Life in the dog world: one family’s memories of Larne Canine Club and shows

This cocker spaniel puppy was a show dog, never to be picked up and played with. One rough move could damage its all important movement in the show ring. A custom built heated shed was provided for it, and this was the start of the kennels.

My mother Sadie was the only one in a family of six daughters, who inherited their father’s lifelong interest in dog showing and breeding. A vivid memory is of the three of them, Sadie, Robert my father, and grandfather Frank leaning over the fence surrounding the dog run, discussing the various merits, demerits and possible potential as champions, of each new litter of pups.

There were many mutually enjoyed arguments and disagreements. I am quite sure that I cut my teeth on such gems as ‘that bitch is too long in the back’ or ‘that dog has no stop, and its front’s all wrong’. One of my early teachers, a genteel spinster called Miss Whiteman, may never have got over reading the immortal words in my school essay of that period, ‘our spaniel bitch has whelped, and produced two bitches and a dog, and Daddy has docked their tails ( a practice insisted on by the Kennel Club then)’.

Just after the war we travelled to shows in coaches, hired by the various dog clubs which are just as enthusiastically supported today. Private cars were still something of a rarity then. We would set off very early in the morning with three or four dogs carefully clipped and groomed by Robert.

In later years, in the boarding kennel days, his dog clipping skills were so much in demand that clients had to book some weeks in advance. My priority from an early age was bringing something to read. Reading on buses, and other strange places, is most likely the cause of my short sightedness today.

Prime Importance

Reading was always of prime importance in our house. Robert and Sadie much enjoyed teaching me to read and write long before I started school. In those days before television, the three of us would sit night after night with books borrowed from the weekly sixpenny library situated in the converted front parlour of a man called Willy Wright.

When rationing ended and it was possible to buy sweets, our treat along with the books each Friday night would be a half pound bag of Roses chocolates. These would be scrupulously divided between the three of us, with much-relished argument should there be an odd number of sweets. No quarter was given to my extreme youth, in this we were all equals and I was taught by experts to hold my ground. I also learned the tactic of reading so quietly that bedtime was forgotten.

Many dog shows took place in Dublin, and I am reminded of something which was to be repeated many times over those years. In those days part of the excitement of travelling to the south of Ireland, which had not suffered the same strictures of war time, was the smuggling of goods back up to the north. The war might have been over but many things were still unobtainable back home.

On the coach were dogs of all breeds, and the trick was to bring the largest of them, usually a couple of wolfhounds or a Great Dane, up to the front of the bus to lie along the aisle. The customs officer would come on at the border, take one look at these monsters and realise, that in order to search the bus and luggage racks, he would have to step over them. This worked every time.

Invariably he would look at us all, take another look at the hounds, and then say airily as if no dog could ever frighten him, ‘Ah well now, you’re all right folks, away on you go driver’. What he didn’t know of course was that wolfhounds are among the sweetest natured dogs imaginable. Most pedigree dogs are – being used to so much handling by owners and trained to be especially sweet to show judges.

Children’s Classes

Over the years I became a veteran of the children’s classes. This required walking the dog round the ring in front of the judge so that he or she could assess whether the dog’s front and back movement was perfect. Lost points immediately followed if it wasn’t.

Then, with the exhibitor in a kneeling position, the dog had to be set up. This involved one hand being placed beneath the muzzle, and the other beneath the tail. The idea is that the handlers must convince the judge that they are showing the best type of their particular breed of dog. If so, the coveted red first prize cards is theirs. I had some modest successes.

During the years that followed we were to own many breeds of dogs some particularly memorable. There was Rocky, a boxer, who slipped away each morning. She toured the neighbourhood knowing to a minute everybody’s movements and mealtimes, yet was never late by a second for her own. Her intelligence was incredible, and indeed spoiled us for an exceedingly stupid Afghan hound who lost herself every time in a nearby field and had to be rescued.

Rory, a Springer spaniel, was infamous for eating my father’s false teeth, and was looked on very dubiously by him ever after. Our greatest love however was miniature dachshunds. Robert and Sadie devoted many years to perfecting their own pedigree blood line with their Kennel Club prefix ‘Monksmile’. One the saddest things for me, when I was finally clearing their house, was the sight of all the certificates, rosettes and trophies which were the accumulation of a lifetime’s love and interest in the dog world.”

This article was first shared with 'Dog World' magazine readers in May 2005.