The True Meaning of Winning: A Lesson in Teamwork with My Dog, Banks.

The Bond Between Handler and Dog: A Lesson from Team Banks

Having a dog transforms your life in ways far beyond the everyday changes—like staying home more or vacuuming often. As someone who has loved and worked with dogs for most of my life, I’ve come to realize an essential truth: no two handler-and-dog teams are alike. Some people aim for titles, some seek companionship, and others rely on their dogs for emotional or physical support. But one thing remains constant—the unique bond between handlers and their dogs.

Recently, I had a challenging weekend while trialing with my Golden Retriever, Banks. Life’s stressors were piling up. A family member was hospitalized, another who would be receiving medical results following a procedure in less than a week, and I was far from home and sleep-deprived. Banks struggled that day. I tried to warm him up, but nothing seemed to work—not food, not toys, not even touch or praise, which was completely unlike him. Despite being surrounded by so many dogs, he behaved beautifully, but he wasn’t himself at all. Team Banks was running on empty, and I could tell he was absorbing all the stress I was carrying.

Despite the pouring rain and unfamiliar venue, we stepped into the Rally ring. We worked through the first 14 signs, but although Banks was keeping up, he wasn’t present. I could tell he needed me to place my hand on his head for reassurance, but this wasn’t allowed in trial. He reminded me of Eeyore—head down, looking sad—and I felt terrible for even attempting the trial when we were both so out of sorts.

As we approached the final sign, one we had practiced many times—the front walk around the dog to heel—Banks wasn’t really with me. He immediately moved into heel rather than front, then paused as if realizing his mistake and looked at me, confused. I asked for a redo, permitted in novice rally, and stepped back to ask for a front again. This time, he gave me a sloppy front, standing slightly off to my left. I could have asked for the sit, walked around him, and finished with only a loss of points, but it didn’t feel right. We had worked too hard for this moment, and I wanted us to finish the way we had practiced. So, I stepped back once more. I knew that stepping back at this point would NQ us. But Banks came into a beautiful front, head up and engaged for the first time that day. We finished strong, with our heads held high. We finished with an NQ, meaning we did not qualify. But to me, we both won.

The trial wasn’t about a ribbon—it was about us. That experience strengthened our bond more than any win could. Later, Banks returned to himself. He finally pooped, accepted food, and was engaged and focused. Back at home, he was joyful again and nailed his demos. Watching him back to his happy, connected self reminded me of this: dogs don’t care about scores. They care about the partnership. The real victory lies in our connection.

For some, frustrations might lead to harsh corrections, but I believe in respecting the deep intuition dogs have. As handlers, it’s our job to understand them as much as they understand us. The most meaningful moments come not from perfection, but from teamwork and trust.

Team Banks didn’t leave with a ribbon, but we left as winners in the ways that matter most.