08/16/2026
I competed in a grooming competition today.
Itâs been YEARS since Iâve done that.
Although, technically, it was the Rescue Rodeo division, so Iâm not sure I even count this as a competition-competition.
Because I wasnât there for a trophy. I wasnât there for the glory of becoming a champion. If I won something, great. If I didnât, so be it.
There would be no Eye of the Tiger moment. No inner flame suddenly bursting into an inferno. No pupils narrowing as my competitive alter ego emerged from somewhere deep within my soul.
Because there is no fierceness required when grooming a roughly 100-year-old Japanese Chin who is blind, deaf, incontinent, and has defecated all over himself.
There is only compassion and finesse in this arena.
And THAT, I can bring to the floor.
His name was Bandito.
Which, by the way, must be said in the voice of Antonio Banderas.
Bannnn-DEEE-to.
The name has tremendous flair. I have no proof whatsoever, but Iâm fairly certain Bandito was quite the ladiesâ man in his heyday.
Anyway⌠back to the show.
In Rescue Rodeo, groomers draw numbers, and your number corresponds with a numbered cage containing a rescue dog.
You donât know what youâre getting.
Old. Young. Terrified. Excited. Anxious. Exhausted. Big. Little. Hairy. Not-so-hairy. Matted to the skin.
Or, in my caseâŚ
covered in p**p.
Bandito had p**p caked into all four feet.
Then, as I lifted him from his crate into my arms, he released what can only be described as a p**p bomb.
So right out of the gate, I was officially competing in a s**t show.
Poor little guy probably didnât even realize what happened. Heâs incontinent and wears a diaper.
And I wasnât mad.
Not even a little.
Why?
Because I came armed to the brim with compassion.
Senior dogs with health issues happen to be one of my specialties, and when I work with them, my number-one goal is to keep their dignity intactânot mine.
Mine can take a hit for a while.
Theirs needs protecting.
Every living being deserves dignity. Love. Patience. Compassion.
And if giving Bandito those things means my shirt, pants, shoe and a couple of fingers are covered in what I shall lovingly refer to as butt chocolate sauce, then so be it.
Unfortunately, we werenât scheduled for the bathing area yet.
So I carried my little p**p-covered Banditoâand my now equally p**p-covered selfâover to the judgesâ table and explained our predicament.
Which resulted in Bandito and his unfortunate bowel situation being announced over the loudspeaker.
WAIT.
Heâs deaf.
He heard NOTHING.
DIGNITY STILL INTACT.
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So I held him close to my heart, p**p and all, smearing it further into my clothes because if Iâm not embarrassed, he doesnât need to be either.
And then another groomer did something really kind.
She was about to begin the heroic battle of bathing a Great Pyrenees and stepped aside to let Bandito and me go first.
And when I say âus,â I mean US.
There are some powerfully magical women in the grooming industry.
She was one of them.
So off we went to the mobile grooming van to bathe.
Except someone was already bathing in it.
Actually, someone was already bathing in BOTH vans.
So now I was delayed, the groomer behind me was delayed, and somewhere in the universe the Grooming Gods apparently decided:
You know what this situation needs? More chaos.
About three minutes into Banditoâs bath:
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
âHave you started the final rinse yet?â
I turned around.
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Ummmm⌠no.
I JUST STARTED.
Also, remember the p**p team that was announced over the loudspeaker?
Thatâs us.
Weâre gonna need a few.
Three minutes later:
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
âHow we doing?!â
With a cheerful little wink.
UmmmâŚ
About the same.
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This happened a few more times until finally I turned around and said:
âI need seven minutes.â
Translation from Grandma Groomer:
Please stop knocking on this damn door.
Message received.
No more knocks.
Bandito did SO well through his bath and even through the drying. There were a couple moments when I thought he might tip into that old-dog panic that sometimes happens, so I watched him very closely and adjusted what I was doing.
He never got there.
Thank God.
That, to me, matters more than almost anything.
Knowing when to keep going.
Knowing when to slow down.
Knowing when a dog has had enough.
Knowing that finishing the âperfect groomâ is never more important than the animal standing in front of you.
Compassion and understanding.
Those were the awards I came for.
Once he was clean and dry, there really wasnât much wrong with Banditoâs coat. He was actually in pretty good shape. He mostly needed a good bath, some neatening up, and somebody to remind him he was still one handsome little devil.
And let me tell youâŚ
Bandito got compliments in his new suit.
As he should.
Now.
The judging.
BC texted me later and asked if Iâd been judged.
My response was basically:
If you want to call it that. đ¤ˇââď¸
Iâll leave most of my opinion right there, but I was surprised that there hadnât been a pre-check of the dogs, I never saw a comb put through mine, and there wasnât really an individual conversation about what we started with, what we found, or why we made the grooming choices we did.
Maybe things are done differently now.
I HAVE been out of the competition world for quite a while.
But in a rescue competition especially, I think the starting condition of the dog and the decisions made in the best interest of that individual animal matter tremendously.
Because sometimes the greatest grooming skill isnât what you take off.
Itâs knowing what not to put a dog through.
And that matters.
Then there was another moment that made Grandma Groomer raise an eyebrow.
Another competition class had already started while we were finishing.
And OH MY GAWD.
The poodles.
GAWGeous.
These serious competitors were about an hour into their work when seemingly out of nowhere they were asked to leave the stage WITH their dogs so the Rescue Rodeo awards ceremony could happen.
Hunh?
They looked confused.
And maybe just a teensy bit peeved.
And listenâŚ
You DO NOT want to peeve off a serious grooming competitor who is an hour into a poodle.
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There are scheduled breaks in grooming competitionsâsometimes called âSally Breaksââthat competitors know about ahead of time and can plan around.
This did not appear to be that.
So I realized something.
Bandito and I may have started our day in a literal s**t showâŚ
âŚbut apparently there were several varieties happening.
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I normally donât say much about things like this publicly. But perhaps I have officially reached Grandma Groomer status, and this is what we do now.
We sit in our rocking chairs, sharpen our shears and say:
âBack in MY competition daysâŚâ
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But joking aside, I also think these things are worth talking about.
Not to tear people down. Not to create drama. Not because Iâm bitter about an awardâI genuinely couldnât care less about that.
But because our industry gets better when experienced professionals are willing to respectfully say, Hey⌠this could have been handled differently.
And I know I wasnât the only person who felt that way.
But none of that is what Iâll remember most about today.
What Iâll remember is seeing old friends.
People who have been icons in this industry. People Iâve learned beside, learned from, admired, laughed with and shared chapters of my career with.
Seeing them filled a little part of my heart I didnât realize needed filling.
Iâm honored to know them.
Iâm grateful for everything this industry has given me.
And today reminded me that after all these years, all the awards, competitions, accomplishments, trends, techniques and titlesâŚ
the dog is still the reason Iâm here.
Today, that dog was an ancient little Japanese Chin named Bandito.
Blind.
Deaf.
Incontinent.
Poop-covered.
And absolutely deserving of every ounce of dignity, patience and love I could give him.
So to whoever adopts my little Bannnn-DEEE-toâŚ
You better take damn good care of him.
You better love that old man like crazy.
And for the love of everything holyâŚ
SAY HIS NAME WITH FLAIR.
He deserves that.
And so much more. đđž
