"Who Do You Think You Are?" by Jay AdamsI’m having an identity crisis but I don’t have time to think about it, I’ve been summoned.
She calls me her ‘pedigree prince’ and guides me around the ring. I trot obediently alongside, striding the way she taught me. It feels graceful. Her hair is neatly braided, make-up professionally applied, suit flawlessly pressed. My coat appears thicker than usual thanks to an extortionate shampoo and high- quality hairspray. My whiskers have been shaven, and the fur around my feet neatly trimmed of fraying hairs. The judge is looking for a perfect representation of my breed and these monstrosities cannot be tolerated. I stand for inspection, consciously remembering to keep my tail down and facial expression devoid of emotion. I win ‘Best in Group’; she collects a colorful rosette. Now she wants me to be crowned ‘Best in Show’; the rosette is bigger. Placing me back on the grooming table, she fusses over wisps of my fur that have started escaping their styled form. Whilst patiently tolerating the overwhelming stench of more hairspray, I catch sight of agility dogs zooming into tunnels and launching over jumps on the far side of the field. I whine. ‘Face this way,’ she forcefully turns my head. ‘That’s a pointless hobby for ugly mutts, you’re better than them’. I am a show dog, not a performance dog, I remind myself. I have a very important role in preserving the quintessential traits and appearance of border collies. I will myself to ignore my distant relatives running excitedly around the agility ring the same way I suppress a nagging desire to herd everything that moves. I briefly wonder how I came to be so different from my ancestors and working counterparts, but the subsequent confusion overwhelms me, and I instead focus on standing still.
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