The first day of fair is always an exciting one. Everyone feels the anticipation of the first show, and are preparing for it. Bands are warming up around the fairgrounds and early fair-goers make their way around the just-opened areas. 4-Hers are getting their dogs and themselves ready to enter the ring. I, myself, am brushing my dog and doing last minute grooming.
I put my show leash on my Scottish terrier mix; the nylon fabric is soft to the touch. I take her to go to the bathroom in the potty ring to prevent accidents later. The sweet smell of sawdust chips reaches my nose while my dog’s doing her thing. We go back into the white dog barn so I can brush the cedar chips out of her black fur. Then we weave through the crowds, 4-Hers, and dogs, heading toward the show ring.
As I wait in line I survey my surroundings. Little, screaming kids point to the sky, where their balloons float heavenward. Parents try to comfort them as the balloons finally succumb to fate and pop up in the distance. Crowds, with almost every type of people imaginable, mill around from barn to barn. The bleachers outside the chain-link fence that encircles the dog show ring, are starting to draw people to them. The audience slowly grows larger as the show start time comes closer.
4-H leaders and kids come out of the rows of trailers, like beetles out of the woodwork. They try to get good views of the ring, peering around trees and bushes. Some hold dogs, while others munch on breakfast; scones, muffins, whatever is close. My mother brings me a sconecake, seeing as I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. I gulp down the berry-covered biscuit, followed by some cool water, trying to calm my nervousness about entering the ring. I see other 4-Hers doing the same, also trying to quell the tense excitement.
Finally, the intercom sounded for the “Junior/Intermediate Specialty Class” to “Please Enter the Ring.” The gate squeaked open and the dogs with their handlers entered. I was toward the end of the line, as usual. Fences rattled as little kids jumped up and down, pointing and shouting “Doggie!” The crowd murmured, guessing and discussing who were the probable champions. We lined up along the fence, the dogs facing head to tail. The ground was damp with early morning dew. My dog’s fur was soft and smelled faintly of shampoo as I petted her, making last minute adjustments to how she looked. My stomach was doing flip-flops as I tried to remember everything I had to do. The line slowly inched forward. . . my turn was next.
The slightly overweight, but not fat, judge, dressed in a nice shirt and tie, motioned for me to come forward. I swallowed nervously as I moved quickly to the table by the ring gate. No matter how many years a person does this, it never really becomes any easier, like moving to a new school - you never know what to expect. I lifted my dog onto the 3 foot high, 2x3 foot table. The table’s grooved top annoyed my dog, as always. The judge’s cologne was strong enough I could almost taste it. His deep voice asked the traditional questions about 4-H, parts of the dog, and to test general knowledge. He then asked me to do a triangle. This is a walking pattern to show off your dog. As I reached the other side of the ring, I could smell the greasy fair food that was already starting to be made. The faint odor from the cow barn was also mingled in with the smell of the food. I turned and walked my dog back to the judge, stopping when he held up his hand. There was the distinct yapping of one very upset dog in the dog barn, but it was quickly silenced. The judge signaled for me to return to the back of the line. I did so, giving him my best show smile, trying to convince myself that I really was having fun.
The judge, at long last done judging the dogs, went over to the intercom and announced for everyone to please stay in the ring and that ribbons will be handed out in a minute. The tenseness dissipated somewhat, but with how nervous everyone still was, the wait seemed like an eternity.
Once the scores were tallied, it was time to hand out ribbons. It was blasted over the loudspeaker who got what, and the 4-Hers went up one by one to receive their ribbons. The excitement was almost unbearable when only the Reserve Champion and Grand Champion were left to be awarded, and I had not yet been called. When Reserve Champion was announced, and I was still left standing, a huge, involuntary smile spread across my face. I was called up and handed the Grand Champion Ribbon and plaque. The ribbon is a royal purple with a rosette at the top. The plaque is made of wood and has the 4-H emblem, a four-leaf clover, in the middle. Right then I knew this was going to be a festive year at fair.
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