We are not losing in the ring because we lack good dogs. We are losing because we no longer know how to describe them.
That may sound strange, but if you spend any time ringside, listening, not just watching, listening for phrases like: “Nice dog.” “Pretty.” “Good movement.” “I liked his outline.” These are safe, comfortable words; and they are completely empty. They tell us nothing about the breed, nothing about priorities, and nothing relating to conceptualizing breed type. They are the verbal equivalent of nodding politely and moving on. This is the language that is quietly replacing the very specific vocabulary of our sport.
We do not need a new way to talk about dogs. We already have one. It is called the Breed Standard: carefully written, intentionally crafted, and refined over generations by people who understood not only how their breed should look, move, and behave, but also the job it was intended to do.
Yet, somewhere along the way, we stopped using it. We read it once, maybe twice. We underlined a few phrases and highlighted what sounded important, but we didn’t speak it. If you don’t use the language, you don’t internalize it, and then you can’t recognize it in a dog. And if you can’t recognize it in your own dog, you cannot present it, especially not in two and a half minutes in the ring.
Let’s put this into real terms and look at an example.
As I’ve said, we often hear: “Nice topline. Pretty head. Good movement.” I hear the words: “pretty,” “nice,” and “good” over and over. It may feel complimentary, but it tells us absolutely nothing about breed type. What is a “nice head” on a Bulldog is not a “nice head” on an Afghan Hound.
Now compare that to language grounded in the Standard: “That dog has the required aristocratic presence, with a dignified, aloof demeanor and no trace of coarseness. The head is carried proudly, and the expression is distinctly Eastern, enhanced by his long silky topknot. The prominent hipbones are clearly visible, the peculiar coat pattern, and the overall impression is that of a ‘king of dogs,’ balanced, self-possessed, and true to tradition.”
The difference here is not subtle. The first description could apply to ten breeds. The second could only apply to one. And that is the entire point.
That’s not flowery, it’s accurate. That is the language of someone who has read the Standard, understood it, and more importantly, has learned the exact verbiage and what the words mean. There is the assumption of correct application when the exact words in the Standard are used.
That is what it sounds like when the Standard is not just read, but translated into evaluation.
If you think that the language above sounds elevated, it should, because it comes directly from the source. If you cannot describe the dog in the language of the Standard, you are not evaluating it, you are reacting to it.
Consider the opening paragraph of the Afghan Hound Standard:
“The Afghan Hound is an aristocrat, his whole appearance one of dignity and aloofness with no trace of plainness or coarseness. He has a straight front, proudly carried head, eyes gazing into the distance as if in memory of ages past. The striking characteristics of the breed—exotic, or ‘Eastern,’ expression, long silky topknot, peculiar coat pattern, very prominent hipbones, large feet, and the impression of a somewhat exaggerated bend in the stifle due to profuse trouserings—stand out clearly, giving the Afghan Hound the appearance of what he is, a king of dogs, that has held true to tradition throughout the ages.”
Everything you need to recognize correct type is in that paragraph. The question is not whether the Standard explains the breed. The question is whether you know how to use it.
This is not decorative language. It is instructional. At Dog Show Mentor, we take the Standard and pull out the Hallmarks. Not only do we identify them, we also define them so that everyone in the group understands words that they may have come across but didn’t really grasp completely.
If you’re an exhibitor, you ought to be able to recognize it in your own dog and have the discipline to present it accordingly.
You should be able to see it when the dog walks into the ring.
Exhibitors are sometimes heard to say, “The judge didn’t see my dog.” Sometimes that’s true. But often, the exhibitor hasn’t seen their own dog clearly enough to show it with intention and make sure the judge sees their dog.
The difference here is not subtle. Generic language creates generic thinking, and generic thinking produces inconsistent results. If your vocabulary about your breed consists of “nice,” “pretty,” and “balanced,” then you are not evaluating dogs; you are reacting to them. And reaction is not a system. It is a gamble.
Judges are not standing in the ring thinking, “That’s a pretty dog.” They are asking themselves, does this dog meet the Standard? When your depth of understanding aligns with that question and your presentation reflects those priorities, you stop guessing and start competing.
In a recent Mastery session, we discussed how a judge’s attempt to “help” an exhibitor by pointing out faults revealed something deeper: when we cannot clearly articulate virtues, we default to discussing faults. And that is a precursor to losing breed type.
The moment our focus turns from what defines the breed to what detracts from it, we stop preserving type and start managing mediocrity. When faults dominate the conversation, we stop breeding toward something and begin breeding simply to avoid being wrong. Over time, that produces dogs that are indistinguishable from each other and ultimately forgettable.
At the same time, the bar lowers, quietly and often without notice. Dogs begin to be rewarded for what they are not rather than for what they are. Additionally, exhibitors, whether consciously or not, begin to modify their behavior. They hide weaknesses instead of presenting strengths. They minimize rather than emphasize. They protect instead of showcase.
Faults matter. Of course they do. But faults only have meaning when measured against virtues. Without that reference point, we are not evaluating; we are simply criticizing.
As a result, AKC has placed parameters around Breed Standards to emphasize positive descriptions in the newly created or changed Standards. The framers of these Standards are instructed to avoid using terms of Faults.
This is not a judge problem. It is not a breeder problem. It is not an owner handler problem. All of us are responsible for this problem in the sport of dogs.
Every person who walks into the ring participates in the preservation or the erosion of breed type. That happens through the dogs they bring, the choices they make, and the language they use. The Standard is not a document to admire. It is a tool to be used.
We do not need a new language in the sport of dogs. We already have one. It was written with exactness, intention, and a strong respect for the breeds it defines.
The language is not gone. It is waiting to be rediscovered. And the responsibility to preserve it does not rest solely with judges. Of course, the judges have some influence; however, the breeder of every dog, the owner handler, the professional handler, and the professional groomer all bear some responsibility for the elevation of the quality of dogs produced and shown.
The problem is not that a Standard is outdated or the judges are ignorant. The problem is that too many have stopped speaking about it with full comprehension. The solution is to spend time with a real dog dictionary and your Standard (and maybe a mentor), and discover something new about it! Enjoy it, embrace it, adore it.
