In Training To Be Nobody Special

Click Here To Read The Complete Article From The Canine Chronicle August, 2013 Issue page 100  

By Gay Dunlap

Some years ago my spiritual guru would, from time to time, announce to his audience that he was “in training to be nobody special.” By his own admission, this was quite a stretch because he had an incredible following, people sitting at his feet hanging onto each and every word that escaped his mouth. Ohhh, Ram Dass and ahhh Ram Dass, they would sigh. I never quite forgot this and continue to find his declaration awe-inspiring. Have you ever considered the possibility of living your life as though you were in training to be nobody special?

Our dog world, in its microcosmic state, reflects the gap that exists, in a social context, between the hubristic striving for greatness and contentment with functioning in a smaller role. Regardless of how we function, whether as exhibitor, judge or even, yes, as an AKC rep, we are all driven, if not totally at least in part, by some degree of egocentricity. The very nature of our given role carries with it an innate sense of pride that in turn can lead to arrogance and self-importance as we savor the sweet taste of success.

Some of us, from the very onset, had lofty dreams of reaching the stars. For many others the start was happenstance with the search for a purebred pet that eventually led us to the dog show game. But however happenstance, someone or something turned us on, in one small way or another, to the world of purebred dogs. And in truth, most of us were spawned via humble beginnings. The late Peter Belmont wrote, “At first many of us, probably even you, entered the world of purebred dogs with a puppy bought from a newspaper advertisement.”

For me, it was just that. In the mid-sixties, I decided that I had to have a Yorkshire Terrier. At the time, I knew nothing of how to find a “reputable breeder.” So I did the only thing I knew to do. I searched the New York Times Sunday classifieds. The breeder I chose lived across the Hudson River in Rockland County, New York. She boasted that Sammy Davis, Jr. owned, not one, but two of her pups. She had colorful ribbons hanging all over her walls and a few trophies scattered about. The ribbons were pink and green, yellow and brown. What did I know? I was impressed. My Yorkie was a precious little thing, so beautiful that I decided it might be fun to show her. Visions of ribbons and trophies danced in my head. I named my pup Muffin of Manor Wood, reflecting the Hartsdale, New York community in which I lived at the time. Muffin had drop ears. Her first show was Westchester, held on the beautiful grounds of the Lyndhurst estate in Tarrytown, NY. It was also her last. I entered the show grounds with Muffin proudly tucked under one arm, a small canvas tote bag which held my scant grooming equipment hanging on the other. Along the way I encountered a Yorkie breeder/exhibitor wheeling countless crates toward our assigned ring. I proudly announced that I was showing my Yorkie and this was our very first show. She mumbled something to effect that I had set my sights a bit too high, stuck her nose in the air and continued on her way. When it came time to show her, I was mortified to learn that Muffin’s ears were not okay. I vaguely remember a kind and thoughtful breeder offering instructions on how to make Muffin’s ears stand up. I believe it had something to do with tape and matchsticks. The remedy proved useless. However, the show bug had taken a bite and I was hooked. So it was back to Zelda (the babe in Rockland County) for another Yorkie, this time one with erect ears. Fordpark Vain Sparky, I must confess, was little better. I guess you could say that I was not what one might call a quick study! It wasn’t until 1970 that my dream of owning a show dog came to fruition, in the form of a lovely Yorkie, obtained through the kindness of Ann Seranne and Barbara Wolferman, of Mayfair fame, and a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier named Innisfree’s Annie Sullivan.

When Annie reached the age of six months I entered her in her first show. We were relegated to the Miscellaneous Class in those days. I entered the ring with head held high only to find myself dashed by another Wheaten exhibitor who looked at my beautiful baby and said, “What is that?” Since her dog did not look at all like mine, I did not know what breed hers was either! I naively responded, “A Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier.” With curled lip, she sneered back, “It’s a little large isn’t it?”  Humble beginnings… you bet.  Annie ultimately became the breed’s third champion of record, its first BIS winner and a top producer with 20 champion get. In due course, the rude and ill-mannered woman passed into oblivion.

In Peter Belmont’s article he spoke candidly of his introduction to the fancy in the late sixties and of being unjustly turned down by several breeders because he was young and still in college. He reported that he found the atmosphere at dog shows to be competitive and totally uninviting and pointed out that the word, “mentor,” was non-existent. He also felt that, “almost everything dog show/breeding-related was cold and very unfriendly” and that “those attempting to get involved were usually met with question and discouragement.” Since I entered the game at about the same time, I can vouch for the validity of his writing and my earlier anecdotes bare this out as well. One had to remain dedicated, relentless and determined in order to succeed in getting a foot in the door!

Certainly there are those who became heir to the sport through parents, or perhaps an uncle or aunt. This “inheritance” usually resulted in a “leg up” but, as I am certain they would tell you, not without years of paying their dues, typically in the form of kennel drudgery, cleaning runs, ex-ing dogs at dog shows and in service as what we rather facetiously call a “bucket bitch.” Humble beginnings… definitely.

