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Why
Televised Dog Shows Are a Sham
The New Republic, 12.14.06, by Sacha
Zimmerman.
As
Friedrich Nietzsche once said, "The world was conquered through the
understanding of dogs; the world exists through the understanding
of dogs." And so it is that there is perhaps nothing more
philosophical on television than the "American Kennel Club/Eukanuba
National Championship" dog show on Animal Planet. For, despite its
sports-competition-sounding title, the national championship is, at
its heart, a theater of
existentialism.
To
truly understand a dog show means to shed all common notions about
how an animal's greatness is measured, like speed or jumping
ability. At Eukanuba, as at all purebred dog shows, the dogs are
judged, not for their cuteness or prowess in catching a Frisbee,
but against a transcendent idea of
the perfect dog. In other words, the Belgian Tervuren is not
competing against the Pembroke Welsh Corgi; the Belgian Tervuren is
competing against the metaphysical ideal of a Belgian Tervuren.
Whichever dog comes closest to personifying its breed's
quintessence wins best in show--and becomes something like the
philosopher king of the canine world. There is, underlying all of
the pomp and ceremony of the competition, a kind of Platonic
striving to find that dog which will epitomize the archetype so
resoundingly that we humans will perhaps leave the cave for a
moment and, as Nietzsche suggests, understand the world a bit
better for understanding a dog. "Dog is my co-pilot,"
indeed!
Unfortunately,
instead of conveying its philosophical nature, the dog-show world
seems wedded to useless sports-world analogies. Let's start with
the conundrum of the handler. Edd Bivin, who provides the color
commentary for Eukanuba's TV audience beside the play-by-play of
former "Entertainment Tonight" host Bob Goen, explains to us that
the human handler should be invisible. The best handlers apparently
allow the dog to be the main focus. There are even contests for the
handlers--Goen was thrilled to announce the winner of the Junior
Handler Competition. Meaning there was actually a contest to see
which handler was least noticeable, a through-the-looking-glass
moment where a handler was remembered, essentially, for her
absence.
And
yet, along with the ubiquitous sensible shoes, I saw a startling
number of sequins, large-pattern prints, and gold-lamé sheaths
adorning the figures of the handlers. Were it not for the tight
camera shots of the dogs, I might have missed them completely, as I
was staring agog at the garish trends in dog-show-handler couture.
Shouldn't invisible handlers be wearing basic black to stop
distracting viewers from the dogs?
Moreover,
while praising the handlers who show dogs so skillfully, so
invisibly, Bivin nevertheless informs us that a handler's
performance is, in fact, irrelevant. This came up when a
particularly inelegantly dressed woman nearly tripped over a leash
(so much for not being noticed). Bivin reminds us that this is a
dog show; the handler's gaffe will not affect the scoring of the
dog. So, if any clod with two left feet covered head-to-toe in
Swarovski crystals can march a dog around the arena without
affecting the judging of the dog itself, then why all the talk of
invisibility and skill, not to mention high-priced professional
handlers? It's like the handlers are some kind of preternatural red
herrings meant to keep us looking at the shadows instead of at the
dog-gods among us, who are blithely padding to and fro with none of
the angst or consternation of the humans by their
sides.
Even
worse, the dogs, too, are regarded as athletes in this competition,
even though they are nothing of the sort. Bivin explains to the
home viewers that winning is all about the dog's performance on a
given day. But a dog is the same on any given day. Unless a dog's
hip has shifted an inch or its color has changed from one
competition to the next, the dog is either close to perfect or it
isn't. The contest is about appearance, after all, not temperament.
The standards are supposedly set. And what "performance" is the dog
really giving? After one spirited dog, a Petit Basset Griffon
Vendeen (PBGV), gave a yelp and a growl to the judge, Bivin was
quick to remind the audience that the judge would not hold it
against the dog; indeed, the PBGV did well in its grouping.
(Though, truthfully, understanding any of the standards for judging
was near impossible with Bivin at the helm. He is prone to
incredible fits of tautology. For example, when asked by Goen what
the judge was looking for in a dog's gait, Bivin explained that the
judge was watching how the dog moved.
Illuminating.)
Actually,
there is some rationale for all the sports talk. After all, the
dogs are divided into groups based on what they were bred to do,
like hunt, guard, or herd. But, for all we know, the Siberian Husky
has never set a paw in the snow or even heard of the Iditarod;
perhaps the Newfoundland is terrified of water rescues; and has the
Border Collie ever rounded up sheep? By ignoring the teleological
nature of the dogs, how can we possibly be sure that each one is
anywhere close to the breed ideal? Then there is the constant
banter between Goen and Bivin about the sweetness of one breed, the
appropriateness of a breed for children, or the most loyal breed,
which leaves the viewer pining for a demonstration of these traits.
But no dogs are released into a gaggle of children to shower them
with licks, and no dog is asked to bound to the door to exhibit its
joy at its master's return home. The show is as devoid of
personality as any Miss America pageant; perhaps more so, as talent
is not even a consideration.
"All
knowledge, the totality of all questions and answers, is contained
in the dog," wrote Franz Kafka, and yet we foolishly examine teeth
and coats whilst ignoring the soul. Which makes this entire
dog-show extravaganza an exercise in eugenics, something we
generally frown upon in the human world. Besides, inbreeding for
dogs with pure bloodlines designed for outdated purposes, like
guarding castles, is bad for dogs (many of which suffer from
genetic diseases due to inbreeding) and bad for pet owners, who
want a nice, playful dog, not a ratter or a racer. The competitive
canine universe is festooned with all the trappings of a love of
dogs. But that is a fallacy. Breeding to "perfection" has nothing
to do with the true spirit of dogs, who care not that their beloved
owners wear frumpy clothes, have less than perfect posture, lack
good muscle tone, or don't have a smooth gait. I don't blame the
genetically superior dogs; Eukanuba is a totally human
failing.