The "Sandwich" Method

I have a dear friend who is a retired dog show judge. The final time he renewed his license, he was required to attend a judging seminar. At that time in my life, I wanted to be a judge, too, so I offered to drive him there. We would both attend the class. Afterward, while he was completing his judging assignment at the host show, I would be competing with Beaudog in agility. It was a win-win situation for both of us. It also turned out to be an eye-opening experience.

As an exhibitor, I seek out the opinions of the people who have the knowledge to evaluate my dogs. I am aware of my dogs' flaws--there is no such thing as a perfect dog. When a judge sends my dog away without a win, I have a choice to seek that same judge's opinion in the future. MOST of the time, I accept the criticism with good grace and move on. Like all exhibitors, I keep a "Do Not Show" (DNS) list, too. The list is only populated with a few names, but, inevitably, they have been added due to one of three things: 1) the judge is a "handler" judge, 2) the judge lacks breed knowledge/has outdated breed prejudices, or 3) the judge rubbed me the wrong way.

I'll admit it: I don't "people" well. There have been more than a few occasions upon which I have had to bite the inside of my lip as the judge comments about my dog, more than a few in which I've had to plaster that smile on my face as I've reached out for the second place or reserve ribbon and say "thank you" in the sincerest voice I can muster. It's all about sportsmanship and the knowledge that you actually brought your dog willingly to the person who put the six-month-old puppy up as Best of Breed over a champion and a grand champion. What I learned at the seminar, however, was that many judges use the sandwich method of judging dogs to take a bit of the sting out of a poor placement.

What is the "sandwich method?" Well, basically, it's telling the exhibitor the good news, followed by the bad news, followed by encouragement. Even if the dog has a ewe neck, a roached back, and an easty-westy front, the presenter assured us that we could find something positive to say about the dog in front of us. If nothing else, he assured us, saying we like the color (depth, clarity, whatever) of the dog would open the exhibitor's mind to our judging. If possible, we should try to make the negative as positive as possible--just like when I add a boatload of condiments to a hotdog to make it palatable. Then, when all was said and done, the judge's final words before "down and back, please," should be something positive or encouraging to the exhibitor.

Bad: If it were not for the long red coat, I'm not certain what breed this is supposed to represent. With a back like that, it should be ringing bells at Notre Dame--cue Esmeralda! I'm going to withhold the win because your dog is a poor example of the breed. Don't show this dog in my ring again.

Good: This Irish setter has a really deep chestnut color, with a correct length and texture--very nice. He does have an exaggerated rise over the loin, though, which results in a very low tail set and could create a lack of drive in the rear. Even setters who will never point a bird in their lives need to reflect their hunting ancestry. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to withhold the blue ribbon. If your dog's back corrects itself in the future, I'd like to see him again in the ring.

Well, just between you, me, and the proverbial lamppost, all the cavalettis and core exercises in the world are probably not going to help poor Quasimodo. The difference between the bad and the good is that--among other things--the exhibitor walks away with knowledge. Because the judge cannot be expected to remember every face that passes through the ring, he or she may not realize that Quasi's exhibitor is at their first show with a beloved pet, who just happened to be registered with this registry.

The REAL difference between the good and the bad is that Quasi's owner won't feel demeaned or diminished and might walk away remembering that there are things that can be done to help the dog in the future. The experience might even be enough to encourage the exhibitor to look into a show-quality Irish setter and to have fun training poor Quasi for Rally obedience, instead.

You might remember that I said that I don't "people" well. I tend to be impatient with people and can be honest/blunt to a fault. Since childhood, I've been distrustful of most people's motives in personal interactions, and I don't make personal connections well. One well-meaning person at a church I used to attend even asked me if I had Asperger's syndrome. After I'd picked my jaw up from the floor over her audacity, I told her that I'd never been diagnosed as such. She assured me that I did. I had the symptoms. She Could Tell.

Between this well-meaning busybody and Wayne Cavanaugh, I've learned that I can people better than I have in the past. I can still be impatient and distrustful, and I can still express petty annoyances out loud ("See that? He's starting to judge even before they play the National Anthem!"), but I'm making better connections now. The sandwich method works with people, too. So, instead of taking the Al Bundy approach (no Peg, it's the fat that makes you look fat), I'm taking the Wayne Cavanaugh approach (that dress is a great color, but the fabric keeps it from being flattering on you). Yes, it can take a bit more time to say, but the words are still honest and a lot less hurtful.

Huh.

Dogs can make you happy AND judging seminars can help you be a better person. Who knew?