Uno. A Beagle, of all breeds, won best in show at Westminster last night. This handsome devil is not Uno. He is Woofer. He is not a Beagle on steroids. He is the Saint Bernard that won Best of Breed.
Saint Bernards never win Best of Show. They are so far down the list in popularity it isn't even funny. Let's face it, they tend to be rather large. Bacchus is small at 155 pounds. They eat a lot. They snore. They drool - especially when it's hot or food is within a hundred yard radius. They march to their own drummer and can be incredibly obstinate. They shed tumbleweeds of fur. Their foot prints in mud or snow would rival Spokane's pot holes. If they ail, their bills could fund additions on vet med clinics.
This is Bacchus. Most of you know him at least as the namesake of this blog. He too is a handsome devil and to me, absolutely the best of the breed. For a purebred he is a mess. He has entropic eyes. After two surgeries it is as good as it's going to get. He has hip dysplasia. Plus a few other bells and whistles that haven't prevented him from being a still rambunctious eight year old.
He is a mama's boy. If I go out he lays with nose to door until I return. He's been allowed to adopt the sofa as his own. He will sit next to Hub but crawl onto my lap. He sleeps on my side of the bed. Fortunately, on the floor. Hub disciplines him, I coddle him. And cuddle him.
It's true. There is not a trophy in our house extolling his virtues as a fine example of the breed. We've got a whole lot more than that. Companionship, trust, loyalty, protection and love. Unconditional mutual love. That beats a trophy any day.