Confessions of a Ribbon Whore

I love ribbons. While many of my friends donate theirs back to the host club, I keep mine, every single one. Even the Q ribbons, boring as they are. I like the shiny satin, the golden lettering. I like that they prove yes, my dog was awesome that day. I like showing them off on the internet, to friends and family, and even by hanging them on my cubicle walls at work.

To be fair, ribbons aren't the only reason I compete. I also enjoy the process. I enjoy training and the challenge of getting a flashy ]heel. I enjoy watching my dog go from skill-less to a superstar. I enjoy going to dog events and hanging out with other people who “get it.” But I'd be lying if I didn't say that I also like the ribbons.

Still, as much as I enjoy the training and the trialing and the trophies... I would give it all up in a heartbeat. Because here's the thing: I love my dog. I love her silly mismatched ears. I love the way she teases me, snatching away the ball when I reach for it in some twisted game of canine keep-away. I love the way she snuggles with me when my alarm goes off in the morning. I love her enthusiastic greetings when I return home, even if I only took the garbage out. I love her joy and enthusiasm in everything. And I love spending time with her.

Training and trialing are fun, but only because they are something for us to do together. There are many things I like to do with Maisy, and honestly? Trialing (and even training) are probably at the bottom of that list. If I'm honest, there's nothing better than a good off-leash hike in the woods. Or endlessly throwing a ball in the backyard. Or even just sitting with her pressed up against me while I read a book.

So yeah, I love ribbons. I know which clubs have awesome ribbons and which are lacking... but I keep them all anyway. And yeah, I display them prominently and proudly, and not just because it strokes my ego to do so. Mostly, I love my ribbons for their sentimental value. Ribbons don't prove anything, but I love them as shiny reminders that my dog and I are a team, and that no matter what life throws at us, we can succeed. Together.

***

I wrote this entry months ago. So many months ago that I never imagined that Maisy would nearly die, that I never dreamed I'd have a second dog by the end of the year. If I were to write this post today... well, I wouldn't. Today, faced with the prospect of both endings and beginnings at once, ribbons mean much less to me than they did once.

Still, I love the sentiment behind this post. If there's anything that the past few months have taught me, it's that my ribbons mean nothing more than the fact that, as I wrote, Maisy and I are a team. Life has thrown us some nasty curveballs, and we will succeed. It's just that the idea of success... well, it doesn't mean winning anymore. It might not even mean living.

As for what it does mean... well, I don't know. I suppose it's about being brave in the face of the unknown. About being fully present in the life we do have available to us. About the fact that really, today is no different than the day before she got sick: a beautiful gift.