Showsight Magazine | August 2026

IS OUR SPORT DYING OR ADAPTING TO CHANGE? INSPIRING YOU TO THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX.

BY LEE WHITTIER

Before we accept that narrative, we should ask: Are we witnessing the end of the sport or its evolution into something new?

Are we measuring the sport by comparing it to 25 years ago, or to another specific period? I acknowledge that those who are using statistical data to show that dog shows are in decline are making comparisons with a different era and generation, which is correct, but I ask myself how the exhibitors on social media, who have been in the sport for 5-10 years, know what shows were like decades ago.

Are we talking about lower entries than we experienced decades ago? Or are we measuring today’s dog shows against our personal memories of what they looked like years ago? Entries today are lower in numbers, yet we can only do some shape-shifting in this new decade to focus on the high quality we’re seeing in the ring, despite the low numbers.

Are we talking about fewer spectators? Nearly every person I meet on a plane or in another non-dog-specific group exclaims they always watch the National Dog Show or Westminster on TV. They watch, though they’re just not actually at the show itself. I always ask them whether they have a dog and, if so, which breed. If they don’t own a purebred, I educate them about the advantages of owning one. This is a trend that we, as purebred dog enthusiasts, should use to educate the “new spectator” online, on social media, and on streaming platforms. We need to take advantage of social media, TV, and Netflix.

I believe the answer to these questions is that we are allowing repeated negativity to form our perception of what we see every weekend. Each question is a distinct way of looking at the topic.

THE EVOLUTION HAS JUST BEGUN

There is no doubt that our sport deals with challenges. Entry fees have increased. Travel expenses continue to climb. Club volunteers work tirelessly, and many older club members are not being replaced by younger members. Families have more demands on their time than ever. If we compare today’s world to the 1950s or 1960s, we are comparing two entirely different societies to the one we live in now.

During those decades, many families had far fewer entertainment options. Saturdays were often reserved for community events, county fairs, and yes, dog shows. Today, we compete with youth sports, streaming services, social media, smartphones, and countless other activities that simply did not exist previously.

Years ago, dog shows looked very different. Men commonly wore suits and ties. Women dressed in tailored suits, hats, and polished shoes. Today, you may see tattoos, athletic shoes, colorful hairstyles, mobility devices, and clothing that reflects every generation and culture represented in our communities.

These shifts do not mean the sport is dying; they reveal that the sport is adapting to a changing world. This distinction lies at the heart of our story: Are we losing something, or are we discovering new ways to thrive within different circumstances? Every weekend, I continue to find reasons for optimism.

TRANSFORMATION AND OPTIMISM

One of the greatest success stories of the past decade has been the National Owner-Handled Series (NOHS). Regardless of where you stand on every aspect of the program, it has encouraged participation, rewarded owner handlers, and created a changed system within AKC for competition at all levels for owners that did not previously exist. I believe it has become a significant force in keeping people actively engaged in the sport. According to the AKC website, NOHS accounts for approximately 80 percent of the total entries at shows. As a result, I continue to see exhibitors setting goals, developing better dogs, and competing at increasingly higher levels.

Alongside that success, however, I also see something else that rarely gets mentioned.

I see exhibitors who WANT to learn!

When I founded Dog Show Mentor, I had no idea how many exhibitors would be interested in developing their knowledge of the sport through online education. What I discovered was one of the most encouraging experiences of my career.

Owner Handlers from every corner of North America continue investing their time and resources to become better students of the sport. They attend workshops, participate in online mentoring programs, study Breed Standards, analyze judging decisions, and ask insightful questions because they genuinely want to improve.

Dog Show Mentor is certainly not the only example. Breed clubs are offering educational seminars. Regional clubs are inviting speakers. Experts across the country are giving generously of their knowledge. Exhibitors are sharing information in ways that simply were not possible twenty years ago.

Taken together, these observations tell a story of a sport not in decline, but one that is adapting and growing in new ways.

It is a community investing in its future.

