I am always in awe of what can be described as 'Group Judges'. Their calm demeanor coupled with an air of great knowledge means they exude an air of total competence. Never could I imagine them being flustered or panicked by the sort of everyday hiccups that happen to us ordinary mortals! But it does happen!
A man, whose identity I will not reveal, was subjected to this same panic some years ago. If you saw him judging you would never guess that an incident occurred which had him sweating, swearing and gasping for breath. To make things easier, we'll call him 'Tom'.
At the time, Tom owned a champion Dobermann and a very nice Pharaoh Hound who was the winner of two CCs – both males who were the best of friends.
Every morning Tom would take a break from his family-run business and take the two dogs for a walk. Both were fit and well muscled due to the daily exercise which took them through one part of the small town, through a large park, out on to the outskirts of another town and then back home by a quieter road. The reason that they had such a long walk was due to the Pharaoh Hound, typical of his breed, being uncooperative about coming back to his owner when let off the lead. Sometimes, Tom would let him off and con him into coming back for a treat, but most of the time he stayed on his lead. The Dobermann, however, was an example of obedience. He was able to run free through the park and enjoy himself safe in the knowledge that he would return when called.
As the Pharaoh had two CCs, his opportunities to run free were getting fewer as the show dates neared. Anyone with a top winning dog will know the feeling of dread of that dog doing something to injure himself!
On this particular day, the sun was shining, the dogs' coats glistened and a light breeze made them eager to run around. Tom often felt sorry for the Pharaoh. He liked to think that the dog could have an occasional run in a safe environment but unfortunately the opportunities were limited. On reaching the park, he let the Dobermann off the lead and he shot off in large circles of delight while the Pharaoh watched him wistfully. After a few minutes Tom decided to let the Pharaoh off the lead as well. He unclipped him and both dogs charged around in play. Tom kept changing direction and calling the Dobermann; the Pharaoh followed and all seemed well. He walked on to a narrow pathway and called the dogs so that they had to come close to him as they passed by. This was one of the tricks he employed to catch the Pharaoh. As soon as he got on to the path, the Pharaoh turned the other way and was gone across the park. Whistling and calling was no use. Sending the Dobermann after him produced no results.
Tom trekked around the park getting no closer to the gingery pink Exocet than a quick glimpse through the trees. After about an hour of calling, whistling and going round in circles Tom lost sight of him completely. Panic was beginning to set in when he heard the sound of car horns from the road which ran alongside part of the park. Sprinting to the roadway, he was horrified to see the Hound standing on the centre of the mini-roundabout. Dashing into the road, Tom brought the light traffic to a standstill. As soon as he saw his owner, he was off again, this time back into the park. Tom and the Dobermann followed.
Twice more the Pharaoh, who was really enjoying himself by this time, got back out on to the roundabout and then back into the park. Realising that he was safer in the park, Tom decided to make his way back home to fetch the car and some help. (Bear in mind this was before the time of mobile phones.)
Sprinting all the way home, he charged into the house to get his keys when he heard the phone ringing. Gasping and wheezing he picked it up. A dog—showing acquaintance was on the other end. 'Tom,' he said 'Do you know anyone who's lost a Pharaoh Hound. I've got one here with me'. 'It's . . . gasp . . . mine . . . gasp . . . hang on to . . . gasp . . . him' said Tom. 'I can't actually catch him' said the friend 'but I'll keep the doors shut until you get here' 'Is he in your house?' asked Tom, surprised. 'No, he's running loose round the shop floor' said the friend.
Tom then remembered that his friend was the manager of Marks and Spencer's in the nearby town! He drove at breakneck speed to the shop to find hysterical customers shut in with a whirling dervish who had cocked his leg on the checkout before being captured in the Ladies' Nightwear section.
So next time you see one of those judges calmly surveying the line-up at a show, just think - he may have once owned a Pharaoh Hound!
A Pharaoh Hound
