Road to the Ship: Eevee’s Show Dog Journey, Part 2

Part Two: The Rollercoaster. After that Reserve at Eevee’s first big girl show, I started believing in myself a little. Eevee, it turns out, is a pretty good show dog. She’s happy, outgoing, and focused. And boy does she love to MOVE. It only took a couple shows for her to get some confidence, and then it was hard to hold her back. Literally, it was hard keeping up with her and controlling her speed!

I mentioned in Part One that dog showing is an emotional rollercoaster. Some days that feels like just another cliché, and some days it feels like a gross understatement. I was about to find out how true the latter really is.

Ohio is a great place to learn the dog show game. There are many shows within driving distance from Columbus throughout the spring, summer, and fall. We showed once per month in three consecutive months without needing a hotel: September in Lancaster, October in Wilmington, and November in Columbus at the Ohio State Fairgrounds.

The Wilmington Ride

I covered Lancaster in Part One, so I’ll jump straight to Wilmington. The Wilmington shows are in the Roberts Center, a beautiful and well maintained venue. Sometimes it makes majors, sometimes it doesn’t. In October 2019, the entry was worth two points for Goldens. This was the busiest venue we attended to date, but Eevee didn’t care.

As soon as I walked in the door, the confidence from Lancaster evaporated. Poof. Gone. The nerves immediately came back, despite not have any expectations. I was not there to win, I was there to learn. Or so I told myself. With the nerves came the almost paralyzing fear of looking like an idiot.

Things didn’t start well: I was using the wrong nozzle to blow dry and that was part of the reason I was struggling with the wavy hair on Eevee’s back. I showed her with her top line looking weird and that bothered me. After having that pointed out in Lancaster, I was hyper aware of it.

Repressed Memories, Anyone?

Anyway, she showed ok. At least I think she did. I don’t remember. I don’t know who was judging, I don’t remember what I was wearing. None of it after grooming. It’s almost like that day didn’t happen. I think we placed second or third in Eevee’s class, but that’s it. She looked cute though.

The next day is a different story. I switched the nozzle on my blow dryer, didn’t stress about powdering legs or any of that, fixed a couple stray hairs that I hadn’t noticed the day before, and walked into the ring determined to be relaxed. Or at least not shaking and sweating.

Get Out of Your Head

People don’t often talk about the mental struggles that go on when you start a new hobby. The feelings of ineptitude. The fear of messing up. The imposter syndrome when you get good at something.

On day two of Wilmington, Eevee walked in like she owned the place and I let her do her thing. I could tell by the judge’s face that she liked Eevee and wasn’t surprised when we won her class. At eight months old, she was already the biggest bitch in the ring (don’t @ me, that’s just how we talk in the Dog World), but this judge didn’t care.

Purple Ribbons

When we went in for Winners Bitch, the judge moved us all around together. Eevee was really feeling it by then and flew around the ring. After that, we did go arounds one at a time. Eevee flew around the ring like she had been a show dog for years instead of months. Confidence oozed out of her.

We lined all of our dogs up for the judge’s final look before awarding the points. Then she pointed.

At ME.

I pointed at my own chest and said “Me?” in an incredulous, but not too loud voice.

She replied, “yes you!”

I was absolutely stunned. There were some really lovely bitches in the ring that day. My surprise was not unfounded: I was taught not to expect points out of the 6-9 month puppy class and that most judges preferred to award the Open class or the Bred-by-Exhibitor class.

That Top of the Rollercoaster Feeling

I walked over to get my very first purple ribbon from the judge and I was on cloud nine. What in the actual fluff? Eevee was now CHAMPION POINTED! I called Marissa as fast as I could and told her that we had won and she screamed. She was so excited, I was so excited, Eevee was excited because we were excited. It was a great day. Megan and Karen were there and gave me a big hug. Like the feeling of being on top of the rollercoaster about to fly down a steep hill, we were on top of the world.

Encouraging Words

For the first time, a complete stranger showed kindness to me at a dog show. She was a professional handler that was in the Winners ring with me, so I was genuinely surprised. It gave me hope that the Dog World wasn’t as cutthroat as I was told. She helped make sure Eevee was set up nicely and that I didn’t look like a goon (like the BPUP photo). She and her friend said some very nice things about Eevee as well.

It’s customary to chat with the judge when you get your official win photo. So while we were up on the podium, the judge said:

“Make sure you finish her.”

“I will!” I said.

Her words will never be forgotten. She knew that I am an owner handler in arguably the most competitive breed in AKC and that the road ahead was hard. But she chose to encourage me anyway. Her choice helped me many times down the road when I doubted if I could do this after all. I meant it when I told her I would finish Eevee.

