13/11/2025
Dog Show Day
by Brianna & Sanza (as told by Brianna)
The morning of the dog show smelled like shampoo, biscuits, and excitement.
My fur was fluffy, my tail was puffy, and I’d practiced my adorable face on every reflective surface in the house. (It’s my secret weapon)
Sanza was sitting by the door, looking like a snow queen who’d rather be anywhere else. Her big white paws were perfectly still, but her ears twitched every time someone said the word “judge.”
“You’ll love it!” I barked. “There’ll be treats, toys, and everyone will tell you how beautiful you are!”
She gave me a patient glance. “I don’t like when strangers stare at me.”
“They’re not staring,” I said, bouncing in a circle. “They’re adoring! There’s a difference.”
Sanza sighed the way only Sanza can - like she’s exhaling an entire winter’s worth of snow.
When we got to the show hall, it was buzzing with dogs of all shapes and sizes. There were poodles with pom-poms, terriers with twinkles, and one very fancy greyhound who looked like he ironed his fur.
“This is it!” I whispered dramatically. “Our big moment!”
Sanza’s tail tucked just slightly. “It’s very loud,” she murmured.
I could see her eyes darting around - all the shiny lights, the clapping people, the judges with clipboards. She stayed close to our human, but her paws shuffled nervously on the shiny floor.
That’s when I remembered what it’s like to feel small.
So I trotted back to her and gave her paw a nudge. “Hey,” I said softly, “you don’t have to be loud to be brave.”
She looked down at me, eyes gentle. “I don’t?”
“Nope,” I said proudly. “You just have to show up. You’ve already done that.”
She gave a tiny wag of her tail - the kind that means thank you.
When it was my turn in the ring, I trotted like I owned the place. I twirled, I wagged, I even threw in a wink at the judge (my adorable face, remember?). Everyone laughed and clapped, and I could feel Sanza watching from the sidelines, her eyes bright.
Then it was her turn.
For a moment, she hesitated at the entrance. The judge knelt down - gentle, kind. And slowly, Sanza took a step forward… then another. Her tail lifted. Her ears perked.
She walked with quiet grace, her big paws padding softly on the floor. The crowd was silent - not because they were judging, but because they were in awe.
When she finished, I barked and jumped so high my ribbon almost fell off. Everyone laughed and clapped again - but this time, for her.
Back at home that evening, we lay side by side, our ribbons beside us. Mine was pink and sparkly. Hers was blue and silky.
“I told you they’d adore you,” I said.
She smiled, just a little. “Maybe. But I think I just needed to know that you did first.”
I snuggled closer. “Always, Sanza. Always.”
And as we drifted off to sleep, I decided that bravery isn’t always loud or sparkly.
Sometimes, it’s quiet… and has big white paws.
