Keymaster’s Web Log

The man with a Mini-Dachshund in his arms asked me after I left the ring, "Did you expect to come out with a red ribbon?" Red denotes second place, out of the running for points at an AKC show. Without a moment’s pause and somewhat to my own surprise I replied, "I don’t go in the ring with any expectations. I just go in and show my dog the best I can."

Therein lies the problem for so many exhibitors. They go in the ring with actual expectations. Considering how much results can vary from day to day at dog shows, expecting anything other than your eventual survival isn’t a good idea. Benjamin Franklin would probably agree there are only three things for sure in life; death, taxes, and the unpredictability of dog shows. So any expectations are a grandstand for disappointment, nearly sure to collapse under their own weight. But if the spectator with the Dachshund had stayed a bit longer, I would have elaborated that while I don’t have expectations, I always have HOPE. Hope is what keeps me coming back.

On this particularly day, I felt I had presented my dog to the best of my ability. I felt he and I had worked together as a team and had improved our performance over the day before. While that day wasn’t our day to win, my hope burned brightly that our turn would come around again soon enough. So despite the lack of points, I was happy. Of course I love to win, who doesn’t? But to me it’s become more about personal achievement with my dog than about winning. Because when I go in and do my best - I’ve already won!

Dog showing is one of the few sports where a complete novice is immediately up against professionals. It’s tough out there, sometimes even nasty, and many is the day I’ve been outhandled in those critical last seconds when the judges make their final decisions.

Those experiences of defeat and knowing that I was barely edged out have led to an overriding motivation to do my best in the ring. A respected Dane handler once told me, "Pretend every spectator around that ring is tomorrow’s judge and show your dog every single second." This advice that has helped keep my focus on showing my dog to its fullest potential - something within my control  - instead of on winning, which is far beyond it.

So even when I walk away with a red ribbon, I’m hardly ever seeing red. 

Today I took my old box of show catalogs out to the recycling bin. This was not an easy decision, the walk outside seemed long and I felt a pang of guilt when I dumped them in the big blue container. Though the vast majority were over 10 years old, the symbolism they held was strong. The dusty little softbound treasures told the story of how my life in dog shows began. Show catalogs are how a novice like me gathered information about judges and started to understand how the whole game worked.

To honor all this, I had to say a proper goodbye.  As I leafed through the pages I recalled the Danes of yesteryear: "Remember that fawn special, wasn’t he nice?" The people: "I wonder what ever happened to Barb, the born-again Christian who showed her own Dane at age 66 and encouraged you to get saved in the nicest possible way?" The funny stories: "Remember the Yakima Valley show in ‘93? That’s when Chevy jumped out of the ring on the go ’round, then jumped back in again." I smiled at all these recollections, pulled out a few special volumes, and put the lid back on the box.

The frugal side of me fought to hold onto the investment, "Alison, you paid between $4 and $6 a piece for these when you could hardly afford it. Now you’re getting rid of them?!" But the reality is the catalogs were only pleasant reminders and amounted to one more box of old stuff that no one else would really want.

I was sad to see them go, but I realized I don’t need the catalogs themselves to remember what I have learned and appreciate the lavish return on my investment.