We all know what pandemonium means.
It's a commonly heard term often used to describe scenes of chaos or
mayhem. To those with a literary bent, Pandemonium was the capitol
of Milton's hell in Paradise Lost. For most of us, though, the term
conjures up images of things run amok, a place of wild confusion
often accompanied by loud noise. But, these are all merely calm
reflections of book learning, not grounded in personal experience.
Well, for us, all that changed this morning when we followed through
on my plan to enter Mojo into this year's annual Isle of Palms Dog
Show. While we had once attended this event before we had Mojo, that
was as observers – neutrals, you might say. This time we were in
the trenches, combatants you might say. We now are quite sure we
know what pandemonium is.
The lead up to this day was innocent
enough. I shampooed Mojo yesterday after returning from the beach,
trying with greater zeal than normal to squeeze out whatever sand
still lurked in those pesky undercoats of his. I never shampoo Mojo;
it just seems like wasted energy since I know he'll be back in the
ocean in literally a matter of hours. But, yesterday he got the
royal spa treatment: the massage, a fluffier towel than normal, a
careful wiping of the face to remove drool and errant sand particles,
a good brushing. He was ready. Or, so I thought.
We arrived at the Isle of Palms
Recreation Center to be met by an avalanche of canines. They were
everywhere: there were puppies, german shepherds, labs, goldens,
poodles, dachshunds, pomeranians, ridgebacks, greyhounds, danes,
hybrids of all shapes and sizes, and a vast array of undecipherables.
All were excited. You simply cannot imagine how many leashes became
fabulously intertwined in mere seconds. Some dogs took this all in
quite evenly; others less so. There were plenty of growls, but the
growls were far outnumbered by the number of wagging tails, including
Mojo's. I would guess there were in excess of 100 dogs there. Some
were dressed in costumes for the all-important “best costume”
category. (A word on the competition's categories. No, this was not
Westminster. This was the people's dog show. This is why there were
categories such as “most ear resistible ears,” “cutest puppy,”
“best eyes,” cutest name,” “biggest breed,” “smallest
breed,” “cutest unidentifiable breed,” and best male and female
rescue dogs, where Mojo would do battle. Trust me, Westminster is
safe as a pinnacle in the pantheons of dog showdom.)
Just getting through the registration
process was hair raising. Because Mojo was intent on smelling
everyone's butt as if it were a time trial to do this, I must have
turned four or five lurching pirouettes as I neared the table to sign
in and receive my instructions for what was to follow. It was as if
the dogs had all simultaneously gotten their get out of jail card and
were hellbent on partying like there was no tomorrow. Sniffing,
growling, licking, barking, yipping, humping, jumping, rolling were
everywhere. I was a bit out of my element.
Somehow the master of ceremonies got
folks' attention (less so the dogs') and the competition was underway.
Our group – best male rescue – was up second. Ten in the group.
The MC came along with a mike and asked each of us the story of how
our dog had come to be rescued. I told them all the story of Mojo
getting tossed from a truck as a small pup and getting rescued by a
hunter who saw it all happen and how Mojo was now the happiest dog on
planet earth. A pretty compelling story, but as the MC went down the
line, each owner in turn had an incredible story of saving his or her
dog from euthanasia in the nick of time or snatching them from an
abusive environment. All great stories, all heartening. In fact,
when the crowd was asked how many owned rescued dogs, I'd say about
80% of everyone there raised their hands. But, now it was in the
judges' hands, the three ladies sitting with clipboards assessing who
knows what. They announced the third place finisher, then the
second. And, then the winner of the group.....Mojo! Blue ribbon,
an inscribed dog bowl, a gift certificate, dog treats – the whole
enchilada. I was immediately filled with excitement, and in an odd
way, pride. Really, not at all unlike seeing one of your children
winning a spelling bee or prevailing in a big soccer game. All Mojo
wanted in that moment was another piece of Puppy Crack, the wonderful
dog treats sold by our neighbors, Brian and Jan. As far as I could
tell, Mojo's zone of interest consisted solely of dogs and treats,
and who can blame him?
Because we won in our class we had to
stick around for the awarding of the best in show prize where, once
again, Mojo and ten others went on display for the judges. By now,
most of the dogs were actually quite calm, their bodies now
completely drained of adrenalin. They announced the winner, a
beautiful German Shepherd from a group I simply do not remember. It
was a blur. One of the judges came up to me afterward and said softly, “I
was outvoted” as if to furtively suggest that Mojo got one of the
three votes for best in show. That would have been great, of course,
but after two hours of pandemonium what we wanted most was our exit
visa.
Back to the beach tomorrow, big guy.
Hopefully, that blue ribbon is waterproof.
