It cannot be easy being a rat or a pigeon, dismissed as vermin and loved by few. Determined to convert the doubters, members of the National Fancy Rat Society and the Sufex Columbrian Society have brought their most beautiful specimens to compete at the Tendring Show in Essex.
In the pigeon tent the broiling human specimens clamp drenched hankies to puce faces as the feathered variety look on coolly, unruffled, spruce and perky in their immaculate Sunday best.
“Who’d have thought pigeons could be so beautiful?” wonders one spectator. The birds staring back at us are nothing like Trafalgar Square’s portly, statue-defiling, grey guzzlers. In the fancy birds section one competitor looks as if she has donned a huge fur collar for a night out. A capuchine pigeon, explains Kevin Pratt, 44, a judge. Behind him a white pigeon’s neck starts puffing up like an inflatable jacket. A pomeranian pouter, says Pratt. “It’s just showing off to attract females.”
The best flier prize is won by a red chequer pigeon whose coat looks as if it has been painted on, feather by painstaking feather. “It’s in a wonderful condition,” agrees Pratt.
There are 300 varieties of pigeon, of which there are 30 at the show, says Neil Newman of the Sufex Columbrian Society. There have been 115 entries for this contest, but keeping pigeons is on a downward trend. “It’s a grey-haired hobby and not many young people are coming into it,” he says. Even northerners are losing enthusiasm. Pratt, who with his brother, Robin, keeps 150 pigeons, adds: “About 25 years ago at the Barnsley show we’d have 4,000 entries. Today we get about 2,000.”
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Why would anyone want to keep pigeons?
“It’s a lovely hobby because you have to get out and deal with the birds every day. It’s a pastime you can really get your teeth into,” says Pratt.
Pigeons can at least take comfort from having once been popular. In the rat tent Rackie Powell, 26, one of the the judges, says that the rodents suffer from a bad press. “You’ll get people come up and say, ‘Oh isn’t that cute, what is it?’ You’ll tell them it’s a rat and they’ll say, ‘Ugh, I don’t like rats’ .”
They are much misunderstood, she says. “They’re clever and a lot friendlier and more sociable than other small animals I’ve had. They’ll run to the front of their cage to say hello and they love a cuddle.”
Today Powell is looking for a shiny, full coat, well-nourished body with clipped nails and a thick, round tail. Eyes should be round and big but not “odd and bulging”, as on one rat disqualified today by another judge.
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On to the guinea pigs, also known as cavies. They have a good public image that ignores the fact that these squeaky cheekies are desert rats. Or that in South America they go down best roasted or fried. “They taste like chicken,” says Nicky Reynolds, 50, a champion shower, judge and the organiser of the cavy show. “So I’ve been told,” she adds.
The tent is home to 94 entries of all shapes, sizes, colours and hair types . “Feel this one,” says Reynolds, holding out a texel cavy that looks like a bad hair day.
Derek Pike, 71, is the judge. “I feel the cavy’s shape to see whether it’s fit. It mustn’t be flabby, but in good shape,” he says, patting his own shapely stomach. He has more leeway for personal liking when judging the pets as opposed to the show entries. “Look at this one, very clean, easy to handle, and pretty.”
Pike saved up and bought his first cavy for four shillings when he was eight and it has been a lifelong passion. It has to be love because prizes are tiny and champions do not change hands for megabucks. Or even have names.
Peter Nunn, 79, is the owner of the best in show.
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“Well done. What’s she called, Mr Nunn?”
“Er . . .”
Nunn has 200 cavies at home. The secret to winning lies in selective breeding, a good diet of pellets, vegetables and hay, and grooming. “Now she’s a champion I could sell her for £30,” he says. “But I’m not in it for the money.”