It is said that eons ago, packs of wild dogs who were competitors for food with early man made the cunning decision to ingratiate themselves to our ancient ancestors. Facing certain death, dogs allied themselves with men, showing they were valuable tools for hunting prey. The alliance proved successful to both species, and in the blink of an evolutionary eye, dogs went from the brink of extinction at man’s hand to a permanent spot as “man’s best friend.”
However, if those first dogs who kowtowed to primitive man ever thought it meant that one day they’d be prancing around in a glittered cape to a song from a Broadway musical while a human being acted out the “Midnight” scene from Cats, they probably would have just wandered off to die in the desert. But this is where we are.
The intricate relationship between humankind and dog, once forged in the fires of survival, has now led us to dog dancing. I recently watched the finals of one of the most prestigious dog dance competitions in the world, and I’m here to announce that I’m ready to quit my entire life and devote it to this magical art.
From the moment I saw a woman in her late 40s strut out onto a gigantic stage in front of a hushed audience followed by a dog wearing a bow tie that matched her dress, I was completely hooked. If you’re unfamiliar with what competitive dog dancing is, let me provide you with an elaborate explainer I worked on in conjunction with the finest minds at Yale University: It’s people dancing, with their dogs.
Mostly the dog jumps, hops on its hind legs, walks oddly in a strange direction, and does something cute with its paws, which is usually covering its face or awkwardly waving. It is simultaneously the dumbest thing and the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life.
The Fédération Cynologique Internationale, an organization of kennel clubs from around the world, stages the famed World Dog Show annually every year. Countries from all over the world compete such as Russia, Germany, and even the ones no one cares about like Finland and that one that no one can pronounce. Part of that show is the FCI Canine Dance World Championship.
Make no mistake, this is all very serious business. The judges in this competition look more serious than a death penalty clemency panel. You better come correct to the world championship. Don’t bring your tired poodle to the show and mess up the steps to “Achy Breaky Heart,” because you are on stage in front of the world. And by “world,” I mean the seven people in the live audience watching this thing, most of whom look like they got lost trying to find their way into a discussion on why vaccines cause chemtrails or something.
But the real stars of dog dancing are the amazing individuals who dedicate years of their life to teaching a dog how to play patty cake to the beat of a Russian pop song. Living your best life is being a 54-year-old woman in a denim onesie and having a dog jump through your arms to the tune of Frozen’s “Let It Go.”
I’m pretty sure dog dancing is more about the actual person dancing and not so much the dogs, judging by how much time competitors spend gussying themselves up in costumes that would make Bob Mackie cry. The finals of the competition I watched included a man dressed in full gladiator’s regalia performing a dance routine with his cattle dog to the music from the final death scene in Gladiator. (Let me repeat once again, this was selected as one of the best in the competition.) Because nothing says “my dog is talented and well trained” as much as Russell Crowe bleeding to death. Performance artist Marina Abramovicć probably never put this much thought into conceptualizing a performance as this Gladiator dog dancer.
I have seen the Bolshoi Ballet perform Swan Lake on one of the world’s greatest stages, but it doesn’t come anywhere near the glory of watching a woman and her dog perfectly execute the Thriller dance. I’m sure Michael Jackson is somewhere thinking his legacy in music history is totally secure after watching a labradoodle dressed like a vampire get a perfect score on his heel-to-toe exercises.
I thought I would make my fame and fortune through managing my dog BB’s professional modeling career, but now I see that was pure foolishness. Clearly the more logical and practical path to instant cash and notoriety is through professional freestyle dog dancing. I don’t even know why I wasted all that time in college learning things that are not dog dancing. But alas, it’s time to move forward.
My fellow journalism colleagues at work were less impressed, and when I told them of my plans their responses ranged from, “kind of figured this is how you’d throw your life away,” to, “that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.” I am not supported in my art. I bet people who have won Nobel prizes have never felt the true glory of personal accomplishment that comes after successfully dancing with a Pomeranian to 4 1/2 minutes of a Katy Perry medley.
Anyway, this is probably my swan song. Once I hit up the big lights of Hollywood and march into the offices of Steven Spielberg or David O. Russell and they see the majesty of my performing “Who Let the Dogs Out” with my rat terrier, I’ll be too rich and famous to even write this column anymore.
Arts and Lifestyle writer Rebecca Rose is working on a musical inspired by the hit song “Who Let the Dogs Out” called, “The Dogs Are Out, Get Over It.” Contact her at rrose@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in May 4-11, 2017.