Here I was, about to enter the show ring for the first time as a handler of a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel! It was all I could do to keep the smug, grin from overtaking my face. After all this is where I showed everyone just how easy this all is. I had been watching other handlers parade their dogs in a circle for two years, practically a lifetime, and was still amazed at how much they fussed at such a seemingly simple task. I was confident the keys to success were to keep the focus on the dog and make sure the judge sees what I want her to see. Presentation was everything!

My mind drifted off into a world of ribbon acceptance and photo shoots, the stewards voice becoming dull background music to my wonderful dream. It was repetition like a stuck record that brought me back to the day, NUMBER 12, PUPPY BITCH NUMBER 12, NUMBER 12! A smile crossed my face as I pictured a professional handler somewhere trying to shove one dog into his crate, get another out, and pull his old number off his sleeve with his teeth to expose the number 12 beneath. I was quite amused by this vision…. That is, until I realized that I was number 12!

I wove through the crowd like a running back while trying to keep the "I meant to do that" look on my face. As I passed the steward she said softly "Catalog order please". I placed my dog on the ground and moved forward with Lola trotting majestically at my side. Letting out a deep breath, I smiled, for I had entered the ring!…..I was in the public eye!….My march to glory had begun!…..And I had ABSOLUTELY NO idea where I belonged in line!

Smile fading quickly my mind hummed as I tried to perfect the art of long range arm band identification. Why did these people insist on adjusting their dogs lead, running that last comb through an ear, and anything else which left them bent over, arm bands totally unreadable under the folds of their jacket created by these maneuvers. Rather than lose dignity, I took a calculated gamble and led my dog into a gap two entries had left in the line. I would just have to trust these handlers had examined the catalog and left a slot for good ol’ number 12. Settling in line, I spied the number 13 behind me, smiled at my ingenious recovery, and turned my focus to my dog. Lola was standing, attentive, tail wagging, things looked good! Winners circle here we come!

The judge instructed us to "take them once around the ring", and thus our journey began! The lead dog set off, number two followed, and with confidence I started my pup on her first lap. Lola looked up at me, took that first proud step, and suddenly began to hack and snort as she heaved her way around the ring! Snort! Snort!, Stop, Go, Snort! Snort!, Stop, Go. My look of surprise and horror was definitely a Kodak moment! My mind raced through panic, right past rational thought. Instead of pausing to adjust the lead and continuing on with dignity; I attempted to disguise her dilemma by feigning a cough myself, and walking in a stop and go manner to try to camouflage her erratic movement. I’m certain had I not been focusing on my less than clever cover-up, I would have seen that same look of horror so recent upon my face firmly plastered on that of the judge observing this charade. The judge soon turned to the first dog being presented on the table and of course once she turned away…… Lola ceased to snort and paraded like a champion.

I regained my composure as they began the table examinations and the voice in my head reissued the prime directive, FOCUS ON THE DOG! Utilizing the time out of the judges eye to make any necessary adjustments would give me the edge to assure my victory. While the judge was busy with the first two dogs, I pulled the comb from my pocket and gave Lola’s ears a quick touch up. I carefully smoothed her coat with my hands, and smiled at my handiwork. Replacing my comb from whence it came, the sound of the judge clearing her throat brought me back from my haze to realize,…… Lola should be on the table!

I bent down in haste to grab my dog. The silver comb flew out of my pocket from the radical movement, pulling my plastic bag of liver bait halfway out as it fell. The sight of the shiny comb flying at her face, made Lola jump back a few steps, wrapping herself and the lead part way around the tent rope. Feeling I could still recover without major damage, in one smooth motion I bent and scooped up the comb with my left hand and Lola with my right. This left me with a dog in my right hand, comb and lead in my left. Unfortunately, the lead, which I had slid up my wrist to free the left hand for grabbing the comb, now ran around the tent rope to the dog in my right. A flick of my wrist to slip out of the lead and still salvage my dignity failed as the lead left the arm only to wedge in the teeth of the comb. It was only the voice in my head that said "drop the comb idiot" that saved total embarrassment. I released the comb, turned and headed to the table lead and comb bouncing across the grass the entire way.

