We bought our house seven years ago but we’ve only just moved in permanently and I’ve always regretted that we hadn’t been able to make the Grand Dog Show run at the end of every summer in my local village. But this was the year – with no work and now an official village resident I was determined to go along, taking Dog with me.

The events on the poster were varied and intriguing … ‘prettiest girl’, ‘golden oldie’, ‘Dog the judge would most like to take home’ and (the one that I was sure Dog would win) ‘Fastest sausage eater.’ She would have been a shoo-in for ‘prettiest girl’ as she’s the most beautiful of all dogs, but even I would have to admit she wasn’t looking her best.

Usually, Dog is a great ball of silvery-white curls – she is often compared to the dog in the Flash advert by admiring passers-by. Well she doesn’t look like that at the moment. Basically she had a very brutal groom – an extremely brutal groom. So brutal I didn’t actually recognise her when I went to collect her. I hadn’t realised how much of her personality was expressed by her eyebrows and whiskers until I saw her after they’d been clipped off. She looked hideous. A gangly, malnourished slink of a thing. The children were horrified when I got her home.

This is what Dog should look likeThis is what she looked like after her brutal, brutal groom

‘Well, the only things I think we can enter her for are ‘most expressive eyes’ and ‘fastest sausage eater,’ I announced to the family. ‘You definitely need eyebrows and whiskers to win the pretty prize,’ Son agreed sadly.

Husband was working in the garden and Son was off being battered about on the rugby pitch so I persuaded Daughter to come with me. It was the most glorious day. The sun shone hot in the sky above and a cool breeze kept us comfortable as we walked round all the stalls.

It was such a lovely event. Everywhere I looked were dogs of all sizes and shapes. From the unbelievably huge Newfoundlands that looked like bears, to the tiniest of chihuahuas, every type of dog you can think of was there. Out in the best of the Kentish countryside it was a glorious day for it, though I quickly regretted not bringing a hat.

It was the epitome of the best of Britain. Packed full of volunteers raising money for all sorts of charities, they had strung cheery looking bunting all over the field and were working hammer and tongs putting together scones with cream and jam in the village hall. There was a homemade cake stall that also sold home-grown tomatoes. I couldn’t resist the proper, old-fashioned fairy cakes with little wings arching out of thick icing. Further on we found a stand dedicated to dog toys and treats, and, my favourite a raffle. It wouldn’t be a dog show without a raffle. I bought five tickets early on then daughter and I set off to register Dog in the ‘appealing eyes’ and ‘quickest sausage eater’ rounds.

The MC was cheerful and spent most of his time ragging his friends in the audience and making jokes about the missus and heading off to the pub. ‘I think we’ve travelled to the 1970’s’ I muttered to Daughter.

It was getting hotter and hotter. I started to look round to see if anyone was selling hats. I sent Daughter to buy ice cold cans of diet coke and we queued up to buy tubs of Solly’s Ice Cream – delicious. With the sun battling to get through my layers of suncream Daughter and I watched the classes. ‘Waggiest Tail’ was won by a jolly Labrador and then the entrants for the ‘Dog that looks most like its owner’ began to stream in.

Daughter and I discussed our favourites. Who would win? Was it the Dalmatian accompanied by the woman with the polka dot top on? The gorgeous collie whose owner had a full outfit (including tail) to match her dog’s white socks and black coat? We admired another for dressing in sweltering black – including a balaclava – to pair with his black terrier.  But the standout for me was the broad shouldered gentlemen in a check shirt and British flag T-Shirt walking proudly in with his enormous bulldog.  He won first prize and the pair of them swaggered off with their doggy bag and giant rosette.

Bunting, sunshine, volunteers and lovely dogsA hot Newfoundland

Dog did not do well in the ‘endearing eyes’ round. She kept squinting, and without her eyebrows, eyelashes and whiskers she certainly wasn’t at her most endearing. We did have a nice chat with the lady next to us who had a gorgeous fluffy white dog and shot resentful glances at the chihuahua who came first. ‘You can’t even tell if it’s sitting down or not,’ Daughter said as the judge put the chihuahua though its paces. ‘It’s so small it doesn’t look any different.’

