Fri, 10/11/2024 - 11:47pm

All the World Loves a Clown

That’s what the song says. But do they really?

When Cole Porter wrote those lyrics for a song in the 1948 musical “The Pirate,” it’s highly unlikely that he had canine clowns in mind. Still, the lyric “Be clown/Be a clown/All the world loves a clown” is applicable no matter what species is clowning around.

During the 15 years when I judged all three types of hunt tests, and since then after interviewing folks who participate in a variety of dog sports, I’ve come to believe that there are dogs that are the canine incarnation of Jack Benny, Bob Hope, Bob Newhart, Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett. These dogs, often with perfectly sane, dignified parents, have had “Let Me Entertain You” as their personal theme song.

People who have never spent any time around dogs have a hard time believing that a dog could have a sense of humor. However, dog people who have done anything with their dogs in the field or in performance activities know better. Some dogs, and some breeds, it seems, are born to be clowns. They hunt, run agility courses, dive off docks, herd livestock, pull carts — many are very good at their jobs — but they live for laughs and applause. Others, however, are for the most part very serious dogs until someday, for some unfathomable reason, their clown gene erupts.  

 

Rabe, the Labrador Retriever was always super-serious, never putting a foot down wrong in the show ring, the obedience ring, hunt tests or novice agility.  But, one day in open agility, he decided it was time to don the cap and bells of a jester.  

 

A woman I interviewed told about her Labrador Retriever. While some of her other Labs had always been clowns, Rabe was always super-serious. According to his owner, Rabe never put a foot down wrong in the show ring, the obedience ring, hunt tests or novice agility. But one day in open agility, for reasons known only to Rabe, he decided it was time to don the cap and bells of a jester.  

“The first obstacle on the course was a simple jump, and he never made any effort to jump it, just ran right through it, sending the poles flying in every direction,” his owner recalls. “The second was the dog walk. He ran up one ramp and got to the middle of the walk, turned around and ran down the same ramp he’d run up. The teeter-totter started just fine, but when he got it to the balance point, he rocked forward to make it bang on one end and rocked backward to make it bang on the other. This went on for a half-dozen times — all the while he was clearly having a whee of a time.

 “He never took a single jump on the course correctly. The bar jumps he just crashed through, and the tire jump, he deliberately ran around it and jumped it backwards. The last jump on the course was the triple bar, and after he’d sent all the poles flying hither and yon, he ran over, picked one up and delivered it to hand — but only after first smacking the back of my knees with it and knocking me down. Once I picked myself up and took the pole from him, he leaped in the air and cavorted around me several times, all the while wagging his tail and laughing at me.

“I was hoping the ground would open up and swallow me. The gallery was hysterical. The judge was having to exercise every bit of restraint she had to keep from rolling around on the ground, and Rabe was clearly having the time of his life. 

“I never knew what got into him that day because he went on to finish his Open and Master agility titles. I guess he just felt he needed to show me he had a silly side.”  

I judged a German Shorthaired Pointer in a Master hunt test once who apparently felt the same need. I had previously judged this dog at both the Junior and Senior levels. Like the Labrador, Greta had never done anything wrong until the day I judged her at the Master level. Even then, everything was perfect until she went to retrieve her first bird.

 

The German Shorthaired Pointer provided a considerable amount of entertainment for the judges and the marshal, much to the dismay of her owner.  

 

It was an easy fall, about 30 yards in front of the dog, and she clearly had it marked, as she ran directly to the area of the fall. She scooped up the quail — and that’s when the fun began. 

She tossed the bird ahead of her, ran to it, picked it up and tossed it away again. This was repeated at least a half-dozen more times. I sort of lost count as I was laughing so hard by that time I nearly fell out of the saddle. Finally, she picked it up and brought it in, stopping about 10 feet from her owner. Then, with a play bow, she invited him to come and take it.

But just as he reached for it, a split second before he would have had it in hand, she turned her head and bounded away. She circled back, this time getting a bit closer to her owner before she again did a play bow. For the second time, an instant before he could grab the bird, she pulled her head back and bounced off.

