I Went to an Afghan Hound Show Where the Dogs Had Better Hair than Humans

This article originally appeared on VICE France.

I’m from Cérilly, a small town in the middle of France where there’s generally not much to do. So when I happened upon a flyer advertising a dog show for Afghan hounds and Salukis – Persian sighthounds of similar appearance – my heart skipped a beat. Clearly, I had to go.

Having never seen these glamorous dogs in real life, I set out on my mission all starry-eyed. My destination: the local exhibition park, a big green space dominated by a building that looks like an abandoned factory, inexplicably decorated with flags of the world. I spot Afghan hounds and Salukis as far as the eye could see, all here with their owners for one common goal: to compete in a two-day beauty contest and a race.

So what exactly is an Afghan hound? The dog breed originated in Afghanistan, where they were used for their exceptional speed, quick thinking and panoramic vision to hunt down all sorts of prey – hare, gazelles, wolves and even snow leopards. Their majestic coat evolved as an adaptation to the unforgiving climate of mountainous Afghanistan. 

Based on DNA analysis, Afghan hounds are thought to be among the oldest domesticated dogs – the breed could have emerged up to about 6,000 years ago. The dogs were then popularised in the West in the 20th century, mainly as a luxury animal, which is why the breeders we talked to asked to remain anonymous for fear of dognapping. Personally, even though I’d never seen them in real life, I’d always thought they exuded a sense of elegance and class.

This particular event is organised by the French association of Afghan and Persian Hound Lovers (FALAPA). The first day consists of a beauty contest; the second, of a lure coursing competition, where the hounds raced to track down a mechanical prey.  

The beauty contest begins with a lot of brushing, drying and misting the dogs’ fur to spruce it up for the judges. Some owners scramble to make last-minute purchases, including a sparkly bejewelled collar. The International Canine Federation has specific beauty standards for each breed, from their teeth, their back and – for the male dogs – having two normal-looking and visible testicles.

I chat to some of the proud owners of these fluffy animals to better understand why they came all the way here on that day. “There was an Afghan hound in my wife’s favourite movie – that’s why I got her her first one,” says a breeder from Switzerland. “Since then, we’ve travelled all around Europe for competitions with our dogs Alexandre Dumas and Karl Lagerfeld, plus our son.”

A little further down, I meet a dog named Sauvage (French for “Savage”). “He’s super photogenic,” his owner tells me, “so we’re planning to tour the world with him. We’ll take pictures of him in unusual places and go on a travelling exhibition.”

Then a strange sound interrupted our chat, followed by excited muttering from other owners: The judges have arrived – in style, of course. Mette Morkegaard and Yossi Guy roll up in a white Cadillac bearing the flags of their native countries – Denmark and Israel respectively – and take a few turns around the park just for show.

The tension suddenly goes up a notch, accompanied by increasingly feverish brushing. The Salukis go off to one side, the Afghan Hounds to the other. The dogs are shown off in groups of five. The judges are serious and focused: The key for both dog and owner is not to annoy the judges in any way by, for instance, getting unruly.

I asked the owners of two dogs named Alexandre Dumas and Karl Lagerfeld how much they get paid for participating in these competitions. “Not much,” he laughs, “but the idea is to get my dog noticed by breeders or other owners interested in paying us to produce a lineage with a higher pedigree.” 

That’s where the real money is at. Owners can be offered €1,500 to €2,000 to breed their dogs, he explains. “Veterinarians can provide breeding services all over the world,” he adds.

As I watch the hounds march elegantly around the exhibition area – their gorgeous fur flowing in time with the wind – I realise that I’ve been here for five hours, completely mesmerised. Suddenly, the competition comes to a close and it was time for the awards. “The judges tend to give points to their friends,” one owner claims, a tad bitterly.

Despite these rivalries, the event feels more like a big family reunion – which isn’t exactly surprising, given most dogs here came from the same breeders.

The next day, I came by again to see the races, where two dogs – either two Afghan hounds or two Salukis – are pitted against each other, chasing a mechanical lure with snacks attached at the end. The dogs’ mission: to chase it at all cost, and catch it as fast as possible.

This race feels different from the previous event – more intense, more aggressive. Not many pooches are cut out to compete in both. Physically, the dogs are also different from their beauty contest counterparts as the requirements clearly weren’t as strict.

The end of the day heralds the long-awaited prizes: a medal, gadgets, biscuits, chew sticks, fruit-flavoured wines. As for me, I leave the park feeling like I was part of the family, and with an irresistible urge to buy better shampoo.

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