06/20/2026
Great article from a friend….that applies to all breeds…something breeders need to think about…
When Did Campaigning Become More Important Than the Dog?
I've stood ringside in the rain, the heat, and the cold. I've celebrated wins and swallowed losses. I've cheered for my friends' victories while quietly mourning my own defeats. I've applauded dogs that beat me and celebrated exhibitors who achieved goals I was still chasing.
That's dog shows.
So this isn't an anti-show article.
It's a pro dog article.
Somewhere along the way, our sport began confusing success in the ring with overall breeding value.
The two are not always the same.
A championship proves a dog won under judges. It proves that dog was competitive on specific days against specific competition. That accomplishment deserves respect.
What it does not prove is that the dog is healthy.
It does not prove longevity.
It does not prove reproductive soundness.
It does not prove working ability.
It does not prove genetic value.
Yet far too often, exhibitors and breeders use titles as the first and sometimes only measuring stick when discussing breeding programs.
The problem isn't titles.
The problem is when titles become more important than the complete dog.
Campaigning has also created an uncomfortable reality that many exhibitors are hesitant to discuss openly.
Money matters.
Advertising matters.
Visibility matters.
Professional handlers matter.
Relationships matter.
Anyone who has spent enough time around dog shows knows that not all wins are viewed equally. We may not like admitting it, but heavily campaigned dogs often arrive in the ring carrying momentum long before they ever step onto the mats.
The dog should always come first.
Not the advertisement.
Not the rankings.
Not the campaign budget.
Not the social media following.
The dog.
A preservation breeder's responsibility isn't to produce ribbons.
It's to preserve and improve a breed.
That means evaluating health, temperament, structure, working ability, longevity, trainability, and breed type. It means being honest about faults, even in successful dogs. It means recognizing that a title is one piece of a much larger puzzle.
And that's where many conversations go wrong.
The moment someone posts a breeding, an up-and-coming dog, or even a young prospect, the first question often becomes:
"What titles does it have?"
As if a dog's worth can be measured by the letters attached to its name.
As if titles automatically outweigh health clearances, temperament, working ability, genetic soundness, or what that dog consistently produces.
Some of the finest dogs I've ever known would never have topped a rankings list.
Some of the most influential producers in breed history weren't the most heavily campaigned dogs of their generation.
And some of the most heavily campaigned dogs standing in winners photos today have health concerns significant enough that they should never contribute to the next generation.
The longer I'm in this breed, the less impressed I am by the number of letters attached to a dog's name and the more impressed I am by breeders who consistently produce healthy, sound, functional dogs.
The dogs don't know what rankings they hold.
They don't know how many advertisements they've appeared in.
They don't know whether they're ranked Number One or Number One Hundred.
They only know whether they can do the job they were bred to do.
So the next time you're tempted to sit behind a keyboard and ask, "What titles does the dog have?" take a moment and look in the mirror.
Look at your own dogs.
Look at your own breeding program.
Look at the strengths you've preserved and the faults you've tolerated.
Ask yourself whether every dog you've bred, owned, campaigned, or admired was truly the complete package or whether some simply collected more letters before and after their name.
Because titles have never made a dog worthy of breeding.
And a lack of titles has never automatically made a dog unworthy.
The best breeders I've known weren't obsessed with proving their dogs were better than everyone else's.
They were obsessed with producing dogs better than the ones they produced before.
That's the difference.
Twenty years from now, nobody will remember who was ranked #1 in a given year.
They will remember the dogs that improved the breed.
They will remember the pedigrees that produced soundness.
They will remember the dogs that lived long lives, worked hard, and left something worth preserving.
Ribbons fade.
Rankings change.
Advertising campaigns end.
But the decisions we make as breeders echo through generations.
The question was never:
"What titles does this dog have?"
The question is:
"What does this dog contribute to the breed?
