Whenever I start talking about dog shows, my husband has two words for me:? “dog wackos”.? In fact, hubby? has always? maintained that he married a “semi-normal dog wacko”.? ? Whatever that means.
Being the sweet, demure kind of girl I am, I usually just smile and nod my? head obediently.? Yeah, right.? Okay, so maybe I argue a bit.? Or a lot.? I tell him raising show dogs? is a hobby,? just? like any other hobby.? Only a little more time consuming.? And labor intensive.? And maybe a tad more annoying (like when Fergie eats your son’s big wheel seat).?
But there are perks.? I mean, fishing might be enjoyable (if you? find? parking your fanny on? the seat of a? stinky old boat for long stretches of time, twiddling your thumbs? and day-dreaming about Moby Dick “enjoyable”), but it’s not like you’re going to cuddle up with your fishing rod at night.? (And if you are, we don’t need to know about it.? Can I just say—ouch?)? ? How about? kickin’ back on your couch, watching a little American Idol with your golf clubs?? Not so snuggalicious.? And honestly—who takes their Wii to the park for a game of Frisbee? (Of course, having Ridgebacks, the game of Frisbee involves me throwing said Frisbee, then chasing the fleeing dog with said Frisbee dangling from? her mouth.? Hmmm….maybe the Wii would be a better choice.)
Hubby’s? side?? Well, believe it or not, his main beef isn’t with the actual dog shows (although he thinks they’re lame), or the amount of money spent on dog showing (which he thinks is certifiable), or even how we treat our dogs like children (he’ll happily change a diaper, but pick up? dog poops?? Ha!).?
No, his big complaint is simple.? ? According to him, what? makes dog show enthusiasts “wackos” is their inability to shut up.? He says they never stop talking about their dogs.? Ever.? And I’ve finally decided he may have a point.
See, apparently,? it’s not? normal to continue discussing the minutiae of your hobby ad nauseum once your hobby session has ended.? And us dog folks?? Well, we? simply don’t work that way.? We talk.? We discuss.? We converse.? In fact, we over-analyze every aspect of every? Ridgeback we know, from the color of their nose (black or liver) to their ears (too short or too long), to the tip of their tails (kink or no kink?).? And I guess having daily phone conversations with your mom (and aunt), where 80% of the content revolves around this Ridgeback’s lure coursing run, or what that Ridgeback ate for breakfast, just isn’t normal.
But, even knowing all that, I was still ready? to argue the point.? Until today.? Because today, I finally realized that my husband was? right all along.? I am a dog wacko.? And here’s why.
See, I belong to a couple of Ridgeback discussion groups.? What do we talk about on these lists?? Yep, you guessed it—Ridgebacks (and, of course, sometimes ducks—but that’s an ill-advised and touchy subject).? ? Sometimes, the topics get a little hot.? But this past month?? Well, to say that things have gotten ugly would be like saying that crocodiles have teeth.? ?
? Not that a little list drama is a new occurrence–not even close.? Because if there’s one thing dog folks have in common besides the obvious, it’s their love of a good argument.?
But lately, it’s gotten out of hand.? Why?? To be honest, I’m not really sure.? I mean, as far as I know, nobody’s dead, nobody’s dog died, and nobody’s passing around genital crabs (although, I admit, that would make an interesting twist).? In a nutshell, I guess it all stems over disagreements about breeding practices and proper board and committee procedures.? I know, I know—it sounds about as exciting as a good toilet cleaning.? And yet the drama continues.
And this is how I know I am now, officially, a dog wacko.? Because even though this? issue has next to nothing to do with me, I find myself? fanatically reading every post, like? my body is being possessed by aliens.? ? Aliens that like to read a lot? of crap about Ridgebacks.? ? And not only reading—I’m posting.? Posting, I tell you!? ? ? Why?? Because I just can’t seem to help myself. It’s like? a terrible, terrible sickness—-some kind of compulsive Tourette’s of the computer syndrome.? Only without the swearing.? In fact, in one post I likened it to the? horrified fascination you feel when viewing road kill.? The more you want to look away, the more you look.
Honestly, though, it’s a little more exciting than it sounds.? There’s drama.? There’s threats.? There’s bad humor (mainly mine).? There’s lawyers and? name-calling and hound dogs, oh my!? And I guess since I gave up soap operas a long, long time ago, this is what I’m stuck with.
Besides, its not as if I have anything more compelling, like, say, rising gas prices (hubby commutes over 50 miles EACH WAY to work), rising food prices (yes, my family enjoys eating), and falling house prices (don’t even ask) to worry about.
So, yes, husband, I admit it—I’m a 100%, certifiable, dog wacko now.? But you’re stuck with me anyway.Share on Facebook