Reflections on Labradors & Community

Just a Minute

On belonging, gatekeeping, and what it truly takes to love a breed.
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“Drove the Chevy to the levee…” That age-old song keeps finding its way into my head lately. Maybe because I’ve been sitting with something — turning it over quietly the way you do when something doesn’t quite add up.
Someone said recently that I’ve “only been in Labradors a minute.” And I suppose that’s true, depending on the timeline you’re using. Starting in 2013 might look like a blink to some. But to those of us who know what those years actually held — the learning, the heartache, the joy, the long days at shows and longer nights worrying over a litter — a minute can hold quite a lot.

Grant and I have never done anything halfway. Between full careers, the military, raising kids, cheering on grandkids, and all the beautiful chaos of life in between — when we commit to something, we truly commit. So I find myself wondering: how long does it take to really be versed in something? What makes someone an expert, if such a thing even exists? My retired farm vet, who has seen just about everything under the sun, still gets stumped now and then. I find that quietly reassuring.
What makes someone an expert — if such a thing even exists? Sometimes it only takes a minute to see what could be better.

What I have noticed, though, is that our clubs seem to be struggling. And that’s hard to ignore. With Labradors holding the number one spot for over thirty years — only recently stepping aside to number two — you’d think we’d have the most robust clubs, the most vibrant events, the most enthusiastic community in the dog world. In many ways, we do. But the full picture is a little more complicated.

I’ve had the chance to quietly observe over the years. To listen to the conversations happening on the sidelines. After all, who am I? Just a woman stumbling out of a van or camper in the early morning, a puppy (or three) tumbling along at my feet. People tend to talk freely around someone like that.
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One story in particular has stayed with me. Picture a beautiful specialty — one of those events where the “who’s who” of Labradors arrive, and you catch yourself thinking, oh, they’re here. Year after year, those exhibitors returned. The specialty had a rhythm, a life to it. But slowly, attendance began to thin. The specialty became a supported entry. Numbers kept slipping.

Why?

I think about another story — a newer person in the breed. She had a few Labradors, bought a promising show prospect, and gave herself over to it completely. She hired a handler, finished the dog, earned a Grand Champion. She completed health clearances, volunteered her time, showed genuine commitment to the community. Then she applied to join a club.
She was declined. Not enough champions, they said.

Just like that, the spark went out. She didn’t leave the breed — she loved her dogs too much for that. She simply stepped away from that world and turned her energy inward: her dogs, her people, her own circle. A quieter life, but a good one.
How many stories like hers exist? How many people did exactly what was asked of them, and still found the door closed?

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If we want our clubs to grow, we have to take a genuine interest in the people coming in — the ones with fresh eyes, new ideas, grit, and a sincere desire to contribute. The challenge is that those currently at the helm are often tired. A little worn. They’ve worked incredibly hard to build what exists today, and that history deserves respect. Their contributions are real and lasting.

But so does evolution.

In my “minute” in Labradors, I know of at least three clubs that have faded from hosting their own specialties to becoming supported entries at all-breed shows. And I want to be clear — there is nothing wrong with all-breed shows. They have a meaningful place in our world. But that shift tells a larger story. Because the breed is not struggling. Labradors have remained at the very top of the sporting world and the public eye for decades. The dogs are thriving.
So when our clubs begin to fade, when specialties lose their footing, when enthusiastic newcomers quietly disappear — I don’t think the problem is the breed. I think the harder question is: what is happening within our clubs, our culture, and our willingness to adapt that makes it so difficult to keep people engaged, welcomed, and invested?

Without transparency, without openness, without a genuine willingness to evolve — we risk losing the very people we need to carry things forward.

We need people who are excited. People willing to take on the heavy lifting of today — to help modernize systems that no longer serve us, to bring in energy where things have grown still. And we need to make room for them, genuinely and without conditions.

Maybe I’ve only been in Labradors a minute.

But sometimes, a minute is exactly enough time to see what could be better.

On a happier note — I was so genuinely thrilled to see Potomac’s numbers jump so significantly from last year. That kind of momentum is exactly what we need, and it felt truly encouraging to witness.
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I’m also excited about the new site and updated venue — especially knowing it will be a much better setup for those of us who camp. No more tarmac. That alone feels like a victory worth celebrating. 😊
Written with love for the breed, and hope for what comes next.