All my hopes rested on the sausage eating contest. Dog is the greediest dog I’ve ever known and we’d deliberately not given her any breakfast so she was nice and hungry. We eyed the other competitors. I was a bit worried about the grey hounds who looked pretty quick and the way the chihuahua was snarling at everyone I was worried it would end with a doggy punch up.

The nervous looking MC admitted this was the round he was most worried about. ‘It all went a bit Pete Tong last year,’ he said, and the judge nodded in agreement. When the enormous box of sausages was carried out, all the dogs pricked their ears and began to drool. I wondered what had happened last year. There must have been forty dogs spread across the competitors’ field and every one of them had their eyes fixed on the sausages. ‘100% meat!’ the lady holding the box told the crowd.

Dog licked her lips. A cloud scudded across the sun, we all felt a slight chill and I saw owners hold onto their dogs’ collars a little more tightly. Dog took a step towards the sausage box, as did the terrier on my left and Labrador on my right. ‘Hurry up!’ someone yelled.

Adjudicators were rustled up from the crowd to stand behind each owner. The dogs were taken to stand twenty paces away. I sent Daughter off. ‘Hold onto her really tightly!’ I said. Each owner was given a fat sausage and Dog began to bark. Daughter struggled to hold her still. Dog’s eyes skipping from one sausaged hand to the other. ‘This one!’ I called, waving my sausage in the air.

‘Remember, put up your hand ONLY when the ENTIRE sausage has been consumed AND swallowed,’ said the judge. Dog was getting really agitated. She loves sausages; they are her favourite thing. ‘The adjudicators will be checking so no cheating!’ Come on! I thought. Dog was beginning to drag poor Daughter across the grass towards me.

‘3 … 2 … 1 … DROP YOUR SAUSAGES!’

The sausages fell, the dogs were released and surged forward. ‘Come on, Dog!’ I shouted. She was a blur of white as she bounded towards me. The sausage was gone. ‘Yay!’ I yelled, throwing up my arm and nearly knocking out my adjudicator.

‘Dog got through to the final!’ I texted Husband and Son back home.

We watched the heats, seeing sausage after sausage guzzled by twenty different dogs. ‘That’s our competition,’ I said to Daughter as a smiling Dalmatian bounded past and all but inhaled a sausage. Six other Dogs joined Dog in the final, including the Dalmatian. Again, the owners lined up opposite the dogs and held our sausages aloft.

‘3 … 2 … 1’ they were off again! But oh no! Dog’s gone for the wrong sausage! She trying to wrestle it out of the next door dog’s mouth.

‘No Dog! Here! Here’s your sausage!’ But Dog had the bit between her teeth, she was going for that sausage like her life depended on it. She had disgraced herself. Luckily, due to what the judge described as ‘underhand shenanigans’ it was decided the dogs would run again. More sausages were brought out – where were they all coming from? I wondered.

I thought we were in with a chance; Dog had got the taste of the 100% meat sausages and wanted more. I imagined bringing Dog home with a large rosette. It was so close I could feel it. We lined up again.

‘Go!’ Off they raced, straight to the sausages. Dog was at my feet in a flash. Sausage in her mouth, she started chewing. The adjudicator was ready to fling up his hand but wait! ‘She’s dropped a bit!’ he said. I looked down. Dog had dropped a chunk of her sausage and couldn’t get it out of the thick grass. ‘Here! Here!’ I shouted but it was too late. A forest of hands went up and Dog was out of the competition.

‘It was a good try though,’ said Daughter giving Dog a pat. Exhausted with all the heightened emotion, we slumped back into our seats.

‘I suppose we better go home,’ I said.

‘But what about the raffle?’ Daughter asked.

Of course! The raffle! I pulled the tickets from my bag and we waited for the number to be called. Well, Dog may not have won a rosette, but Daughter and I won not one, not two, but THREE raffle prizes! The best thing of all was that one of the prizes was a beautiful, homemade Shaun the Sheep bathmat. Daughter was over the moon and it’s been laid pride of place on the bathroom floor.

We had a wonderful day, met lots of lovely people, and saw lots of gorgeous dogs including the magnificent Beach Buddy working Newfoundlands. These local village events are to be treasured; well done and thank you to all the volunteers and companies who made it possible. Here’s to next year!

Dog wondering where the sausages went.