His Life as a Dog

The road to Lyn Sherman’s Topanga home is a two-way street that by all safety standards should be one way. Hairpin turns curve past climbing lavender, kamikaze bicyclists, Volkswagen buses and a cliff overlooking the Santa Monica Mountains. The twists are nauseating, oncoming traffic is heart-stopping, and only a fool gazes too long at the passing scenery.

The road requires focus, but Sherman’s house isn’t hard to find. Maybe it’s the yellow “Bloodhound X-ing” sign nailed to the mailbox post, or the Ford Windstar with a bumper sticker proclaiming: “It’s hard to be humble when you own a bloodhound.” Or maybe it’s the howl that gives it away--a throaty gargle bellowing simultaneously from four sagging bloodhound faces.

On first impression, these seem like ordinary dogs. Hanging over the patio fence, they look like any huge, drooling, droopy-eyed hounds. But these are champion bloodhounds, and the youngest--a 4-year-old the rare color of uncooked chicken livers--is something special. Champion Heathers Knock on Wood, better known as Knotty, is the top-ranked hound in the country and the seventh-best dog of any breed. In 2004, he won 31 Best in Shows--an all-time record for bloodhounds in one year. Not bad for a “liver.”

“It’s an unusual color for a bloodhound, but entirely acceptable,” says dog show judge Gary Doerge. “Knotty’s certainly the best of that color I’ve ever seen.”

Presumably, other judges agree. Before Knotty, no liver-colored bloodhound had ever won a Best in Show in the U.S. And he doesn’t let you forget it, particularly when 127 pounds of muscle and loose skin pin you against the porch railing.

“Knotty, get down,” commands Sherman. But like a preschooler jacked up on birthday cake, the attention only excites him more. “Bloodhounds think independently,” she explains, pulling Knotty back. “They’re [tracking] dogs, so they make their own decisions rather than take cues from a handler. In the show ring, we have to contend with a dog that’s been bred not to pay any attention to people.”

What makes a dog show more than just a canine beauty pageant is the designation of a champion as the ideal embodiment of his function. Standards of the breed developed by the American Kennel Club read like a prototype for the Bionic Man--height, weight, stance, gait, shape of head, angle of shoulders, color and temperament. According to the AKC, the bloodhound’s ears should be “thin and soft to the touch, extremely long, set very low and fall in graceful folds,” because dangling, flaccid ears resourcefully sweep scent from the ground to the nostrils. The wide wrinkles on the bloodhound’s face form pockets with the lips, trapping odor particles like sloughed skin, hair and sweat close to his nose. It sounds endlessly obsessive. But bloodhounds best fitting the standard theoretically make the best scent-tracking hounds, and therefore most faithfully represent the breed.

While every dog show drips beauty, some breeds have a face only a mother could love. Take Knotty, who looks like a sad old man, unless he’s excited, and then he looks like a deranged old man. A crest protrudes from the top of his skull; his face is long and nearly rectangular, all the way to the tip of his nose, which sports a bump like that of a boxer who stopped bothering to get it reset. The skin under his slightly crossed eyes sags, revealing pinkish-red flesh. But Knotty is beautiful to behold, nevertheless. He floats around a show ring with his feet lightly skimming the ground. His tail arches slightly over his back and sways like a homecoming queen’s well practiced wave. His coat glistens and his skin jiggles. He smiles. It’s impossible to take your eyes off him because Knotty isn’t just competing, he’s performing.

Yet for all the grace and self-possession he exudes during competition, at home Knotty is still a dog. As a reminder, he barks louder and longer than the other bloodhounds and makes himself comfortable in forbidden areas. Knotty brazenly pushes aside the brass curtain rod that bars the living room couch, climbs up, nuzzles the pillows to one end, and stretches out. The other bloodhounds watch, mischievously waiting for him to get in trouble.

“He’s just so cute, it’s impossible to yell at him,” says Sherman. “So he’s the only one that gets to go on that couch.”

If the other dogs resent the favoritism, they likely wring some satisfaction from watching Knotty run on his custom-made $2,000 dog treadmill 20 minutes a day, listen to tapes of dog noises and traffic jams to prepare him for travel and the show ring, or have his teeth brushed with a Sonicare electric toothbrush. They definitely prefer lounging in the backyard to being followed by an imitation TV camera boom. It’s all part of Knotty’s ongoing conditioning and socialization.

Playing the indulged prize-child in front of his mates eventually wears thin, and Knotty grows restless. He flips his toys around the house, digs into Sherman’s suitcases and gnaws on the chain-link fence. Thankfully, there’s always another show somewhere, and there are two big televised ones coming up: the AKC/Eukanuba National Championship on Jan. 15-16, and the 129th Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show in Madison Square Garden on Feb. 14-15, where Knotty is the hound to beat for Best in Group.

“He’s holding up better than us,” says Knotty’s professional handler, Ken Griffith, who travels with Sherman to shows nearly three-quarters of every month. “Of course, he gets to nap for 18 hours a day.”

“Traveling with a top dog, it becomes all about that dog,” Sherman says. “A dog’s confidence comes from his routine.” On the road, Knotty’s involves sleeping on hotel beds in front of the History Channel (no negative vibes), having his nails ground (he won’t tolerate cutting), doing the stairs (up and down three to five flights at least three times), playing with other dogs and making dog show history.

He’s the consummate showman, Sherman says. He’s at home everywhere.