When I watch, I get nervous, disparage the breeders, ridicule the judges, make wild accusations, empty threats. I pace around the room in a nerve-induced haze, which makes you think I have to go out, and I do. Look, its not just some random bunch of beasts out there; they represent us all.
I, myself, do not have what it takes to compete on the professional circuit. Even when perfectly groomed, I can't hide my disgusting impulses and inappropriate behavior. I'm not perfect. You want perfect? Go stare at a diamond. Or Matthew McConaughey's baby. I don't know. Believe me, I wish I could sit still while some guy in a sports jacket did a cavity search and chased me around the room. I'm afraid I would only incite bedlam.
This year a beagle named Miss P took the top prize, and good for her. My sister in-law is a beagle named Lucy. I imagine she was quite proud when she heard the news and then went on to something else very quickly. I, however, was inconsolable. A bichon frisée has not won the coveted Best in Show since 2001. JR (a.k.a., Champion Special Times Just Right!) was before my time, but I've heard stories, watched the replay repeatedly. I used to have JR's picture near my basket of stuff, but I believe I destroyed or possibly ate it by mistake. Regardless, I want to see the bichon to return to our rightful place in the canine community, which is on the top part. Until then I will go on sleeping on the floor for many hours in protest.