Confessions of a competitive dog owner

Defeat stares me in the face every time I walk down my north London street. Decorating the knocker of a house a few doors along is a blue rosette announcing it’s home to the winners of the street dog show. Whenever I go past with my cockapoo Honey, she is nonchalant, barely bothering to stop for a sniff of the doorstep.

I, on the other hand, am still seething – because until that sunny day almost two years ago, Honey had been undefeated. She was a champion, if not at Crufts, at least on the local dog show circuit where she has racked up certificates, rosettes and vast supplies of free dog chews, in everywhere from Hampstead Heath to Crouch End. Honey had seen off countless rivals, from cavapoos to bichon frisés, huskies to sausage dogs.

According to a 2019 survey, 34 per cent of parents said they preferred their canines to their kids

Now ten, her star quality had first been spotted as a young pup when she appeared in the Daily Mail as a candidate for Britain’s cleverest dog. She had attracted media attention by being able to tap open our spring-top kitchen bin in order to raid it – and then being smart enough to tap it closed again with her paw to cover her tracks. Over the years, Honey knew how to work the dog show circuit too.  She charmed even the most cynical local celebrity judge by always lifting her left paw as a high-five when offered a treat. She knew the power of raising a Gromit-like right eyebrow when her name was called too.

So when it was announced our street was holding a dog show to mark the Queen’s Jubilee, I assumed she’d be a shoo-in on her home turf. But I wasn’t prepared for the lengths other owners would go to. Of course, dog shows have always been competitive, dating back to the first-ever Crufts in 1891.

In her determination to win, Queen Victoria entered six of her dogs, mainly Pomeranians – Fluffy, Nino, Mino, Beppo, Gilda and Lulu – in the inaugural year. When she came away with no less than three first place rosettes pinned to her bosom, there was a flurry of unkind slurs that the monarch’s dogs had been given favourable treatment.

In the years since, there have been many more allegations of dirty tricks at Crufts, everything from owners slipping laxative-laden dog treats to rival canines to the use of hairspray to fluff up fur. But as dogs are increasingly being treated like children, this competitiveness is taking a new dimension.

If you’re a parent, you will already have worked out, it’s not a good look to be seen as pushy in this day and age, when we are acutely sensitive of doing anything that could harm our children’s mental health. Posting their impressive A Level grades on Facebook is frowned on and gets frosty reception. Dogs are much, much easier to brag about. If you live vicariously through their victories, they never need therapy. They never complain about having their pictures of their successes posted on social media.

According to a 2019 survey, 34 per cent of parents said they preferred their canines to their kids, saying that their pets are their ‘favourite child’. Pope Francis recently bemoaned falling birth rates due to ‘dogs that take the place of children.’ As much as I adore my daughters, now aged 19 and 22, I  know what the pontiff means. Honey is my third child. Like so many other owners, I gave her the baby name I never got around to using. At £80, her haircuts cost more than mine and I have more pictures of her on my phone than I do of my girls. Long after I changed their last nappies, I am still picking up her poo. I spend my entire time thinking about Honey’s wellbeing – from her walks to her nutrition. Of course, I want her to do well.

So given how much time and money we dog owners are investing in our canine companions, it’s not surprising that, beneath the convivial surface, local dog shows are fiercely fought affairs. After entering multiple contests, I’ve observed there’s a selection of unspoken tricks that get used time and time again. Most common is to send in your cutest child to parade the dog in front of the judge. Another is to find an opportunity to tell a tear-jerking backstory about how you rescued your dog from a shelter or extermination in a brutal foreign country.

Given that my children are too grown up to be winsome and Honey was bought from a breeder for an eye-watering sum, I resorted to the other time-honoured ruse; dressing her up. In the hours beforehand, I handcrafted an elaborate bonnet out of cardboard with union jacks, and tied it under her muzzle with streams of red, white and blue satin ribbon. As Honey obediently modelled her headwear in the ring, I felt quietly confident – until victory was snatched away.

A neighbour I’d previously never seen before appeared out of nowhere to enter the fray for ‘senior dog’. In tow was her springer spaniel – and then behind her, the secret weapon. Her pet’s lookalike daughter. There were a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ when it was explained to the show judge they were a mother-daughter team, I knew all was lost.

The winning rosette has been plastered on the neighbour’s front door (rather too ostentatiously, if you ask me). For my neighbour, it may be an ongoing reminder of who has the official title of top dog in the street. For me, it’s a sign that north London now has an even more competitive dog owner.