This game of “keep away” went on for a good five minutes while Greta’s owner became more and more frustrated. The end to her play came when my co-judge and I boxed her in with the horses and crowded her to the point where when she tried to run off with the bird again, she had only one escape route and that was past her owner, who managed to grab her out of mid-air as she tried to jump past him.  

She finished her Master title with a pair of nearly perfect performances, so what caused her to act like an idiot that day remains a mystery. She did provide a considerable amount of entertainment for the judges and the marshal, much to the dismay of her owner. Did she show any contrition for her naughtiness, even with the scolding she was getting? Not a chance! Her entire rear end was wagging, and she was laughing, despite being read the riot act by her irate owner.

Finally, he just shook his head and with a rueful look at us and the marshal said, “I guess it’s just one of those days when she decided to be a comedienne.”

Shetland Sheepdogs are well known for their ability to score high in obedience. Sometimes, however, their goofy side surfaces. 

That was definitely the case with a Sheltie that had an odd go, to say the least, in utility. According to her owner, Abby had never scored less than 198 points all the way through Novice, Open and her first trip in Utility. Then came the day, on Abby’s second go at Utility, when virtually everything went south.  

 

 

The Shetland Sheepdog picked up every single article in the cluster, carried them over to the judge. When she had all but one leather article in front of the judge, she picked up that leather article, which was the correct one, and brought it to her owner.  

 

“The heeling pattern went perfectly, but when we got to the signal exercise, things began to fall apart,” her owner says. “Abby went down on my signal, but then she had a really lengthy roll, thoroughly giving her back a good scratch. Once she finished, she did return to the down position, but when I signaled her to sit, she sat cockeyed and then promptly found an itch on her ear that needed scratching. When I signaled her to come, she did, but she took an exceptionally circuitous route to get to me, around both jumps and the judge. 

“That was just the start of a bad day. On the scent-discrimination exercise, she picked up the correct metal article, but when I sent her for the leather article, she picked up every single article in the cluster, carried them over to the judge and left them in a pile in front of the judge. When she had all but one leather article in front of the judge, she picked up the remaining leather article, which was the correct one, and brought it to me.

“I wish I could say that ended her foolishness, but on the directed retrieve, she first went to the correct glove, picked it up and trotted over to the second. She set the first glove down on top of the second, picked up the pair and trotted over to the third for an encore performance before she brought all three to me. By now, the gallery was in stitches, the judge was doubled over laughing, and I could only wonder what she was going to do on the directed jumping. It didn’t take long to find out.  

“The high went OK, but on the bar jump, she somehow wiggled under it without dislodging the bar, took a few steps away from the jump, turned around and jumped it backwards. All in all, it was saved from being a total mess only by her perfect heeling pattern. Needless to say, we didn’t get any ribbons that day, but the judge, the ring stewards and the gallery had a good laugh.”

A dock-diving Border Terrier also apparently had the urge to be a clown. According to his owner, Benji had earned his Junior title with no difficulty, but one day in Senior, he decided to be a clown. He made his jump and picked up the dummy, but instead of turning around and swimming back to his owner, he instead swam to the end of the pool. Then he began swimming laps, around and around the pool, staying just far enough from the edges to evade capture. If anyone came close to being able to catch him, a nanosecond before they could get their hands on him, he would dive under the water, only to come back up closer to the middle of the pool snorting and barking, in essence, telling his pursuer, “Ha, ha, you missed.” This went on, his owner said, for several minutes with numerous attempts to catch Benji ending in wet failure for the would-be rescuers.   

 

Benji, the duck-diving Border Terrier, began swimming laps, around and around the pool, staying just far enough from the edges to evade capture.

 

Finally, having apparently satisfied his need to be the court fool for that day, he swam over to the ramp, handed the dummy to his embarrassed owner, shook off the water, and then frisked and frolicked around his owner all the way back to his vehicle. His owner’s response to Benji’s water antics? A head shake and the comment, “Well, I guess Ben reminded me that there’s truth in the old adage that some days you’re the dog, and other days, the fire hydrant.” 

In the first chorus of his song, Porter advises, “Play the fool, play the calf and you’ll always have the last laugh.” That seems to be the objective — having the last laugh — of many dogs. Certainly way more than their red-faced owners ever expected!

 

 

 

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