It is a strange twist, a cruel one if you ask our dog.

In order for us to obtain our dog's AKC papers from the breeder, which showed his championship lineage (and part of the reason she charged us $900 for him), we had to have him neutered, thus drawing an abrupt end to that lineage. So he's the son of champions, but cannot become one himself, royalty with a cubic zirconium crown that cannot ascend to the throne.

Bob Barker can say it with a smile all he wants, but neutering just doesn't seem like a very pleasant first birthday present, certainly not as nice as the Fisher Price high chair I received on my first birthday. And our dog has been miffed at Bob, my wife and I ever since we had him (the dog, not Bob) neutered earlier this year.

In an effort to cheer him up, we took our keeshond to the Wine Country Circuit Dog Show at Sampson State Park last weekend. Keeshonds compete at dog shows in the non-working class, which seemed a particularly appropriate class for our dog, as his weren't working any longer. But you can't compete if you're not complete (if you've been cut, you're cut from competing in dog shows), which seems harsh, seeing as how the dogs who've been spayed or neutered could really use a 75-cent blue ribbon pick-me-up to help soothe their surgically removed self-esteem.

So we went to the dog show as spectators, hoping we could pick up our dog's post-op mood by letting him mingle with thousands of other dogs.

It turned out to be like taking a headless man to a turtleneck fashion show.

We brushed him out, and primped him up so that he would fit in with the other show dogs, but ultimately you can't be that good without your goodies. Even though the surgery is well hidden, he made it clear that he wasn't all there.

Because he wasn't.

Literally.

He napped through many of the competitions, and when he was awake, he would just lie there, demand a bag of Cheetos, and heckle the participants.

When we took him to the ring to watch the female keeshonds, he withdrew even more. He stayed along the fence and didn't want to interact. The females, who I think could sense he'd been snipped, made it worse by circling him and letting him get a whiff of their dander. If was an awkward moment for both them and him: He wasn't half the man he once was, and they wanted what they couldn't have. Either that, or these dogs were like many women: They felt safer hanging around with the gay, the married and the surgically surrendered.

Our dog tried to impress the ladies by quickly pulling out his papers that listed his championship lineage, but those papers were like a desperately bad pickup line at the bar at 2 a.m. The women laughed, asking him if we received a 20-percent discount on his admission to the show.

It was cruel. The arrogance he had often displayed at home when asked to fetch disappeared in the blink of a blue ribbon. A king without his jewels was little more than a jester being humiliated in this court of canine opinion.

So we brought him home, and he's now back on the couch, moody and brooding, calling for Cheetos, demanding the remote so that he can watch TV shows all day.

Everything except ”The Price Is Right.“

Editor Mikel LeFort can be reached at 253-5311 ext. 230 or e-mail mikel.lefort@lee.net