<< Back 10/16/02 Doggie carnival for people bites a big one By Jay Hardwig It is carnival season in the Smith-Hardwig household. After our swell little trip to the Human Carnival — a saga told in full detail in last week’s edition of the Smoky Mountain News — Eli and I turned our attention this week to the Doggie Carnival. The Doggie Carnival is a fund-raising event sponsored by the Asheville Humane Society and the Trailhound Gear Shop; the second annual edition was held last Saturday, October the 12th, at Asheville’s Riverlink Park. When I told Eli we would be going to the Doggie Carnival, he got very excited. He started talking and giggling — and perhaps a more astute parent could have predicted this — about roller coasters, carousels, and cotton candy. It must have made perfect sense to him, or at least as perfect a sense as anything makes to a 2 year old: after the Humans finish their Carnival, the Dogs get their own. In his mind’s eye, I’m sure he imagined beagles on roller coasters, schnauzers in Twirling Teacups, and St. Bernards in the Frozen Lemonade line. It was to be an early lesson in the shifting semantics of the English language: here, the word “carnival” implied not glitz and glamour and horsies and balloons, but a plain old outdoor celebration, with dogs as the unifying theme. Perhaps, I suggested gently, we should call it a Doggie Festival instead. “No,” he insisted. “It’s a Dog Carnival.” I had to admire his stubborn attachment to the phrase. It may be, by that moment, that the portrait in his mind had shifted to include scenes familiar from the pages of his favorite book, P.D. Eastman’s kiddie classic Go, Dog. Go! That book, as many a parent can tell you, is capped by a dog party par excellence. Mutts of all shapes, colors, and sizes ham it up at a soiree atop a tall oak tree, skipping rope, bouncing on trampolines, and eating lots and lots of cake. There is celebration, relaxation, and even a hint of romance ... and not an owner or leash in sight. Myself, I enjoyed the thought that a Doggie Carnival might connote a least a few tents dedicated to canine sideshow freaks. I wanted to see the Fat Dogs, the Siamese Dogs, the Bearded Dog Lady from Hindoostan. I wanted to see the Dogs That Swallowed Light Bulbs and the Dogs That Spit Fire. I knew better, of course; I had been to the inaugural Doggie Carnival the year before, and the attractions had been nowhere near so tawdry. Still I could hope. We arrived at the sun-baked spot to find hundreds of dogs sniffing and scratching and pissing their way around the park, led by hundreds of owners who were a bit more circumspect. The hounds in question were eating dog treats like candy and competing in events such as a mixed breed beauty contest, the timed fetch, and the 50-yard Doggie Derby dash. The Derby brought back fond memories indeed, as our dear mutt Pablo had prevailed in the event last year, besting eight other dogs in a two-race elimination tournament to bring home his blue ribbon as one of the quickest dogs in town. We walked around the grounds a bit, noticing that the folks with the sign reading “Fresh Frozen Meat Diet” were placed at a strategic distance from the militant vegetarians of PETA extraction. We passed on the chance to get a microchip surgically implanted in our pooch: presumably this is to help find lost dogs, but I couldn’t stop myself from imagining a more sinister application, wherein the movements of hapless hounds are con trolled via satellite: That’s right, Sparky. Go bite the paperboy. I was particularly intrigued by the sign advertising the $2 “Brush-n-Fluff.” I’d never had a brush-n-fluff before — never even knew you could get one outside of Bangkok’s red-light district — but at $2, I was definitely interested. Pablo dragged me on. He must have known better. After a scant 30 minutes, our spirits were flagging. We looked in on a few contests, but our collective heart just wasn’t in it. It was hot, we were hungry, and there wasn’t a trampoline in sight. Eli asked to go home, and from the look on Pablo’s panting face, it seemed that he agreed. And so we gave up the opportunity for Pablo to defend his Doggie Derby crown — what the heck, it’s time for the younger pups to shine — and started on the long walk back to our car. On the way out, I was struck by the thought that, If Dogs Ran The World, this wouldn’t be at all what a Doggie Carnival would look like. It was sunny and hot and every dog was on a leash. There were plenty of friendly dogs around, but no place to play. If anything, it was what a carnival might look like If Fleas Ran The World. If Dogs Ran the World, a Doggie Carnival likely wouldn’t include beauty contests, timed fetch, or microchip implants, and it certainly wouldn’t include a $2 brush-n-fluff. Popular attractions might be The River of Gravy, The Big Ol’ Pile of Pork Chop Bones, and The Endless Floor of Things Dropped from Highchairs. There would be plenty of dead fish for every dog to roll in, and geriatric squirrels would shuffle lamely about the grounds. Travelling exhibits might include the Land of 1,000 Odors, with Garbage Truck, Poodle Arse, and Fresh Human Crotch among them. There would be no leashes and no fences, and if there were events, victory would be marked not by blue ribbons but by having a declawed cat hung around your neck. And when they felt like it —but only when they felt like it — dogs could come get their Human off the couch and bring him or her outside for a game of fetch. Idle conjecture, of course. Dogs don’t run the world, and I for one am glad they don’t. The radio would be unlistenable, you’d never see fireworks shows, and it would be very hard to get a decent Caesar salad. I surely am not the only one who shudders at the thought of a pit bull with his paws on the Red Button. No, people run the world — at least this time around — so when a Doggie Carnival is thrown, it is a Doggie Carnival for People. Yes, folks, the Doggie Carnival is an event for owners: a chance for people to get out with their dogs, have a little fun, do a few odd things, meet other people with other dogs, share stories, hand out treats, and raise good money for the Humane Society. I’m not complaining; it’s a great event, and the dogs I saw seemed happy to support the cause. Still, I can’t be the only one who got the look I got from Pablo on the way home: tired, hot, vaguely disappointed, the look said, “Next time, just take me out for steaks.” (Jay Hardwig is a teacher and writer who lives in Asheville. He can be reached at smardwig@charter.net.)