Harry Jordan – A Chance Meeting Leaves a Lifetime of Memories

By Amy Fernandez

The phrase “real dog person” is frequently bandied about in this sport. Possibly, the highest compliment to bestow on a fellow fancier, that vague reference requires no explanation within our world. Its implications are universally acknowledged. But for the sake of journalistic accuracy, I will clarify. Basically, it refers to someone who truly knows and loves dogs, not only from an academic standpoint but more importantly understands and appreciates the unwritten social mores that can only be learned through long-term devotion.

That part of the deal cannot be measured through objective testing It includes things like responding to a dog emergency even if it’s not your problem, or maybe stepping in to reassure a disheartened novice before they quit the game. There’s no use trying to make outsiders understand why someone gets out of bed and at 3 AM and drives 50 miles to help a friend whelp a litter. Dog people do those things. From a personal standpoint, one memorable incident made me understand precisely what a true dog person is all about.

This game certainly opens doors to new experiences and opportunities. And when that dog show bug grabs you, and the awareness of knowing practically nothing combines with that insatiable desire to know everything, well, sometimes it can add up to an almost delusional lack of common sense. That’s pretty much how and why I found myself on a train from Birmingham to London after Crufts 1996 with absolutely no idea of where I was gonna go.

Let me backtrack a bit. Who doesn’t want to go to Crufts? Therefore, when a somewhat dodgy invitation to split the costs came my way, I was all over it. And everything you hear about Crufts, believe it. It was great. Of course, being in that questionable state of mind, I had to push the envelope and top off my bad planning by impulsively acquiring a dog along the way. That unexpected complication seemed manageable until my travel companion abruptly informed me that she changed her plans and was departing three days early. As an apology, she deposited a mountain of change in the middle of my bed. Nothing says Britain like those big, ponderous coins, but hey, at that point it looked like I might need them.

Hanging around Birmingham for another three days was not an option, logically or financially. But with limited money, no plans, and a dog to top it off… lets just say that there weren’t many hopeful alternatives on the horizon. I was still mulling over this new adventure a few hours later when I boarded a train and headed for London. After all, it’s been a time-honored destination for hopeless souls for a thousand years or so. I had clothes stuffed in a backpack, big art portfolio in one hand (that’s what I did back then) and a dog crate in the other. Oh yea, and plenty of shillings and pence in my pocket. The extent of my game plan was to phone a couple of dog friends and, when I got there, explain my predicament and hope one of them would put me up for a couple days.

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Posted by Alex on Aug 20 2016. Filed under Current Articles, Featured. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.