Walk through the grooming area at almost any large show and look around. You will hear conversations in multiple languages and meet exhibitors from Canada, Mexico, Brazil, Australia, Russia, Ukraine, and throughout Europe. You will see young professionals standing beside retirees, seasoned breeders helping first-time exhibitors, and families introducing children to the responsibilities of caring for purebred dogs.

EVIDENCE OF CHANGE

All of these points are examples of the remarkable diversity our sport has achieved. This diversity does not suggest the sport has lost something. Rather, I see evidence that it has become more welcoming. It is unquestionably one of the last sports that brings people from all walks of life together, open to all.

Not long ago, I watched a woman confidently showing her Toy dog while using a walker. She handled her dog beautifully, and no one around her seemed to think twice about it. At another show, I had at least two twenty-something young men in my ring. I hoped their experiences were as valuable to them as they were inspiring to me. They were curious, asked thoughtful questions, and appeared to admire the other dogs. Those moments stayed with me because they reminded me that every experienced exhibitor was once an attendee at their first dog show. It’s as unadulterated as a circus used to be. Every one of us was new at one time.

The question is not whether new people are coming; it’s what happens after they’ve arrived. There is an opportunity to promote breeds that are appropriate to the individual or family, as well as our own breed. As fanciers, we should intentionally reinforce a positive view of Conformation and other dog sports as welcoming.

THE TREMENDOUS POWER IN THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

Sometimes, a solitary conversation at ringside convinces someone to take their first educational experience. One encouraging breed mentor can change the direction of an exhibitor’s entire career. The entire trajectory of a breed can be changed by a single conversation. Those opportunities surround us every weekend.

I also find it interesting that, while many people speak of declining quality, I continue to judge outstanding dogs in breed after breed. In some areas, I see larger entries in Collies, German Shorthaired Pointers, Vizslas, and several other breeds. I continue to see impressive Four-to-Six Month (Beginner Puppy) classes that give every indication that the next generation is already on its way.

Should we continue striving for quality? Absolutely. Preservation has always been the foundation of our sport, and it always should be. The answer is never to lower the bar. The key is to educate more people, so they understand why that bar exists.

The real conversation should not be if our sport is dying, but how we can help it thrive through adaptation. Focusing on transformation opens the door to positive change.

SPECIFIC ACTIONS TO THRIVE AS A SPORT IN THE 21ST CENTURY

We have the power to transform social media into an educational system that promotes our sport in a positive way. I choose to believe what I continue seeing every weekend. That is:

• exhibitors learning

• clubs adapting

• experts investing in people

• dogs that continue taking my breath away.

Most of all, I observe a community that still shares a deep love for purebred dogs and the preservation of their breeds.

No, I do not believe our sport is dying. There is an undeniable evolution, and our sport is adapting, but it is not ending. The best days still lie ahead; the future holds great things for us.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

As the founder of Dog Show Mentor, Lee Whittier helps owner handlers become more knowledgeable, confident, and competitive through education, mentorship, and a strategic approach to showing dogs. Her work encourages exhibitors to look beyond the ribbon, better understand their dogs and the judging process, and continually improve their skills both inside and outside the ring. Lee brings more than three decades of experience in purebred dogs to her mentoring, writing, and judging. An experienced Best In Show breeder and exhibitor, former AKC Executive Field Representative, and internationally respected judge, she now judges multiple Groups at prestigious dog shows throughout the United States and internationally. A regular contributor to SHOWSIGHT, Lee received the 2026 Dog Writers Association of America Award for Op-Ed or Commentary, taking top honors in the category for her SHOWSIGHT article. Lee lives in Vancouver, Washington, where she enjoys her Tibetan Terriers, gardening, and hiking. To learn more about expanding your dog show horizons, contact Lee at: Lee@DogShowMentor.com.

Please visit showsightmagazine.com to learn more about the Dog Show Mentor Lee Whittier.

BEFORE WE CAN BE GOOD WINNERS, WE MUST LEARN TO LOSE WELL

BY LEXA RICHMOND

The show ring does more than evaluate dogs. It reveals character. It magnifies temperament. It exposes whether we have learned to separate outcome from identity. Before any of us can truly be good winners, we must first learn to be good losers.

