My name is Nicholas Wameling, and for those of you who don’t know me, I’ve been involved in dog sports—specifically AKC Conformation—for about six years now.
When I graduated college, I reached that moment when you’re suddenly “free” to make adult decisions… or, more realistically, to be financially irresponsible in new and exciting ways. My first major decision? Putting down a deposit on a purebred Bloodhound during my graduation trip to the Pacific Northwest. It was a breed I had always been fascinated with, and after doing my research, I convinced myself it would fit perfectly into my lifestyle.
Fast forward a few years, and I found myself sitting on the couch with that same Bloodhound, Beacon, watching the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Completely naive at the time, I looked over at him and said, “We could do that, buddy—it doesn’t look that hard.”
That sentence would lead to one of the most humbling—and rewarding—journeys I’ve ever taken.
Our first dog show quickly proved that it was, in fact, not that easy. What followed was a long stretch of learning curves, missteps, and plenty of humbling experiences in the ring. That, however, is a story for another time.
For about a year, I dragged my wife, Marina, along to shows. Eventually, something clicked—and she caught the bug. She had always loved Dachshunds, so we decided to find a show dog for her. That decision introduced Disco, our Standard Longhair, into our lives.
Now we find ourselves with three Bloodhounds, two Dachshunds, and a shared obsession with spending our weekends (and most of our disposable income) at dog shows. It’s funny to look back and see how that one “adult decision” created a domino effect that shaped so much of our life today.
Both Marina and I come from competitive college sports backgrounds—she played soccer, and I played lacrosse. On the surface, dog shows seem like a completely different world. But for us, showing dogs feels surprisingly familiar.
We may have traded jerseys for show leads, but the mindset never left.
Instead of teammates, we now partner with our dogs. Instead of a coach guiding us from the sidelines, we take on the roles of handler, trainer, and strategist all at once. And when we step into the ring, it feels a lot like overtime in a game—where everything comes down to a few critical minutes and execution matters more than anything.
At a dog show, winning isn’t measured in goals scored or points tallied, but the stakes feel just as real. At the end of that lead, your handling, your timing, and your connection with your dog create a picture for the judge—one that can make or break your placement.
And while dog showing is ultimately about the dog, strong handling is what elevates a good dog into a great one. It’s in the small, often unseen details—the intangibles—that a performance becomes undeniable in the ring.
Sports wired us to be competitive—but not in the way people often assume.
To many, being competitive means only caring about winning. For us, it means something deeper. It’s about showing up prepared, performing at your best, and walking away proud of the effort you put in.
One of my coaches used to say, “You can’t control the weather, the referees, or the field you play on—but you can control your next decision.” That lesson applies perfectly to dog shows.
It’s easy to make excuses: the ring is too small, the footing isn’t ideal, your dog performs better outdoors. But the reality is, every competitor is facing the same conditions.
What separates people isn’t circumstance—it’s response.
Resilience, adaptability, and preparation are what carry you through. And if you know your dog struggles in certain environments—tight indoor rings, distractions, different surfaces—then those are exactly the things you need to train for. Preparation isn’t always comfortable, but avoiding it is simply gambling with your entry fees.
What started as curiosity has grown into something far more significant than we’d ever expected.
Showing dogs isn’t just something we do—it’s become part of how we live. Our friends just assume we are not available if they do not give us three weeks’ notice for an event. Planning vacations often involves one key question: “Is there a show nearby?” followed closely by “Who’s judging?”
Along the way, we’ve met incredible people—people who started as fellow competitors but have become lifelong friends.
Our family has grown through it all too. With our daughter, Wrenley (and another baby on the way), dog shows have already become a central part of her childhood. Wrenley loves it. She proudly parades her stuffed animal, “Wrinkles,” around the house on a show lead and even free-stacks the Dachshunds—with a perfectly executed “fake treat” hand to bait them.
It’s moments like these that remind me and Marina that this journey is about more than ribbons or placements. It’s about the memories we’re building together.
Our passion for this sport eventually led us to take a leap—earlier this year, we made the decision to become professional handlers.
It was a calculated risk but one of the best decisions we’ve made.
Helping others achieve their goals, finish their dogs, and succeed in the ring has been incredibly rewarding. Marina and I work as a team to ensure every dog in our care is properly prepared—conditioned, groomed, on time for their ring, and presented to the best of our ability.
At the end of the day, we may no longer be stepping onto a lacrosse field or a soccer pitch, but the foundation those sports gave us is still very much alive.
We’re still competing.
We’re still striving to improve.
We’re still chasing that winning feeling.
The arena just looks a little different now.
And honestly, we wouldn’t have it any other way.