Placing my dog on the table I managed a smile to the judge who had been quite patient, and perhaps even somewhat amused by my disorganization. Time to stack my dog and let the quality of the animal overcome the mishaps of the handler. I placed her on the table and flipped the lead (comb still attached) behind my neck. Lola immediately sat down. No problem, I was prepared for this. Placing my left hand gently under her hind quarters, I lifted her up to stance for the judge to see. The judge looked her over and approached to perform the hands on examination. I smiled and pleasantly said, "its her first time in the ring" hoping to explain away my mistakes on an inexperienced pup. The judge smiled back and talked to Lola softly as she went to check her teeth. Lola looked back happily,……. wagged her tail at the judges soothing voice, ……… and decided ………."you are NOT putting your hands in MY mouth!".

Lola slammed it into reverse and started a table retreat! In an instant, my hand moved from under her belly to behind her butt before she eclipsed the edge of the table. While this stopped her rear before it plunged over the edge, the front continued the retreat until my dog was the most beautiful Blenheim accordion in the ring! The judge undaunted by this common reaction, continued to talk sweetly to Lola, and eventually picked through the now compact puppy to perform the necessary examinations. As she moved off to examine Lola’s’ profile, I repositioned myself in front of my pup as I had practiced time and again in my mind. Now, a small piece of bait and she should step forward nicely, unfolding, and exhibiting her beautiful physique for the judge to see. I reached to my pocket,….. only to find…….. an empty bait bag hanging out! It must have spilled when we tangled the tent line! I was frantically digging around the pocket looking for a stray piece of liver when the judge said "OK, take her up, over, and back to me in a triangle". Too late for bait, I lifted Lola off the table placing her gently on the ground. Hands moving with precision, I quickly found the end of the lead, plucked off the comb and placed it in my pocket. To assure there would be NO hacking and snorting this time, I set the lead high under Lola’s’ chin, and off we went!

Down the ring we headed on our first leg. A glance down revealed Lola parading well and letting out a sigh, I began to think we had things under control again. We executed a beautiful left turn and headed across the back of the ring. I looked across the ring to catch a glimpse of the competition. A quick evaluation put the smile back on my face. We could still beat them! Approaching the far corner of the ring, I decided to improvise. After all, all the great ones knew when to take a chance! At home we had practiced a gradual left turn keeping the dog at all times in the judges eye as we moved to head back in her direction. But, I had seen several other handlers lead the dog in a small circle around themselves to the right, allowing the dog to not break stride or change speed, while executing an elegant loop back to the judge. This looked more polished and I decided to go for it!

We reached the corner and I turned to my right to loop the dog around for the run home. Unfortunately Lola had failed to share my psychic decision to improvise, and remembering her practice sessions, turned to the left. This resulted in both of us jerking to a halt at opposite ends of the lead! Lola sat down and looked at me with that "Where the heck are YOU going look". I immediately attempted recovery by turning to my left and heading directly towards the judge. Lola, now satisfied I was back on course, rose and headed towards the judge also. Though on the move again, Lola was now on my right and an excessive amount of lead crossed limp in front of me. We were perfectly positioned, for jumping rope! I continued my movement towards the judge but no longer in a direct line. In an attempt to reposition my dog on my left I walked on an angle to my right trying to intercept her chosen path. As I approached, Lola, not wanting to end up under my feet, also wandered to her right offsetting any gain I was attempting. I swear I heard a slight chuckle from the crowd as handler and dog slowly "crabbed" our way diagonally across the ring. Perhaps even more comical was the poor judge continually taking small steps to her left, head cocked, in an attempt to view the front end movement of my dog. Well luckily rings have boundaries and dog, handler, and judge finally converged in the corner of the ring by the other waiting entries.