In a culture increasingly uncomfortable with disappointment, many youth activities have shifted toward “participation trophies”—awards given simply for showing up. While often well-intentioned and designed to boost confidence, participation trophies can unintentionally damage children by fostering entitlement, reducing motivation, and hindering the development of resilience. By rewarding presence rather than effort or achievement, this practice creates an unrealistic, distorted view of the world—where merit is essential— ultimately leading to disappointment and failure. When presence is rewarded equally with excellence, the lesson becomes distorted: effort and achievement no longer matter. Children may begin to expect recognition without the discipline, sacrifice, or improvement that real accomplishment requires. Over time, this sense of entitlement can follow them into adulthood, producing individuals who struggle to handle loss, rejection, or competition because they were never taught how to lose with perspective, humility, and resilience.

Youth activities such as sports, band, debate, or other competitive programs traditionally teach lessons that extend far beyond performance. They teach respect for others by valuing teammates, opponents, and officials, including accepting referee decisions without arguing. They instill integrity and fairness by emphasizing playing by the rules even when not being watched, focusing on honest competition rather than simply winning. They cultivate emotional control by requiring composure under pressure, discouraging overreaction, and encouraging dignity in defeat. They promote teamwork and humility by teaching participants to support teammates, recognize others’ contributions, and avoid arrogance after a win. Most importantly, they reinforce lifelong lessons—that effort and character matter more than the final score.

It has been my experience that adults who struggle most with sportsmanship often did not participate in structured competitive activities as children where they were required to compete with others and were guided on how to be good players, good teammates, and respectful competitors. Without early exposure to fair competition and accountability, the skills necessary to handle loss are never fully developed. When those individuals later step into environments like the show ring—where outcomes are public and merit-based—the absence of those foundational lessons becomes visible.

Dog shows operate on merit. In the Conformation ring, structure matters. Presentation matters. Preparation matters. There are multiple placements awarded throughout the day, but everyone enters the ring striving for that first-place ribbon, that Winners placement, that Best of Breed, that Group First. Placements reflect evaluation on that day, against that competition, under that judge. Even with several awards offered, only one exhibit rises to the top at each level. That is not cruelty. It is the structure of competition.

To reach a higher level of competition in the ring, we must remember that we are not truly competing against one another. We are competing our dogs against the Breed Standard. On the day of competition, a judge—when performing their role properly—is evaluating each dog against the written Breed Standard, not against the person at the end of the lead and not based on personal relationships. The judge’s responsibility is to determine which exhibit, on that day, best represents the ideal described in that Standard.

When we understand this, the dynamic of competition shifts. The person beside us is not the opponent; the Standard is the measure. The ribbon is not a personal validation of worth, nor is the absence of one a personal slight. It is simply a determination that another dog more closely matched the ideal at that moment in time. Accepting that perspective requires maturity, objectivity, and trust in the process.

One of the worst sportsmanship mistakes we can make today is to take our grievances to social media. It is easy to become a keyboard warrior when there are no immediate consequences. Posting about how unfair the judging was, implying that another dog was not as good, questioning motives, or publicly complaining about a loss may feel justified in the moment, but it is a bad look for the exhibitor and for the sport. Digital platforms do not soften poor sportsmanship—they amplify it. What might have once been a frustrated comment ringside can now live permanently online, shared, screenshotted, and remembered.

Publicly disparaging judges, competitors, or outcomes undermines the integrity of the very system we voluntarily participate in. If we enter under a judge, we accept that judge’s opinion for that day. Disagreement is natural; disappointment is natural. I am not suggesting that we cannot express our opinions or frustrations. We are human. We care deeply about our dogs and our work. But there is a difference between processing disappointment privately and broadcasting grievances publicly. Take it back to the hotel room, the motor home, or a private phone call where it belongs. Strong competition and strong opinions can exist, but they must be balanced with restraint, respect, and self-control. Public disparagement is not professional, and it does not elevate the sport.

