Kennel Club, as the aforementioned hunters were named, held its 136th annual dog show at Madison Square Garden on February 13 and 14, and yours truly was there. I simply had to find out just what it is that has allowed the show to become the second-longest continuously held sporting event in the United States (or third, for those of our readers who count Civil War reenactments) behind the Kentucky Derby. What I saw was a great event that has somehow nearly become completely antiquated.

First, the good stuff: I am amazed at the fact that there were 12,000 dogs in the same building, all within inches of each other, and not a one of them attacked or screwed another. You can’t put 12 frat guys in the same Krystal without one of them tasting another’s balls.

You can’t put 12 frat guys in the same Krystal without one of them tasting another’s balls.

Second: Some of the dogs actually look more sexually attractive than their owners. Sorry, but I’d rather bed a pure beagle than a left tackle with a perm, a whisker, and a denim vest with a picture of said beagle cross-stitched on the back, and if you disagree with me, then you’re a damn liar.

Third: Lou Reed was there, and he walked with the confident step of a man who has been to about 40 of these things. (Where y’at, Gene Simmons? Comic-Con again? Hack.)

Fourth: I was clearly the most attractive man within miles of the Garden (except maybe Lou Reed if “rock star” trumps “can actually still physically perform in bed with someone who isn’t Iggy Pop”), and virtually all female spectators/non-dog-owners were somewhat doable. I was the only thing close to eye candy those poor ladies had. A dog show is a rare type of event where even the gay guys look horrible.

Clearly, there is much to enjoy about this great event “” after all, it’s basically a bunch of dogs, all of whom are really good at being dogs “” but I honestly feel that, without a progressive vision and new ideas, the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show may become the Odyssey² console of sporting events.

First, let’s just make the event more complete in its intention. The Westminster show originally was organized so that sporting and hunting dog owners could compare their dogs with each other based on breed-specific kennel club standards.

Isn’t one of the most telling traits of a sporting or hunting dog its ability to hunt or retrieve vermin? How can you tell which black Lab is the best unless you shoot a few ducks off in the distance and see how it reacts?

Before you talk back to me and say there are no ducks in New York in February, I assure you that the city’s tens of millions of pigeons and rats will do just fine. Think about it: We more accurately judge our dogs, and we get rid of all those dirty birds. It would be like killing 50 million AIDS birds with one stone.

Second, have every dog spend a day as a Seeing Eye dog. If these are truly the best dogs, surely they should be able to lead the blind. If we can’t find enough blind people for the dogs, just use people who compulsively text while walking down the sidewalk “” for all intents and purposes, they’re essentially blind.

If a dog succeeds in not getting anyone killed, that earns 1,000 points or a free red rocket rub. If a dog screws up, that’s enough punishment in itself, since he’s already been made into PF Chang’s roadkill.

Third, let’s see how obedient these bitches and sons of bitches really are. Any doofus can train a dog to be still. Set a timer for 10 minutes, and place a dog at one end of the display pen next to a huge bowl of Evian. On the other end is a newspaper, a toilet, and an orphaned, minority toddler with a learning disability and a cleft palate waving an American Flag.

A dog that pees on the toddler gets put down immediately in front of the other dogs so that an example can be made of him. Peeing on the newspaper is neither good nor bad, but passable. For peeing in the toilet, the dog gets a lifetime supply of Slim Jims; in the toilet with a flush, and the dog gets the Slim Jims with Kraft Singles.

While we’re near the subject, we definitely should have an award for the biggest dump per pound weighed.

Other obvious needs for this show are awards and honors for things like loudest howl, foamiest mouth, longest amount of time vigorously shaking a chew toy for absolutely no reason, biggest red rocket, biggest load blown on a human leg per pound weighed, and for the bitches, biggest teats. Maybe even have Greg Fitzsimmons give an Adult Video News crossover award for best hump.

Speaking of media crossovers, why not have a special Dog of Honor every year? WKC can elect a famous dog to sit at one end of MSG in a La-Z-Boy recliner and eat Milk-Bones all day while fans pet it. It could be a dog from a movie, a president’s dog, or that year’s obligatory and inevitable dog that called 911 and saved its epileptic owner’s life.

Finally, and most importantly, consider that moment in every dog’s display that involves a husky woman who looks exactly like either Hillary Clinton, Tipper Gore, or Eddie Izzard trotting around with a dog so that we can observe the dog’s gait. Have you ever been watching this thing on USA and looked at the dogs and not these women? I sure as hell haven’t, and seeing it in person is even more horrifying.

These ladies aren’t dressed for running, and they are nowhere near a respectable physical condition; I’d daresay that 90% of them are going against doctors’ orders when they’re doing this. We need someone else in there for the trotting, and it’s obvious to me who it is: jockeys.

Jockeys are out of work this time of year. It’s way too cold for horse racing, and the chimney sweep market has been dry since Queen Victoria put on a training bra. This way, some of the unemployed are employed, and a lot of chubby cougars don’t have to inflame their corns or turn their cankles. The jockeys can even ride some of the larger breeds.

All in all, observing the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show is a great event only enhanced by its being held at the site of the Concert for Bangladesh, Wrestlemania I, and Balboa-Lang II, but it is impossible not to notice an ocean of ways that it could be made better.

I’ll leave you with a final thought: The Catahoula Leopard Dog, Louisiana’s state dog, is on the American Kennel Club’s Foundation Stock Service, which is the effective on-deck circle for breeds admitted to Westminster. The only thing holding the Cur breed out is that there is no known Catahoula-specific club that ever has drafted and made official a breed standard.

If and when this happens “” and hell if I know how that ocCURs (do you see what I did there?) “” the Cur has an amazing amount of potential. David Bowie sold tens of millions of records in the late 1970s based on nothing but a pair of contact lenses that made him look like he had one blue eye and one gray eye. (Come on “” Lodger? Name two songs.)

The Catahoula Cur is loyal, can keep a straight face, can get dirty and look exactly the same, and can sh””t a mountain. And one day when “” not if “” the Cur ascends to the top of that mountain of his own feces, thus ending the long collective reign of terror of sissy breeds like the Papillon, Bichons Frise, and Pekingese, we, les Louisianais, shall have yet another reason to be proud to be the coonasses, corndogs, thugs, and plain, inbred, off-white trash that we are and always have been.

Louisiana, let’s take Westminster in 2013. I’m serious “” so serious that I half-attempted to refrain from gratuitous use of the word bitch in this installment of “Balls.” And to all the bitches I met at Westminster, you’re all great kissers.

About Adam Wilson

Adam Wilson
Adam Wilson was the original columnist for Balls, Pucks, and Cups. He returned after a five-year contract dispute with The Red Shtick management.

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