My first experiences with dog shows began with Malcolm’s predecessor, Joey.  We’d started with a match show as part of a dare between a neighbor and me.  She entered her Pomeranian and I entered my Bull Terrier, Joey.  She chickened out and didn’t show her dog.  I didn’t chicken out and my dog won.  That was it; hook, line and sinker, the dog show world had me. 

     Malcolm the ham loved dog shows.  His first show was an outdoor summer match show.  He was the only Bull Terrier entered, which meant we had a trot around the ring, and the judge handed us a first place ribbon.  La-di-da, no big deal, but Malcolm loved it, showed beautifully, and made us proud.  We stayed for terrier group.  At that point, Dear Hubby and I had figured the experience for Malcolm was good, but we’d never do anything in the group ring that day. 

     Group ring for Malcolm was like obedience classes at home.  Malcolm, the obedience class clown had a brand new audience.  By the time terrier group began, the temperature had hit 89 degrees and was still climbing.  Rested, watered, kept cool, Malcolm was eager to strut his stuff.  

     Malcolm sparkled when he entered the ring.  DH snapped pictures like crazy.  We lined up with all the other terrier breeds and waited for our turn.  He was an angel and stood like a stone when the judge went over him.  Malcolm didn’t need me on the end of the leash.  He showed himself, loose lead, and flawless turns, stopped in front of the judge and stacked to perfection.  The judge motioned us to the end of the line and went on to the next dog. 

     After the judge had gone over all the dogs, she sent us all around the ring one last time. 

     I wasn’t sure but I thought she pointed at us and said, “First.” 

     I turned to the woman next to me and asked, “Did she mean us?”

     She flashed me a huge smile and said, “Yes, get up to the head of the line.” 

     DH was going nuts with the camera.  Malcolm and I went to the front of the line.  The judge handed me a Group First ribbon and a small trophy.  I couldn’t tell you how many hands I shook as we left the ring.  Malcolm stopped every few feet to pose for pictures his tail a blur. 

     Outside of the ring, after loving on Malcolm, I turned to DH and said, “You know this means we have to stay for best in show, don’t you?” 

     He made a quick check of his camera, “Damn, I’m almost out of film.” 

     We went back to the van, covered Malcolm in a cold, wet T-shirt, gave him water and treats, and waited for the best in show competition.  My nerves thrummed.  Malcolm took a nap. 

     The call came over the intercom, “Best of show competition, ring 5 in twenty minutes.”

     By now, the temperature had hit 95 degrees.  We headed for the ring.  It was in full sun, not a speck of shade.  We stood in line, the judge checked each dog, and sent them down the ring and back. 

     Next thing I knew Malcolm and I were singled out and standing next to a Yorkshire terrier and its handler.  The judge had the Yorkie and its handler walk down the center of the ring and back.  He had Malcolm and I go down and back.  He stood back, stared and had us repeat it.  Down and back. 

     The fourth time Malcolm made a decision, if the judge couldn’t decide he’d do it for him.  It was hot out there.  We went down the ring, we came back, and Malcolm did not stack himself.  Instead, he looked the judge in the eye and sat down.  No treat in the world, no amount of nudging would make him stand.  He’d had enough of the judge’s indecision.  He didn’t win the Best in Show ribbon that day, but we didn’t care.