Our professional handlers are seldom born with the proverbial silver spoon, either. Had they been, their route to success would, nonetheless, have been the same. They begin their careers as drudges. They stay home to run the kennel, do the grunge work, bathe and feed the kennel dogs, clean the runs, scrub out filthy crates. When at last they graduate to the next level and can attend dog shows, the glamour of it all is still often beyond their grasp. They continue in service as apprentices, slowly inching up in status until the day they are allowed to take a second or third string dog into the ring. When they feel confident enough, with enough jingle-jangle in their pockets, they branch out on their own. It’s a rough road and a very humbling one as well.

The sport is sated with humbling experiences. Have you ever had a dog you felt was so wonderful that you were certain he could finish with three 5-point majors at specialties? I have. He was a rather exaggerated dog with superb reach of neck, short back, incredible color and a bang-up tail with lots of dog behind it. Problem was, he did not look like the others, or as we often say, he was the “odd man out.” His first specialty weekend was in the Midwest where a judge informed me, “Your dog has the best tailset I have ever seen on a Wheaten but he is just too Terrier for me.” I was speechless! Let’s face it, there is nothing more humbling than losing, something we all should know how to do if we have been in the game more than fifteen minutes. And, yet how many of us can do it with grace and equanimity? Oh sure, we put on the fake smile and offer a polite thank you for the fourth place ribbon. How about when we walk out with nothing? Do we leave the ring wordlessly grumbling to ourselves? Are we silently offering up expletives? Have you ever had to “take a walk around the block” to cool off?

I remember, perhaps too clearly, the experience of winning a specialty, followed by winning the Terrier Group, with a handsome dog and I was thrilled at the possibility of winning Best In Show. I was informed later that one of my high-profile competitors, someone I considered a friend, sat ringside with the BIS judge, Robert Graham, and ripped my beautiful dog to shreds, effectively removing from my grasp any possibility for a Best In Show.

I wonder if such humbling experiences don’t strengthen our resolve and commitment to the fancy. That it is those of us who took the knocks…those that stayed the course and didn’t walk away a few years later that hold this sport together. Several years ago I was contacted by a young man, fresh out of college and new to his job, living in an apartment in the Phoenix area. He wanted a puppy. I briefly considered it because I did have a litter, but turned him down for the very same reasons that held Peter Belmont at bay early on. One of the pups was placed with a gal wanting a show dog who stuck with me, bringing him to the house regularly for grooming lessons and trimming; that is, until the day he arrived with the coat on his undercarriage matted like felt. I sent her home with instructions for working the mats out, a little at a time until gone. I never heard from her again… no returned phone calls or emails. Then, one day about a year or so later, I received an email from the young man I had turned down for a pup telling me that he had just purchased a two year-old dog of my breeding. I knew immediately who it was. Turns out the woman, in total violation of our contract, had bred the dog to a puppy-mill bitch and sold the pups along with my beautiful show dog, through a newspaper ad, the latter for $500. Long story short, this young man is the best thing that ever could have happened to my dog. Furthermore, the young man learned to show the dog himself not only to a championship title, but recently to his Grand Championship title, as well. He has truly been an amazing student…so much so that it’s been an easy ride for him. But I don’t think he fully realizes this. His takes his losses with a bit less magnanimity than in the past. He recently had a lesson about how terribly cruel the game can be, upset to learn that a competitor called his recent specialty win “political,” and that another was praying for his dog to “mess up!” Now the young man is talking about cutting the dog down and not showing anymore. Do we need another example to prove that starting out with a really good dog can often be more curse than blessing?

How often do we forget our humble beginnings and become so caught up in “selfness” that we become thoughtless, that we fail to offer each other support and help, or worse, become suspicious and distrustful of accepting it? What did it benefit the person that shared with my young man stories of mean-spirited people raining on his parade? I remember once standing ringside with a friend of mine, a judge who also occasionally exhibits. A young woman walked up to us and addressed my friend, “I just want to tell you that I can never forget your kindness to me a couple of years ago. I was new to dogs at the time. I walked into a show with my dog in his crate, my wheels and a tack box. The place was jammed and there was not a space to be had. You looked in my direction, obviously taking note of my forlorn look. Without batting an eye you began to move things around, stacking crates and said, ‘come on, you can move in here with me.’” Certainly the latter is heart-warming. Juxtapose this with the exhibitor who came into a crowded set-up and started moving another exhibitors’ crates and tables to make room for her own stuff. The exhibitor, whose things were being moved, angrily stomped onto the scene and began moving her stuff back, saying to the usurper, “Madam, this is not the deck of the Queen Mary!”

I am reminded frequently of the tale about a Cherokee Grandfather teaching tribal ways and philosophies to his grandson. He tells the boy, “A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One wolf is evil. He is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego. The other wolf is good. He is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.” The old man continues, “This same fight is going on inside you and every person in the world.” His grandson asks his wise old grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” to which the grandfather replies, “The one you feed.”

Is it possible to drive ourselves to greatness while in training to be nobody special? In the final analysis, isn’t it about humility and being authentic? How easy to be humble if we stop for a minute to recall our roots and our own humbling experiences. How cool would it be if we all resolved to be in training to be nobody special? If we resolved to listen more and talk less, resolved to be kind and generous to one another? Opportunities abound for us to positively influence each other’s lives. And we all know that what goes around comes around!

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Posted by subschron on Aug 20 2013. 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.