The plaNe rose hIGher aNd hIGher. Malcontents around me murmured and mut- tered, anxious to pop open laptops and frantically, rapidly, tap. Many punched backlit but- tons to select movies or TV shows to idly pass the time. some had plugs already stuck in their ears and with my near-canine auditory sense I could hear their music, too. I tuned them all out. I was returning from a wonderful weekend of dog shows and refused to enter- tain anything but lovely doggie thoughts.
For I had been fully in my element the last three days, surrounded by smart people, watching masters at the top of their game in rings along with neophytes young and old. And of course everywhere I looked I saw dogs, the focus of my attention and love since I was a child. I’ve included a photo of Amar, son of my dear friends Adnan Balas & Ferida Salkic, with my dog Romeo, FROM THE EDITOR EMERITUS
Joseph Neil Mc Ginnis III
downstairs. Ladies and gentlemen, as a multiple-hurri- cane survivor I tell you what I routinely tell everybody else: ALWAYS treat a warning as if it’s real because you never know if it is or if it’s not. Off my soapbox and back to my dream...) So there I was, not clad for human consumption but ready to compete. And here’s the kicker. I didn’t load a
wearing the expression I’m told was on my face upon my first canine encounter. The picture of him and Romy is one of my favorite images, and in fairness later in this issue I have one of his sister, too. Thinking back, thinking pre- sent, and thinking forward at the same time overloaded my nor- mally-robust brain. I yawned. I sighed. I hit the release, reclined my seat just a bit so as not to mash into the person behind, and the jet engines’ hum lulled me into a deep, comfy sleep. And I had a dream... N ow , iN this dream i zoomed through the next sixty-four years just as swiftly as I seem to have flown through the last sixty-four. (The fact that I was still this age is kind of dreamy, too.) I was ready for a dog show. Homework was
motor home. I didn’t pack a car. My dog and I didn’t even have to leave our home. In my trophy room (well, I said it was a dream, didn’t I?) was all sorts of digital parapher- nalia by which the job would soon get done. This is how it worked. First we utilized our scanner—it’s not breed specific, just crate-shaped. I’d already trained Rebel or whoever to squint for this part of the exam; he cannot wear shades like a reg- ular celeb and we’ll test his eye size, shape and color with a kinder scanner later. He hops happily into the device and 10,000 pairs of electronic cyes capture every exterior attribute he has. A sensor in the floor records his weight. Then we hit the treadmill; its pressure-sensi- tivity evaluates gait and since it’s
done. My dog was pristine clean, microscopically groomed and soldier-like trained. And yet I was in my jammies. I mention pajamas because over that weekend I got to see something that you didn’t, and I didn’t take pho- tos because this isn’t TMZ. I happened to be staying at the same hotel as the judges and at 2:47 am Saturday the fire alarm screamed and we had to evacuate, by stairwells, fast. Granted there were only nine floors— my last apartment in Manhattan was on the forty- fourth and we’d had to do the same thing there once, too—but the best part is, there we all were, in the park- ing lot, and in a little clique was the entire Greenville/Piedmont judging panel in their jammies and whatnot, doing what? What would you expect? Talking about dogs. Within the hour we got the all-clear and had to trudge back up the stairs, only to be re- awakened at 3:45 by the very same blaring thing. (This time, though, I was one of the few who went all the way
not motorized you have to gait with him too, to hit his prescribed stride. So you get exercised and judged at the same time. A brush-shaped sensor run through his coat will tell if that’s good, too. Then you ask him or her fifty questions and he or she must get every one right. Oh wait, is that for judges? We’ll no longer need judges. (Sometimes dreams can get messed up.) In any case, once all the data is collected, it’s shipped off to a central computer and, when compared to that of all other entrants, it’s calibrated and calculated and out of your printer will pop the appropriate ribbon. Make sure you have plenty of toner in red, white & blue. Trophies and placques will be next-day deliverered. By Drone. Just as we were about to receive our dream award, the plane bumped down in Atlanta and I returned to a wide-awake state. I shuddered. That’s a future dog show??? It’s impossible to calculate how little fun that would be. But it brought to mind my fears about the Digital Era and its effects on our sport. >
42 • S how S ight M agazine , A ugust 2017
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