The judge glanced one more time at my dog, looked up at me and said " I was going to have you take her around and back to the end of the line, however, considering your last maneuver and being as we wound up in the vicinity of where I wanted you, perhaps it is better you remain put for the time being". She then backed up a pace and like a veteran obedience handler raised her hand towards me and with a smile said "STAY". Well this brought a chuckle from the crowd and I didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted. Continuing undaunted, the judge paraded to the far end of the line of entries and began to have the handlers walk their dogs up and back across the ring. Although I had seen judges do this many times, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was her normal routine or had our escapades taken so long that she needed a refresher on how the other dogs moved.

With a sigh I looked down at Lola. Tail wagging she stood proudly waiting for a treat for her performance. I reached in my pocket only to remember my bait was no longer there but rather was now displayed as a decorative spread around tent rope number two! Well the judge seemed preoccupied enough, and after all I was standing practically on top of tent rope one,…… so….. slowly… as inconspicuous as I could,…… I edged my way towards the second tent rope. Sliding my feet and body, arm stretched back to allow Lola to remain in position, it wasn’t long before I realized this wasn’t going to work. The lead was not long enough. Perhaps if I just repositioned my dog a little….. no,……. I remember the last time we moved!…..OK. I decided to make a quick dash for the bait.

Casing out the situation I noticed that the judge was on the third of six other dogs in the ring. She intently watched the dogs walk up and back then had them repositioned in line. After this, she turned her back to me briefly to get a last glance at the animal before moving on to the next. That was the window of opportunity. I glanced towards the second rope and with a squint was able to pick out one or two larger piles of my formerly packaged bait. That would have to do. When she turned her back I would run over, scoop up the bait, and be back in line before she noticed. I would have to relinquish the lead for a moment but was confident Lola would stay in place if I were quick. As the third dog returned to the line I whispered STAY to Lola. The judge turned her back and I was off! One….. Two…… Three….(dignified) steps, Scoop…… Two……. Three…… BACK!… I DID IT! And Lola was standing tall, tail wagging, right where I had left her. A glance down the line showed the judge to be setting off the next dog. She hadn’t noticed, finally something went right! Well. At least I thought it had!

It’s amazing how fast liver will turn to mushy gruel in the sun. I opened my hand to bait my dog only to find globs of soft liver oozing through my fingers and coating my entire palm. Oh Great! I made the end run of a lifetime, totally unnoticed, to retrieve a handful of paste! I gave the liver a squeeze to form one gooey lump and dropped it in my pocket. The bait was a lost cause for now, as the judge was working the dog next to me. Time had run out and my brain raced as I searched for a suitable venue for wiping my liver coated hand before she arrived at our turn. The people in the crowd were whispering to one another, and my mind twisted their talk about the dogs being examined, into a jolly exchange of bets on where I would wipe my messy hand and what folly I would perform next. I stood there taxing my brain while Lola stood anxiously eyeing my delicious hand…… AHA! That’s IT! I bent down as if to adjust the lead, and let her lick my palm. She gladly made short work of the clean up and finished with time to spare. When it came to eating treats, Lola was no lady! I stood with renewed confidence ready to perform, convinced, this impromptu cleanup had been successfully disguised as preparation for our turn at the up and back.

The judge approached, and directed us to move across the ring and directly back to her, adding at the end with a smile "in some semblance of a straight line if you please". Off we went Lola parading beautifully. We crossed the ring, executed a perfect turn, and strutted proudly back to the judge. Well… at least within 5 feet of the judge. Lola didn’t make it past tent rope number 2. We stopped with a jolt as Lola planted to consume the remaining liver buried within the grass. By this time I think we were becoming a crowd favorite and the giggle was audible scattered among the smiling audience. I looked at the judge and motioned towards Lola with my left hand, as if we had stopped at this planned distance for her review. The judge turned away without comment and slowly went down the line. It was then the smile left my face as I knew we were through.

I slowly won the tug of war necessary to get Lola from her new found garden of liver, back to her proper place in line. The judge motioned to the handler of a beautiful Tricolor puppy. Handler and dog then paraded to the front of the entries, now making me second. I let out a sigh as I knew I was only a couple of expected gestures from becoming third, then fourth, then out of the ribbons entirely. The judge then pulled a nice Blenheim from the line, But… as dog and handler headed in my direction the judge motioned behind me, placing this duo third! My heart raced. Could we have salvaged second? After stepping back to review her work the judge signaled us to take them around the ring again.

