May 26th, 2026

Dog Show Derangement Syndrome: When the Fun Starts Feeling Like a ForecastIf you’ve noticed that our show schedule has dwindled significantly, you’re not imagining it.
We used to go. A lot.
We packed the dogs, loaded the van, planned the weekends, paid the entries, paid the kennel help, paid to camp, bought the special show outfits, packed the tack box, loaded enough grooming supplies to open a small salon, and off we went with optimism, caffeine, and maybe a little delusion.
Because that is what dog show people do.
We say things like, “It will be fun.”
And then we drive six hours, spend three thousand dollars, sleep poorly, eat concession stand food, and spend Sunday afternoon saying, “Well… that was interesting.”
If you know, you know.
Lately, though, I have found myself stepping back more often. Not because I do not love the dogs. I do. Not because I do not believe in my dogs. I absolutely do. Not because I cannot take losing. Anyone who has been in dogs long enough knows losing is practically part of the membership package.
But there is a difference between losing and feeling like the outcome was written before the first dog ever walked in the ring.
And that is the part that gets hard.
Back in the day, leaving a show early was treated like a moral failure. If you pulled out before the weekend was over, you better have had a death in the family, a dog in labor, or a barn on fire.
Because if you left, you heard it.
“They left.”
“They broke the major.”
“Can you believe they didn’t stay?”
Ok Karen, here is your moment.
But seriously… why?
Why is the burden always on the exhibitor to stay, support, spend, and smile when so many people are quietly doing the math before they ever unload the crate cart?
You see the entries.
You see the handlers.
You see the van pull in.
You see the same setup, the same dogs, the same predictable pattern, and suddenly you are standing there wondering if your entry was for competition or simply a charitable contribution to someone else’s points.
Was that snarky?
Maybe.
Do I take it back?
Also maybe.
But only a little.
Because who wants to spend an entire weekend watching the same dog win day after day, when everyone ringside already had a pretty good idea how it was going to go? Who wants to feel like their entries are just buying someone else a major? Who wants to drive hours, pay for gas, grooming, camping, hotels, meals, handlers, helpers, and time away from home only to feel like they never really had a fair shake?
And yes, I know.
“There are politics in every sport.”
That is the standard answer.
And it is true. There are politics everywhere.
But when my daughter rode hunters, she went into the ring, cleared the course, received a score, and the ribbon reflected the effort. Was it perfect? No. Nothing involving horses, humans, money, and opinions is perfect. But at least there was a visible performance and a somewhat measurable result.
Dog shows are different.
We get one judge, two minutes, a ribbon, and a parking lot debrief that could qualify as a Senate hearing.
Which brings me to a condition I believe many of us have quietly developed:
Dog Show Derangement SyndromePeople talk about Trump Derangement Syndrome, but honestly, dog show people may have invented our own version decades ago.
Symptoms may include:
Walking into a building, seeing the judging panel, and immediately knowing whether your day is made or ruined.
Studying entries like election maps.
Whispering, “Well, that’s an interesting choice,” with the emotional intensity of a cable news commentator.
Seeing a dog win and immediately launching a full investigation into its pedigree, handler, grooming routine, travel schedule, breeder relationships, and who it stood next to in 2019.
Claiming you are “done showing” at least six times a year while actively filling out entries for next weekend.
Refreshing point schedules like breaking news.
Believing your dog was clearly the people’s choice, even if the judge disagreed.
And the most classic symptom of all:
“I’m not upset. I just think the entire system needs reform.”
At least in politics they get polls, debates, and recounts.
In dog shows, we get a judge’s opinion, a quick photo, and the emotional support of stale nachos.
And while satire helps us laugh, there is a serious side to all of this.
These conversations are no longer just happening in whispers behind grooming tables or in parking lots. They are showing up in articles. They are being discussed by breeders, exhibitors, and even judges. Large dog publications are touching on the same things that exhibitors have quietly said for years.
That should tell us something.
This is not just about one disappointed exhibitor having a bad weekend.
This is about a sport that is asking people to keep investing time, money, heart, and energy while many are starting to question whether the playing field feels fair enough to justify the cost.
And it is not just all-breed shows.
It happens at specialties too.
That may be the most disheartening part, because specialties are supposed to feel like home. They are supposed to be where breed people gather, where depth of quality matters, where breeder-judges appreciate nuance, type, structure, purpose, and breed history.
And yet, even there, I have seen things that made me pause.
I have personally watched judging that left me wondering if every dog was truly evaluated. I have seen moments where I thought, “Did that dog even get examined?” Maybe the judge forgot. Maybe the day was long. Maybe the judge was tired. Maybe some of our older judges are not as sharp as they once were. Maybe there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Or maybe we all keep making excuses for things we know we saw.
That is a hard place to be.
Because I love this sport when it feels like a sport.
I love watching beautiful dogs.
I love seeing young dogs mature.
I love studying pedigrees.
I love the friendships, the mentoring, the ringside laughter, the road trips, the shared meals, the grooming area chaos, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, today is your day.
I love the history of it.
I love the purpose of it.
I love the dogs most of all.
But loving something does not mean pretending everything is fine.
Sometimes the most honest thing you can say is, “This does not feel fun right now.”
And maybe that is where a lot of exhibitors are.
Not bitter.
Not quitting.
Not unable to lose.
Just tired.
Tired of the predictability.
Tired of the expense.
Tired of feeling like they are expected to support majors they have no real chance of winning.
Tired of being told to smile through things everyone is privately discussing anyway.
Tired of being labeled sour grapes for saying out loud what half the parking lot already said in whispers.
And so, yes, our schedule has changed.
We are choosing more carefully.
We are stepping back when it feels right.
We are trying not to let other people’s choices sour our perspective, but we are also not ignoring reality.
Sometimes stepping back is not quitting.
Sometimes it is wisdom.
Sometimes it is protecting your peace.
Sometimes it is looking at your spouse and saying, “Hey babe, instead of dumping three thousand dollars into a show weekend, let’s pay the kennel person, go sit by the ocean or a lake, sip margaritas, and remember that our dogs are still wonderful whether a judge points at them or not.”
And honestly?
That sounds pretty good.
I hope the sport gets better.
I hope exhibitors come back.
I hope judging improves.
I hope people feel welcome, encouraged, and fairly considered.
I hope we can all go to shows, mingle, giggle, support entries, cheer for nice dogs, and come home feeling like the weekend was worth it, win or lose.
Because when dog shows are good, they are really good.
But until then, I think it is fair for exhibitors to ask the question:
Is this still fun?
And if the answer is “not right now,” maybe that is worth listening to.
Maybe instead of shaming people for leaving, breaking majors, or choosing fewer shows, we should be asking why so many people are making that choice in the first place.
Because people do not walk away from something they love because of one bad day.
They walk away when too many bad days start feeling predictable.