They make her sit and stay

Shar-PEIS blinded by their own wrinkles. Poodles with pompoms on their rumps. Handlers dressed in dowdy skirt suits and Easy Spirit loafers running awkwardly around an Astroturfed ring. Forget “American Idol.” This is my kind of reality TV.

I got hooked on watching dog shows -- aired in all their geeky glory on the Animal Planet network -- while lounging on my sofa one Sunday morning. I was in the mood for something unchallenging, having awoken late after a night of dancing till dawn (I would usually reach for the E! Channel in such a state, but the thought of Ryan Seacrest dishing more Brangelina gossip tickled my gag reflex.)

Anyway, what could be more lulling than watching toy terriers run back and forth, their little legs pumping like well-oiled engine pistons? This was good, family-style fun.

And eventually I got into the competitive spirit of it -- hooting and hollering at the TV as if it was the NBA Finals. Reasoning that like unattractive humans, ugly canines are rarely asked to dance and contemplate rhinoplasty incessantly, I cheered on the most hideous breeds, including the dreadlocked komondor and the Chinese crested, which is furless save a shock of white, punk-rock hair on its head.

It was like watching Miss USA without all the gender politics, fake smiles and inane interview questions. And dog shows are all about rules, which appeals to the justice-loving German in me. There’s no gray area when it comes to how long an Afghan hound’s hair should be.

Now I TiVo every dog show aired on TV -- despite my husband’s (good-natured?) jabs.

I love the pomp and circumstance surrounding the biggest dog shows, namely the American Kennel Club’s Eukanuba National Championship and the Super Bowl of dog shows, the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Also, the ridiculously slow pace of the competitions is conducive to multi-tasking, a state of being I seem to constantly occupy. I can do the dishes, macrame a pot holder or build a matchstick mansion while still keeping tabs on who won the hound group.

But mostly, I think I relate to the handlers, those fang-brushing, clipper-wielding competitors who spend hours thinking about things like canine ear wax. These evolved people have clearly thrown in the towel on finding perfection within themselves. We’re all so flawed, why even bother? They know and I know that that kind of energy is better spent on something that literally begs for attention.

-- Emili Vesilind