What Goes Up…

Wilmington left me floating and I could not wait for the next show. Our first three show weekends were relative successes: BOB Puppy and Puppy Sporting Group 1, two class wins and a Reserve, and our first Winners Bitch for 2 points. That doesn’t really happen to owner handlers in Goldens. Yes, the shows were small, but still. However, as the saying goes: What goes up, must come down on planet Earth.

The next show was the cluster in Columbus – our home turf.

My whole crew was there this time – Lauren wasn’t in Wilmington – so there was no shortage of help. In four days of showing, we came home with zero blue ribbons. We placed second three out of the four days and third once. After winning her class both days in Lancaster and winning points in Wilmington, four straight days of no blue ribbons was frustrating.

Maybe She’s Not a Show Dog After All

We lost to the same puppy for at least two of the days in Columbus, if not all four. It was humbling and losing sucked. My first three outings led to unrealistic expectations of what dog showing is like. This was my reality check.

My handling was not perfect. By the end of the cluster I was starting to wonder if the win in Wilmington was a fluke. And here is the hardest lesson I learned:

Sometimes it’s just not your day. Some days the judge just won’t like your dog. And most importantly:

You lose more than you win in Goldens.

Learn. Forget. Relearn. Repeat. Some days are just not yours and there is nothing you can do about it. You can blame the judging, blame yourself (It’s me. Hi!), blame politics, blame your dog (I NEVER do this), etc. But none of those things change that reality. Placing blame is toxic.

And losing doesn’t mean that your dog is not cut out to be a show dog. Eevee was still in the 6-9 month puppy class. Get a grip, Maegan! Losing your class for four days is not the end of the world.

Act Like a Show Dog Please…

Anyway, back to the story. Megan asked me to show a dog in Best of Breed the last day of the cluster. At first I was excited, but still nervous. He was already a Champion and knew his job – or so I thought. I told myself I could do it, no problem! Megan said he would do anything for food and gave me a hot dog.

Showing this dog started out as a classic case of Murphy’s Law – everything that could go wrong, did. I got into the ring, promptly dropped the hot dog, then the actual dog tried to eat my hand. He was so excited that he would not behave. Following the sheer panic from dropping the hot dog, I moved my dog too close to the dog in front of us during the group go around and got yelled at. I didn’t think we crowded him, but who knows. Maybe we did.

In response to being yelled at in the ring, I went to the first gap I could find away from that other dog. Then I was yelled at by the same people for being in the wrong spot in line. Where was I supposed to go?

“They should not have made you show this dog. You’re too new for him.” Yikes. Remember that fear of looking like an idiot? This was exhibit A.

Finally, I stuck the hot dog in my pocket and pretended not to have any food. Clearly the hot dog was too much. And wouldn’t you know it? The dog behaved after that. Note to self: no food for this dog. Thankfully, we recovered and our individual exam and movement went well. We didn’t win, but we made it out of the ring without further incident. Whew, sigh of relief.

Pouring Salt Into the Wound

After a crappy week of showing, I was understandably upset that my first trip into the Breed ring didn’t go well. To make matters worse, an acquaintance walked up to me afterwards to tell me all of the things I did wrong. Having heard about from the point of view of the people that yelled at me. The intention was good, but you know what they say about good intentions.

Listen y’all, I do not lack self-awareness. I knew things hadn’t gone well in there. My brain was analyzing how to change things for the next time before it was my turn for the individual exam. Beratement for my performance was not what I needed 2 minutes after walking out of the ring.

And that was the first time I cried at a dog show.

If anyone ever tells you they’ve never cried at a dog show, they are lying.

Good Friends Make Things Better

That whole thing just really sucked. But Karen and Megan were there and they made me feel better. Megan saw me drop the hot dog, but told me it was not a big deal at all. Name a handler that has never accidentally dropped bait and had a dog lunge for it. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Standing around in the wrong spot in line is also zero percent a big deal. As long as you do your exam at in the correct order, you’re fine. We were making a mountain out of a mole hill, as my mother would say.

Megan also told me that I recovered well, and that the dog looked good for the individual part. Miraculously, she and Karen thought that I didn’t run up on that other dog. Hmm…

However, in my brain, every teeny tiny mistake was a huge deal. Every dropped hot dog, every foot out of place, every slightly off free stack. It was all a huge deal to me. That whole week of losing? My fault. Not the judges and definitely not Eevee’s. Mine.

My need for perfection was out of control and it culminated in a stressful and teary day. I am – and always have been – a fierce competitor (just ask my sister). I am a good sport, but not a good loser.

The thing about good friends – real friends – is that they are always there for you. They let you cry when you need to. They lift you up when you need them, and they give you constructive criticism when you need that. But they never stab you in the back. My friends were there for me that day and many other days to come. Losing is never fun, but sometimes it’s necessary.