More Than Ribbons: How Two Rescue Dogs Taught Me About Resilience, Trust, and the Joy of Showing Up.

By Kat Griffith, LCSW

People often ask me how I got into agility, but the truth is, it all started with a little rescue dog named Tempe.

I wasn't looking for another dog. I had just lost my six-year-old dog to a brain tumor, and my heart wasn't ready. I only went to the rescue to support a friend. Every dog there was barking, jumping, and pleading for attention—except one. Tempe, two years old and painfully skinny, sat quietly and patiently waiting. When I finally reached her kennel, she stood up, put her paws on the gate, and gave me the tiniest kiss on my nose through the bars. That was it.

Eleven years later, she's still my soul dog.

She has taught me more than I could ever teach her. She taught me restoration after heartbreak, patience when things don't come easily, and what it means to build trust one small step at a time. She became my first agility dog, and together we've somehow earned three championships in both UKC and CPE. Every title represents far more than ribbons—it represents missed cues, laughter, mistakes, perseverance, and choosing to come back and try again. 𝐀𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧; 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

And then there's Bolt.

My mom somehow decided the best place to rescue a puppy was several states away in Arkansas after seeing him on Facebook. (Who does that? ) As a puppy, he was such a slug that we aspirationally named him Bolt after the world's fastest sprinter. Well... we definitely got what we asked for. Now he's a whirlwind with opinions about everything. He whines, barks, and makes absolutely sure everyone knows he's arrived. He lives for toys, loves making people laugh, and when we're running agility, he would really appreciate it if I'd stop thinking so much and just keep up. He's a glorious mutt who somehow looks unmistakably like a doodle, and he's also convinced that my bed was designed exclusively for his comfort.

These two couldn't be more different, and because of that they've made me a better handler—and honestly, a better person. They've taught me that every relationship requires a different approach. One needs quiet reassurance, the other joyful direction. 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠... 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

As a therapist, I spend my days trying to be fully present with the people who trust me with their stories. Then I come home to these two, who don't care how productive my day was or whether I got everything right. They just look at me with complete adoration, ready for the next walk, game, cuddle, or adventure.

They need me. They are my responsibility. But they have given me so much more than I could ever give them. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲.

I'm not sure I've earned dogs.

But I know my life is infinitely richer because they've chosen to share theirs with me.

Kat Griffith, LCSW

Therapist- Life Balance Counseling Peoria, PLLC