Dog Show

Given Ronnies reputation for being a dog of considerable talent, but in a more sexually expressive arena than that of obedience, it was with some trepidation and if I'm being entirely honest, devilish glee that I entered him in the Hollyrood Park Annual Fun Dog Show.

 Parking, it seems anywhere in this beautiful city, is  completely and utterly prohibited. it's a wonder anyone who can't get where they need to go on public transport, gets to go anywhere at all and inevitably Helen ended up having to move the car several times whilst I staggered across the Hollyrood fields, dog on the lead, Lenny toddling along holding my finger, whilst humping all the necessary bags and accessories the outing demanded.

Perhaps it was just 'first show nerves', but Ronnie saw this as the perfect opportunity to lay a huge dog egg, just on the periphery of the show ground and right by the track as the cars streamed in. I fumbled for a bag whilst clinging tightly to my son, who's totally obsessed with and as a result walks towards, all cars and tried to pick up the mess. A hitherto unrevealed stick beneath the mound punctured the bag and as I did my duty I felt the heat of my hounds excrement ooze around the fingers of my right hand.

Wretching, and still clinging to my auto obsessed son with my left, I had to let Ronnie go, who proudly bounded onto the showground and promptly leapt on an old woman. In the distance I saw a swearing Helen eventually get the situation under control as I stumbled along desperately trying to hold my hand further from myself than arms length, searching for a washbasin.

Spruced and refreshed we finally entered Ron into the first open round available, the Dashing Dog Round. The sole mongrel in a sea of handsome pedigrees. We were informed the judges would come and examine every dog as we circled the arena. I had developed a 'show trot' for myself, much to helens embarassment and felt me and Ron looked very much the finished article.

The judges made no attempt to examine Ron, almost as if to send out a clear statement that rescue mutts had no place in a dog show and as I picked bits of cereal out of Ronnies mane my blood began to boil. They had no idea what hardships this poor creature my have endured before we'd adopted him and now the 'System' had let him down again.

Having arrived too late to enter the 'waggiest dog' round, our last remaining chance of glory hinged on the 'Catching the Biscuit' round. This round doesn't generally feature at crufts.

The judge staggered round hurling biscuits in the vague direction of the dogs, tiny biscuits though, too small for many of the pedigree inbreds to see and my nerves began to jangle as our turn approached. I imagine that in Ron's previous life on the streets, food was pretty much at a premium and as a result he's an expert beggar, scrap catcher and titbit snaffler. The biscuit was thrown in Ron's vague direction and he leapt like a salmon, swallowed it with a flourish, then span round chasing his tail. A few people clapped, the judge who'd shown no previous interest suddenly asked us for Ronnies name. 3rd place was announced, it wasnt us, then second, and it still wasn't us... In hindsight I think I screamed "COME ON!!!" far too loudly, even for me, me and Ron hugged, then he ran straight over to the judge and joyously Goosed her for all he was worth, I was immensely proud. Regardless of what happens with the show this year, I have an award winning dog.