You 'small exhibitors' have
no notion of the rotten deal handed to a dog-show judge;--though
lots of you do more than your share toward making his life a
burden. Before the judging begins, some of the exhibitors act as
if they wanted to kiss him. Nothing's too good for him. He wades
chin-deep through flattery and loving attentions. Then, after the
judging is over, he is about as popular with those same
exhibitors as a typhoid germ. No one can say bad enough things
about him. He's 'incompetent,' he's 'a grafter,--'he's 'afraid of
the big kennels,'--he's 'drunk.' He's any of these things; or all
of them put together. Nobody's satisfied. Everybody has had a raw
deal. Everybody's hammer is out for the poor slob of a judge.
Well, not everybody's, of course. There are some real sportsmen
left crawling on the surface of the earth. But the big majority
pan him, all the way home; and then some of them roast him in
print. The Income Tax man is a popular favorite, compared with a
dog-show judge."
"But--"
"Then, again," pursued the Toy Breeds man, "he's got to leave his
heart at home, if he doesn't want it to ache when he has to
'gate' the second-rate mutts shown by outsiders who never
exhibited before and who think their pet dog ought to get every
prize because he's so cunning and friendly.
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