Integrity in loss is more powerful than grace in victory. My mentor used to say, “Look better losing than the dog winning.” I would forget it more than I remembered, but those words stayed with me.

On my very first trip to Westminster in 2005, I was a novice dog person. During the Breed judging, I had consistently been in the front of the line with my bitch. I survived two hard cuts and watched as most of the top-winning competition from the previous year was dismissed from the ring. Near the end of judging, I vividly remember the judge pulling out two males from behind me to move them. I was devastated, immediately jumping to the conclusion that I had lost. The defeat rushed in before the decision had even been made. But in that moment, I remembered her words. Instead of shrinking, I ramped up my handling. I told myself I was going to fight until the very end. I was going to look better losing than the dog winning.

At the end, the two males went behind me. The judge moved us and pointed to me for the win.

I often think about that moment. What would have happened if I had quit fighting for it? What if I had allowed myself to be preemptively defeated? What if I had self-sabotaged because I assumed the outcome before it was decided?

And what if I had truly lost? What would my reaction have been—and what should it have been? On one of the world’s biggest dog show stages, in front of spectators and cameras, can you imagine throwing a hissy fit? The stage may be larger at Westminster, but the principle is the same at every show. Composure matters. Dignity matters. Our reactions become part of our reputation.

That lesson came back to test me years later.

Last year, I was campaigning one of the best bitches I have ever bred. She had been on a hot streak and had been going back and forth with another very nice bitch in our area. In fact, we were ranked number one and number two in the country. They had been trading wins all weekend, and on the final day she gave what I felt was her best performance of the series. She ended up losing to the other bitch, and I was unhappy about it.

As I came out of the ring, a friend who had been watching approached me and got in my ear about the decision, reinforcing a preconceived notion I already had about the relationship between the judge and the handler. Whether that perception was true or not, it should not have mattered. It was not my place to speculate, and it certainly was not professional to voice it. The comments fueled the frustration I was already feeling, and a few minutes later, in the grooming area, I blasted the other competitor. It was not deserved, and I should not have done it.

The difference between those two moments was not the quality of the dog or the importance of the show. The difference was discipline. At Westminster, I controlled the emotion and let professionalism take over. Last year, I allowed frustration—and someone else’s voice—to influence my behavior.

That mistake turned into a lesson. I realized how quickly pride and competition can override judgment if we are not careful. I have vowed to myself that I will never let the competition—or someone else’s commentary—get in the way of my professionalism again. We are responsible for our own reactions, regardless of who is standing beside us.

We all show dogs because we care deeply about the sport. We are passionate. We all want to win. Nobody enjoys losing. But the ability to win with humility is rooted in the ability to lose with dignity. If we cannot accept defeat with composure, we are not yet prepared to carry victory responsibly.

The ring will always produce winners and non-winners. That will not change. What can change is how we respond. Before we can truly be good winners—before we can celebrate with grace, lead with integrity, and represent the sport with honor—we must first learn to lose well.

Because, in the end, ribbons fade, rankings change, and reputations endure. And character is revealed most clearly not in victory, but in defeat.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

© Andra O’Connell

Breeding Standard Smooth Dachshunds under the Hialeah prefix since 2002, Lexa Richmond has produced more than 50 AKC Champions through a small, carefully managed program. While maintaining a primary career as a school teacher, her breeding program—modest in scale—has achieved remarkable success, with dogs earning top honors in both the show ring and as influential contributors to the breed, including the top-producing Smooth bitch of 2016, Hialeah’s Effie Trinket ROMX. Lexa has been an AKC Judge of Dachshunds since 2017.

A dedicated advocate for purebred dogs and preservation breeding, Lexa is committed to maintaining breed type, soundness, temperament, and purpose while safeguarding the future of dogs through responsible breeding practices. An educator for 28 years, she brings a lifelong passion for education and mentorship to the dog community and believes that the success of purebred dogs depends on collaboration, education, and ethical stewardship. Through her work, she strives to promote excellence in breeding, judging, and the advancement of dogs in both form and function.