Our visit to the show ring which was more like a comedy sketch - Jo Thorp

Hope Show and sheepdog trials, located in the very beautiful Hope Valley in the Peak District is where the culmination of the seasons showing plays out. The show is always well supported with a fantastic display of breeds in beautiful surroundings.

Unable to show our Woodlands this year as I had commitments in another ring, I left father and son to sort the sheep out and argue over who was showing what.

I returned later to see they’d had a fantastic morning and ended up being reserve champion with the aged ewe.

After a quick break a different judge appeared to decide who would take the coveted accolade of Whitefaced Woodland Champion of Champions.

Throughout the summer, the shows where we have separate breed classes are qualifiers for this class, with both the champion and reserve being eligible for the final at Hope Show.

The little guy had qualified at The Great Yorkshire Show with his beloved tup “Highmoss Belter” aptly named Big-boy at home.

However, because he’d just taken reserve champion with his ewe, the little guy decided she would have a better chance to win and left Paul to show Big-boy.

After much deliberation a decision was made and awarding the rosettes in reverse order, it was the aged ewe who took the reserve champion, much to the delight of John-William who was beaming from ear to ear.

The judge then strode away to the other end of the line where the Champion sash and rosette was placed across the back of a tup.

Now being the mother of an ultra competitive child who lives and breathes the show ring, I could at this point not only see who had taken the Championship but I also had a fair idea of how the next few minutes were about to unfold.

Craning his neck around the other competitors his gaze suddenly fell upon the not so innocent smile coming from his father who was holding Big-boy who was of course wearing the sash.

The smile instantly faded from John-William’s face as he realised he’d picked the wrong sheep.

However, in his eleven year old mind, this was easily rectified and releasing his grip on the ewes horns, he ran the length of the line-up shrieking “That’s my tup, I’ve won”.

There was no shame in his crazed dash, the roar of laughter from his fellow competitors never reached his ears as he wrapped his fingers tightly around Big-boy’s horns, elbowing Paul out of the way in the process whilst quickly smiling his biggest smile for the camera.

The ewe, somewhat surprised at his sudden disappearance put her head down and calmly started grazing, oblivious to the comedy sketch that had just played out.

It will of course be a long standing joke in our house, forever brought up at opportune moments to mercilessly rib our son.

It was just a pity that in our surprise none of us had been quick enough to catch it on camera!