Ruining Moxie: A love letter

All the best trainers and all the best friends couldn't put Moxie back together again.

I ruined her. Not on purpose. Not maliciously. Not even because I was a bad handler but I ruined the smartest, most talented dog I've ever had. And before you kindly tell me otherwise or say it isn't so, it's objectively true. In my ignorance, misunderstanding, lack of experience, and lack of help, I objectively ruined this amazing girl. And while I hate myself for it, I also know I'm a WAY better dog trainer and mindset coach because of her. Mox is the masterclass I didn't ask for (and certainly wouldn't have chosen!) that fundamentally changed me forever. I'll make different mistakes, but never those mistakes again.

{For newer followers, the TLDR is: Moxie is my perfectly named, talented girl who can't perform in the ring. It looks like no weaves in agility or like despair on legs in rally/obedience. She likes draft and chasing sheep. (Yes, chasing, so we had to stop that.) She's brilliant.}

I'm painfully aware that at nine years old, my remaining time with her is uncertain. I find myself apologizing to her in long, tearful monologues begging her for another chance if only she will return to me. Our love languages have always been a mismatch, and for many years, I joked that she was shopping for the mom she knew was out there somewhere. I guess since I wasn't her first home, she hoped she could level up once again.

Yes, I do lie awake at night, crawling through my guilt like broken glass. And in my waking hours, I fret about the time that's running out, that I can't let her leave until … until what? So, instead, I decided at some point last year I would finish her rally championship because she deserved to have letters on the front, too.

This is wild thinking, of course, for so many reasons. First, she doesn't care. Second, no one else will really register this accomplishment. Third, she hates being in the ring, remember? If I was going to do something for Moxie that she truly "deserves," it would be to give her everything she wants to eat while having a guy (she prefers men) pet her for the duration of two football games in front of a fireplace after a long, off leash walk in the woods where no one yelled at her for eating poop. That's what she deserves. So, obviously, I entered a rally trial.

And it's not like Moxie is without suffix titles. From barn hunt to herding to farm dog to obedience to agility … not to mention she is a draft "champion" and a 6-time triathlete at our national specialty. The chick ain't nothin'.

Do I want her to have this championship she doesn't want so that some parchment tells me what I already know? She's brilliant, sweet, a talented hunter, athletic, and has a sense of humor. Did I say brilliant? I think the reason this is starting to read like a eulogy is because my grief with Moxie is ongoing. She should have been at multiple invitationals and nationals; she should have a MACH and a PACH; she should have gotten her CDX, which would have given her yet another plaque from our breed club.

Now, if you know me at all, you know I know that we shalt never "should ourselves." 100%. And what's also true is we have that more emotional self-talk in our heads wreaking havoc. So yes, I get the shoulds sometimes, too. Then I grab my mindset tools like knowing my why, replacing my thoughts, and snapping me out of catastrophic thinking, and I climb out of the hole I willingly jumped into. It gets easier with practice but never truly easy.

Separate from the version of me that is Moxie's mom, I'm a handler who is 10x better because of all I learned from this girl. My baby dogs should chill and fluff Moxie's pillow every hour for how they will benefit. I am also a coach, a mindset coach for handlers, specifically, who has deeply lived what I share with you. I swear, Mox can hear my innermost thoughts - the thoughts under the thoughts that are not quite subconscious. Yes, those. And that, coupled with throwing more training at an emotional/stress issue, is really what killed a lot of dreams.

Moxie needs 3 QQQs and some Master points to finish her RACH. And though I haven't exactly sold it here, there are now moments in the ring where she has (a little) fun. It only took us nine years, but we are much better. So no, she won't love it, but yes, we will try. She'll be appropriately compensated, and I will deliver convincing monologues. I say I want this for her so that others - strangers - know she's cool, but really I want it for "Team Moxie." To prove that we could do it, survive the roller coaster.

Titles mean different things to different people. Some handlers don't even pick up their ribbons, while others with MACH80 grab every flat - different meanings, different thoughts under the thoughts that define a Q's value. And that's good!!! The whole spectrum! Every title I've put on my dogs has had its specific meaning with a story to go with it - I know your titles have their own story. I'm realizing that my thought under the thought is that this pretty ribbon will prove I didn't completely fail this amazing dog, AND when I lose her, at least … 

When we get our RACH, I will hug her and sob, and thank her and apologize. Again. And maybe on the way home, I'll buy her some Doritos for her football double-header. After all, she deserves some junk food just as I deserved (in a good way) a dog to sneak into my life, flip the table, and give me a masterclass. I told the universe I wanted to be a better handler, and the universe delivered.

PS: It's true that most of this was written in bed, in the middle of the night, with many tears. So if this seems a little unhinged, I'll be normal again next week.