08/24/2026
Why Do We Show Dogs?
Because if you do the math, it makes absolutely no sense.
It is expensive. It is exhausting. You drive six hours for a few minutes in the ring. You pay entry fees, gas, hotels, grooming, handling, health testing, whelping boxes, puppy pens, and vet bills that make your accountant weep. Many weekends you lose more than you win.
And yet here we are!
How many times have we said it?
"This is the last show."
"This is the last litter."
"After this champion, I'm done."
"We're taking a break after this one."
Then the puppies are born. Or a young dog starts to really come together. Or your friend calls and says, "You have to come to this show, it's going to be fun." And you do it all over again. Year after year.
And then there are the non-dog people.
They ask, always with good intentions, "So what do you win?"
You try to explain.
"Well, we win a ribbon. A small one if it's most weekends. A big rosette if we're lucky. Sometimes a little trophy."
They wait for the rest. The prize money part.
You tell them there is no prize money. That you actually paid to be there. That if you do win a big rosette, you will immediately spend more money getting it framed or buying dinner for everyone who helped you.
They look at you like you have completely lost your mind.
And you don't know how to tell them that we won a free weekend away that cost us $800. That we won a 25 cent ribbon that means more to us than a paycheck. That we won five minutes where our dog was perfect.
So they ask the next question: "Why do you do it then?"
Why do we do it?
It's not for the ribbons. The ribbons fade and end up in a box in the closet.
We do it for that 30 seconds when it all clicks. When your dog, who has been acting like a complete clown all morning, walks into that ring and becomes magnificent. He remembers his job better than you remember yours. He stacks himself and looks at you like, "I've got this." And for a moment you see exactly what you saw in your mind years ago when you planned this breeding, or first laid eyes on this puppy.
We do it for the breed. Because somebody has to care enough to not take the easy way. To health test. To study pedigrees at midnight. To keep the puppies up all night and worry over them like newborns. To say no when no is the right answer. To try, really try, to leave the breed a little better than we found it.
We do it for the dogs themselves. No one loves a show dog more than a show dog. The van ride, the bait, the table, the applause, the hotel bed they are absolutely not supposed to be on. They live for this. They live for being with us.
We do it for each other. Only another dog person understands why you're crying over a 12-year-old's grey face, or why a major matters so much, or why you kept the cheap trophy from your first win. Our best friendships were built on grooming spray, shared hotel rooms, and holding someone else's dogs ringside.
Non-dog people will never understand it. And that's okay. You can't explain this to someone who hasn't lived it.
We say "last show, last litter" because this sport will break your heart and empty your wallet. We come back because it also fills your heart in a way nothing else does.
It's not a hobby. If it were a hobby, we would have quit years ago.
It's who we are.
Elaine Starry
