I can’t recall ever being in a confined space with so many people looking so happy. Tens of thousands of people wandering around smiling, full of joy, relaxed and clearly harbouring that warm and fuzzy feeling you get when it feels all is well with the world. Apart from very little is well with the world at the moment, if you follow our doom-filled news.
But if you had the privilege of experiencing time at the four-day bliss extravaganza that is Crufts, you’d have left feeling like you’d had a gargantuan doze of natural Prozac from the pure joy that only being in the company of dogs can invoke. Entering the hallowed halls of the world’s greatest dog show at Birmingham NEC was a first for me. I used to think it was a bit cranky, packed with obsessed caninophiles who would stop at little to snare champion status for their dogs, and not averse to a bit of sneaky sabotage to take home rosettes, with the old joke that dog owners come to look like their dogs.
Now, I can barely wait for next year, after enjoying hours of unadulterated ecstasy, surrounded by similarly affected people gliding around smiling at dogs, oblivious of other humans, captivated by a doggy heaven, and their owners who respect the power dogs have for doing good and lifting spirits. Dog therapy clearly works at all levels. I defy anyone to spend a day at Crufts and leave without face aching from grinning.
Being at Crufts is a bit like the football World Cup. Everyone there loves football (dogs), but ever.
