A Thousand Words …
If you’re like me, after decades in dogs you’ve amassed hundreds, probably thousands of dog photos — puppy pics, candid and endearing shots, bad angles of the perfect dog, portraits, photos for your eyes only, Polaroids, Super 8s, etc. And of course the quintessential win photos, probably going as far back as the two eight-by-ten glossies Joan Ludwig sent you — one for your scrapbook and one to send to the judge — in a hard-form mailer for $6.95.
Fact of the matter is, we are now firmly and forever ensconced in the digitalized age of doing, well, just about everything, including the recording of all our dog activities. At some point you swear you’re going to organize the whole mess, starting first with the dusty shoeboxes under the bed filled with the past, coupled with creating appropriate files ad nauseum of all things digital of the dogs from one device or other. And if you’re like me, that’s never going to happen.
That said, the above photo has lately been a recurring image in my mind’s eye. Among the vast gallery of pictures (under my bed and elsewhere), this one flashes by with increased regularity. It’s unclear why. And it does give me an unsettled feeling. A little like mild acid reflux, but one that a TUMS tablet doesn’t address.
1) I’m not sure why it appears; and/or 2) why I have that reaction, since I’ve not a clue who the dog is or where he/she comes from or when it was taken or why I even saved the picture in the first place. I’m thinking it’s because of the untranslatable expression staring back at me.
The breed hallmarks are there — untrimmed, untrained and untethered. And the dog is typical in ways we have no opportunity to observe firsthand and discuss. But I think it is exactly this kind of photo that could elicit long and thoughtful conversations about Afghans — where they came from and where they went. Too bad we don’t have the ongoing long-into-the-night discussions among breeders anymore. Like we used to. Eg.: large entries that kept us together ringside for hours. There are no enduring platforms for reflection and/or debate. The parent club gives it their best shot. There’s a lot of flag waving and effusion about educating judges and new people. But, are there any new people? Not many. And what about the old people? Are they still willing to be educated? Not sure about that either. New judges? They have only what they see, mostly in the ring, in present time, to form opinions. I don’t think that’s enough. And I also have a feeling that maybe, as the French say, “Les jeux sont fait,” idiomatically translated as “the die is cast.”
Ending on what clearly is not an upbeat note, I’m at a loss to come close to a thousand words here … even though a thousand words wouldn’t even scratch the surface of the above photo you should be taking a second look at.