ANDREW GLAZER -- Reporter’s Notebook

ANDREW GLAZER

My credentials for judging a livestock fashion show Wednesday night

were fairly limited. For starters, I didn’t know what the hay a livestock

fashion show was.

But it was nice to doff my journalistic objectivity for an evening,

breathe sawdust and judge contestants and their sheep on their clothing,

behavior and poise.

The “Lads and Lassies Contest,” I learned, was sponsored by wool

farmers and designed to showcase wool clothing. The clothing, of course,

was worn by both sheep and sheep owner.

I was seated at a table with two other judges: Bonnie Pettey, a

teacher and veteran judge of sheep from Bloomington, and Michael Mann, an

affable 4-H youth advisor who lives in Irvine.

“I’m not a farmer and I don’t know much about agriculture,” Mann said,

easing some of my own insecurities. For this was certainly the closest

this Philadelphia-born and bred reporter had been to livestock.

For the hour I sat in the stands before the competition -- the Supreme

Ewe Contest ran late -- I wondered whether I would be a competent judge.

Would the roughly 200 mothers, fathers and grandmothers of the young

models seated in the bleachers judge me right back?

“Just check to see whether the dress the girl is wearing is

appropriate for her age,” said Bonnie, coaching the two novices. “How

does it look on them?”

OK, pretty obvious so far, I thought.

“Is it too tight? Are the hems crooked?”

Uh-oh. What’s a hem?

“Is it pressed correctly? Do the colors match as they should?”

Help.

“Are the animals well-groomed? Do they behave well?”

I think I just got paged. Must be breaking news. Gotta run!

But the music started -- I think it was Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” --

and the seven children in the ages 9 to 12 division lined up, sheep in

tow.

As each contestant walked down the runway, some smiled and maintained

an almost eerie eye contact, throwing the archetypal runway pose that you

can only learn after hours of training. Others looked as awkward as a 9-

to 12-year-old dragging a poncho-wearing sheep should.

I scribbled their marks on a scorecard, awarding points to the

well-trained models whose pleats were crisp, struts fluid and grins

frozen on their well made-up faces.

“Weren’t her cuffs a little long?” Bonnie asked as my top choice

strolled by. I started to erase my score, but then scrawled it back in

much darker. Would Justice Rehnquist back down to Justice Scalia? I think

not!

“Wasn’t she a little prissy?” Michael asked as someone I had

determined would be the next Brooke Shields floated down the runway. He’s

right, I thought and dropped her score a few points.

At least the sheep were easy to judge. Some were dirty while others

weren’t. Some high-stepped with the grace of a ballerina. Others bucked

and baaaah-ed like sheep.

And then the absurdity of the contest dawned on me: We were rewarding

the sheep that acted human and the humans who would best fit in a herd.

But then again, who am I to judge?

*

ANDREW GLAZER is a Daily Pilot staff writer.