I felt the nervousness return as we headed off. Funny how dreams of best in breed had now been replaced with second in class and yet the excitement still rattled my bones to the core. As we came around the last turn the judge pointed in turn, 1, 2, 3, 4! We had somehow garnished a runner up finish! I felt like I had won Westminster! I bent down and ruffled Lola’s’ fur in glee, then scooped her up in my arms as we waited for the steward to record our numbers and the judge to give us our prize. I thanked the judge as she handed me the ribbon and left the ring thrilled with our accomplishment.

Lola and I were standing in the shade, lost in our own little happy world, busy admiring our prize and exchanging hugs and kisses. In a sense of Deja vu, we were brought back to reality by the stewards voice…. Number 12… Number 12 back in the ring….Number 12…… In our celebration of finishing second in class I had totally forgotten that if the dog beating us won we would have the opportunity to compete for Reserve Winners! I quickly stuffed the ribbon into my suit pocket (planting it firmly in liver mush as I would find out later) and with pounding heart, raced towards the ring, Lola riding under my arm like a football. I expertly worked the comb from my other pocket with my free hand in a desperate attempt to give her ears one quick swipe on the way. Swish, Swish, ….. Perfect! Another of my dangerous decisions clicked into place as I decided to tuck the comb in my armband like I had seen the pro’s do rather than return it to my pocket, where we had already seen what kind of trouble could result!. The judge was waiting patiently and smiled as I entered the ring. I pushed the comb into my armband, breaking the rubber band and sending comb and number tumbling to the turf! As I stopped to try to recover the items, the steward stepping over on an intercept course, and politely said "I’ll get them, take your place please". The judge chimed in with a chuckle, "yes I think we remember who YOU TWO are without a number".

Sheepishly, Lola and I took our place in line. The judge glanced at the entries and said "take them around once please". As I adjusted the lead high under Lola’s chin, some of the liver-mush remaining between my fingers (the unlickable zone) came off unnoticed by me onto the lead. With a slight tug off we went. At first glance Lola was parading beautifully, and I turned my eyes away from her as we rounded the back turn. First the lead felt a little different, then a slight giggle arose from the crowd, and finally the smile of amusement crossing the judges face led me to glance back.

Lola was parading smartly, lead firmly set between her teeth where she was chewing and licking off the liver tidbits. It quite looked like she, having had enough of her handlers incompetence, had decided to take charge and lead him around the ring! My frustrated look of "what next" turned to a chuckle itself, as I finally realized just what fun Lola was having today. Her joyful prance and endlessly wagging tail had replaced my obsession with winning with the dawning realization that this was supposed to be fun! I couldn’t help but smile as we finished the final turn. If nothing else we had surely become a crowd favorite and provided ample entertainment value.

Pleased with our performance and waiting to be dismissed so I could hug my devilish little critter one more time. I got my final surprise of the day as the judge pointed to me and said, " you sir, despite trying to hold back this beautiful creature all day, are Reserve Winner". My mouth dropped open with surprise, my competitors congratulated me and the crowd clapped. I picked up Lola and the judge approached to hand me our ribbon. With a smile she looked directly at Lola, and gently stroking her head said "Don’t give up precious, he has potential, he’ll learn". She then turned to me and handed me the ribbon and as I thanked her she said, "she’s a beautiful Cavalier, with a little more practice you should do well. I thanked her and left the ring.

I would fondly look back on that day many times over the next few years. It would be that memory that would inspire me to clap for a beginners achievement rather than laugh at their mistakes. It would be those events that reminded me in the serious encounters with those determined to "win at all costs", that this was supposed to be, and should be fun. And it would be this day that would always remind me that no matter what goes wrong, trust in your dog and things will turn out o.k. Lola went on to her championship in short order, but its still our first Reserve Ribbon hanging on the wall that brings the biggest smile to my face.