Sniff This


By Phillipe, Best in Show, Crufts 2008

IT could be my superb posture, my beautiful coat or perhaps even my exquisite bone structure. But whatever it is, one thing’s for sure: I am The Balls.

The moment I walked through that door on Monday, I thought to myself, ‘I totally own this place’.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some nice dogs in here but they’re strictly amateur league, Sunday afternoon boys – you know what I mean?

Crufts is my cathedral. It’s my cockpit, it’s my surfboard, it’s my potter’s wheel. I work it. With effortless expertise I bend it to my will. Crufts is me. I am Crufts.

The Newfoundland had high hopes, bless him, but this is the big one, alright? It’s not some trot around the paddock at the county show, you gap-toothed hillbilly.

If you come to my house, you better be showing form. And I don’t mean a red rosette, a tickle under the chin and a book voucher for that tubby cow on the other end of your lead.

Crufts is about class, it’s about attitude. It’s a place for serious dogs. It is not a place for a nicely brushed American Cocker, prancing in here thinking I’m some kind of arsehole, before I get my thing working and send them prancing out of here looking like a DICK!

I have to admit the Samoyed was looking pretty tasty for a bit, but was I worried? Was I fuck. Let me tell you a little something about heelwork: You don’t ‘learn’ it. You have either got it or you have not got it, and you my friend, Have Not Got It.

When that so-called judge walked up to me, I looked at her as if to say, ‘remember this – you only judge me because I let you’. I picked her up and played her like a finely tuned banjo.

So my friends, the next time you buy a ticket to my back end, remember this: that’s the heady aroma of a champion. Sniff it.

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