08/12/2026
The greatest cost of bullying isn't that it makes people leave dog sport.
It's that it slowly persuades good people to stop being themselves.
They become quieter.
Smaller.
More guarded.
Yes, they ‘toughen up’, as in they put guards around who they are.
They become less trusting.
And that's why courage matters.
Not the courage to stand on a podium.
The courage to remain yourself.
That's the real danger. Not that we leave. Not that we stop doing dog sports. But that we become smaller. Quieter. More guarded. Less trusting. Less willing to celebrate someone else's success, ask a question in case we look foolish, share our training in case someone criticises it.
Little by little, we start protecting ourselves.
And without realising it, we stop bringing our whole hearts.
I've done this. I've walked into training sessions already braced for judgement. I've hesitated before sharing something I was genuinely excited about. I've caught myself looking over my shoulder instead of looking at my dog.
And then I thought, that isn't who I want to become.
Because the people I admire most in dog sport don't have the biggest scores or the fanciest training. They have something far more valuable than any of that.
Generous hearts.
They make people feel welcome. They clap the loudest when someone else succeeds. They share what they've learned without needing to be the smartest person in the room. They make the sport feel bigger, not smaller. They don’t take credit for other people’s accomplishments and blame when things don’t go wrong. They don’t belittle or use humour to cover up. They support wholeheartedly.
That's who I want to be.
Not because it's easy. Because it takes courage.
It takes courage to stay kind in a world that sometimes rewards criticism. It takes integrity to keep living your values when others don't share them. It takes trust to keep believing in yourself, in your dog, in the relationship you're building together, even when others try to take us down.
Perhaps that's our real work.
Not becoming harder. Never toughening up. But becoming braver.
Protecting the soft parts of ourselves that make us good partners for our dogs. Because they need that version of us. The one who is present. The one who is curious. The one who still finds joy in an ordinary Tuesday evening training session. The one who remembers why they started.
So here is my hope for you today.
Don't let difficult people write your story. Don't let them decide how open your heart gets to remain.
Keep cheering people on. Keep asking questions. Keep learning. Keep trusting yourself. Keep trusting your dog.
And keep becoming the kind of person who leaves every training field just a little kinder than they found it.
That's how we change a sport.
Not all at once.
One generous heart at a time. 💛🐾
