There’s this Saturday Night Live sketch where Molly Shannon and Will Ferrell have a show on cable about dogs, where one of the dogs is Mr. Bojangles, and to open this show Molly Shannon and Will Ferrell do this thing that goes, “Pum pum pum-pum-pum pum-pum-pum-pum DOGSHOW!”

That was the rhythmic ditty running through my head all day yesterday, especially during my class on Cyrano de Bergerac and epidictic discourse. . . because the dog show’s in town!!!

Braving midtown during rush hour, Tom and I went to Madison Square Garden for day one of the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Thirty-six dollars (each, what are they feeding these dogs?) later, we were in. Up and up and up, and then we entered the stadium. . .where there were no dogs to be seen. “Um,” we said to the ushers in their regal purple, “where are the dogs?” “The show’s at eight.” “Oh.” “. . .You want to go backstage and see the dogs?” Wild-eyed: “Yes!!!”

And, boy, were there dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, white dogs, really big dogs, crazy-ass dogs, space-age-looking dogs, ugly dogs, soft dogs, smooth dogs, cute dogs, quiet dogs, nice dogs. Dogs that were a cross between dalmation and bigger dog. Dogs that came in threes. (Break for a four-dollar Haagen-Dazs chocolate ice cream bar.) Dogs that were happy to see you, and dogs that were asleep, and dogs that were just hanging out with their tongues just hanging out, and this one dog who didn’t look very pleased to be there—we figured he was going through his rebellious phase: “Jeez, this is lame, why do I have to be here?”, eyes rolling, pissed off.

And then there were the dog people. Big-haired, small-bodied, large-bottomed, sequin-suited dog people. Dog people wearing dog vests, dog sweaters, dog earrings. Maybe the real show was backstage. . .