I should know better

We could start with Crufts. A very good place to start. It`s the point at which one should review one`s involvement in the whole depressing money-draining business. A long night sleepless in the overnight bus, listening to the chorus of plaintive howls, snores and endless chat of other insomniacs......"and then there was inertia and the last-minute caesarian and I dread the bill...."......

It was as bad as expected. Had been warned that our judge would be willing to give the supreme accolade to her best friend`s family cat, or indeed a cardboard cut out of said moggie, and so it proved. Stood there in huge classes (and in one of them unaware that the TV cameras were at my back) with:
1. Big Lad. Definitely the tallest there
2. Demented. Definitely the smallest there and behaving like a monkey with a firework up its fundament. Judge remarked - "She`s playing with the big girls here". Well, she was certainly playing. Elegant red creature next to her kept looking sideways at her, wondering if she was missing some element of fun in all this, thinking "I`ll have what she`s having....."
3. Velcro. Definitely my best and thought she was really in with a chance. Stood beautifully and flirted her beautiful golden tail. Totally ignored by judge.
4. The Old One. Overjoyed to be out in the Veteran class rolling eyes and panting heavily to indicate how much she appreciated this. 6 in class and only 5 places - guess who left?

Well, that left the socialising, the tourists, and several long trips to the KC stand to transfer Vomit into my kennel affix, seeing that she is actually pregnant at last. All very good for the leg muscles. Didn`t see any of the people I intended to see. Didn`t feel all that sociable. But Crufts is odd - it`s the great get-together, the tribal convention, the ultimate coven. People you would never normally mix with fall into a totally acceptable social arrangement built on the unpromising basis of competition with dogs. Fell into a conversation about this with G, and we concluded that many of the really poor losers are those who can`t succeed in any other part of their lives and really need this. Not like us, of course....

And that left Getting Home. Actually Getting Out of the Car Park is the main event. It took some people 5 hours. We were lucky with 2. In years gone by we had a driver who used to get us in and out of anywhere, a total chancer. He would come up to checkpoints and lean out and confide in the jobsworth at the gate: "I`ve had it with this. I`m stuck here with this bus full of - " he would lower the voice - "disabled women and all the paperwork has been left in the other bus and as usual muggins has to sort it....." Instant rapport, and the busload of completely able-bodied women with arms and back muscles like the Governor of California from years of carrying small dogs and show paraphenalia would be waved on. Those were the days.....

Journey home slow and agonising on the arse - bus bum is a well known ailment in the fancy. Lucky at least to get a taxi from the drop point at 2am - only 2 night taxis on and the other had got irretrievably lost in a housing scheme, which he had evidently been exploring for the past 4 hours with frequent plaintive calls for help echoing on the radio. Remaining driver overjoyed - "I get all his fares and it`s good practice for him."

Home to rest of dogs overjoyed to see us. Best reception we had all day.
And so to bed at 4am.