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Dogs & Cars
Rich Galen Wednesday February 16, 2005
I have been riveted, over the past two nights, watching the 129th Westminster Dog Show on the USA Network.
Why? I don't know. I have never even heard of about half the breeds which made it into the semi-finals. And two-thirds of those were so grotesque that I would probably stop talking anyone who owned one.
The best part of the whole show was the judging of the "Toy Group." The toys are, of course, the teeniest, tiniest of all the dogs. As an example, the standard for the Pug breed (which just happens to be the breed of The Lad's dog, Titus, who just happens to be lying next to me on the couch as I type this and who, as the family grand dog, just happens to have special privileges in, and the run of, Mullings Central) is an ideal weight of between 14-18 pounds.
But the guy who judged the Toys weighed in at - I'm not exaggerating - a good 350. Every ounce of it.
Throughout the Toy Group judging, host Lester Holt had to apologize to the television audience for our being unable to actually see the dogs because the enormous judge was in the way. In the way? He was blocking everything from the USA Network to the History Channel.
The show itself consists of a bunch of dogs and their frumpy handlers trotting back and forth while a judge � judges them.
Unaccountably there are squeals of glee from the audience as every dog prances down and back. I believe there are people who hire themselves out as professional squealers. I thought the same thing when Riverdance was on PBS as a fundraiser every three hours seven or eight years ago.
Every time that Irish guy from Chicago swaggered out on stage with no shirt, there were the same squeals I heard last night for the Tibetan Terrier (Best in Group; Non-Sporting), maybe by the same people.
The Westminster was just a teaser for the big sporting event of the week: The Daytona 500.
Here's everything I know about cars: If the Mullmobile doesn't start; I call the guy. If I have a flat tire; I call the guy. I can put gas into it. And I can put windshield washer fluid in it, if I can remember how to open the hood which is not every time.
I may have told you this: When I picked up the Mullmobile - which is a 1999 Discovery - the salesman tried to show me how to put it into low range for going off-road.
I told him that when a middle-aged man born in Brooklyn buys a four-wheel drive vehicle, off-road is � the driveway. Or, on a bad parallel parking day, the curb.
Dale Jarrett won the pole position with a speed in excess of 188 miles per hour. That means Jarrett and the 28 other drivers will dash around the Daytona track at about 180 miles per hour faster than Carlee (the German Shorthaired Pointer who won Best in Show) trotted around the Madison Square Garden floor.
In 1959 Lee Petty won the first Daytona 500, receiving a check for just over $19,000. Last year Dale Earnhardt, Jr. was handed $1.4 million for winning at Daytona.
Doesn't matter, though. The competition is why the dogs and the cars are there. Winning is why they compete. And why we watch.
On the Secret Decoder Ring page today: A Mullfoto of Titus the Grand dog, helping me write this column and a fascinating Catchy Caption of the Day.
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Copyright © 2005 Richard A. Galen
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