I was threading my way between ex-pens and grooming tables, headed for the far end of the exhibitor’s area during the first of a two-day dog show outside of Buffalo, New York.
It was pretty crowded.
As far as the eye could see, there were dogs. Crated dogs. Dogs on table tops being blown dry or combed out. Dogs on show leads trailing behind their handlers or, best of all, being carried because they were too small to risk getting stepped on should they prance on the floor.
A friend of mine who volunteered with one of the ex-racing greyhound adoption groups in this area had invited me to the show. The adoption group had an exhibit and I was an extra pair of hands; a go-fer for all of the other volunteers. At the moment, I was taking a break.
Doing my best to stay out of the organized chaos of the exhibitor’s area, I was enjoying the noise and controlled mayhem of “exhibitor’s row.” (the area cordoned off for the handlers and their dogs)
Directly in front of me were the butt-ends of two whippets. Their hips swung back and forth in a whippet-y swagger. As I watched, every other step, one of them would lightly hip check the other.
Earlier, standing outside of the whippet ring, I’d feasted my eyes on dozens of whippets. I’d never seen whippets and I was now on a mission to find out more about these enchanting creatures.
After the handler tucked both dogs into their crates, I introduced myself and we talked for a while. By the time I left, I had one of her business cards and we promised to keep in touch.
It would be a while (or so I thought) before I’d be in the market for a whippet. But. I was definitely smitten. [gplus count=”true” size=”Medium” ]