The Red Badge of Failure

On the Uneasy Value of Falling Short.

"I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. Twenty-six times I’ve been trusted to take the game-winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

~Michael Jordan

Earlier this month I was at the Trailing of the Sheep trial in Idaho's Sun Valley -- it's an awesome sheep dog competition that draws big crowds, a lot of local community support and is known for being a pretty tough challenge for anyone who steps to the post to take on its (in)famous fresh range sheep. In the past, my dog Hendrix and I have done pretty well at this trial. We've won some money in the qualifiers, made the double lift and had some pretty solid runs in both. This year though? None of those things happened. Oh no! So what went wrong? When it comes to any trial where your results fall short of your hopes, I think there's a lot of easy (and wrong) answers to a question like that. Just waiting to rope you in. You could blame the stock as a whole. The particular set you got for your runs. The number you drew on the run order (too early! Too late! In the heat of the day! etc. etc.). Or you could blame being tasked to work set out/exhaust/grazing ("Never do it!" some will tell you... "it ruins your runs!"). You could blame the trial hosts. The judge. The set out crew. The folks talking too loud in the handler's area. The dogs barking in the parking area. The way the field was set up... war in the middle east, the mainstream media or maybe even the unfortunate position of Neptune in the solar system relative to the rings of Saturn. The possibilities to grasp far and wide for reasons why your final number on the scoresheet was lower than you think it should be are as endless and tempting as they are... nonsense. Because in reality, there was only one reason Hendrix and I didn't score better in our runs at this trial and it's the same reason (95% of the time) any of us fall short at any competition like it: we just weren't good enough. Definitely not on those two days at least. It happens. It will happen again. It doesn't always feel great. But maybe that's a good thing? -- "It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed"

~Theodore Roosevelt --

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about failure. How we as trainers and handlers talk and think about it and how we react to it. In the past month alone I've seen a newer handler proudly recount how their young dog made them beam with pride for moving a tricky ewe even though their final score was a DQ (they're right, in my opinion, to be proud) and a seasoned Open handler with great dogs who, months after a trial ended, still passionately blames others for their dog not finding its sheep on its outruns (they're wrong, in my opinion, for looking anywhere but in the mirror). To be clear, failure doesn't always feel great. Nor am I trying to suggest that every new handler is a shining example of healthy perspective while every seasoned one is somehow too caught up in expectations and reputation to avoid grasping at scapegoats. But I do think these two anecdotes touch on the world of difference between how some folks think about falling short -- with some seeing it as maybe an important stepping stone on the road of progress and others seeing it as something embarassing, scary and uncomfortable to be avoided (or explained away) at any cost. Don't get me wrong, the first response isn't always easy and I doubt anyone in this game hasn't had times where they've taken the easy way out that the second one offers. There's definitely been times, especially early on in my career, where I took the bait. It's hard to avoid doing so, let alone consistently, and we're all human at the end of the day. But maybe that's the point: it's not whether you've ever fallen short that counts, it's what you do with that lesson now that does. --

 "Failure should be our teacher, not our undertaker. Failure is delay, not defeat. Failure is something we can only avoid by saying nothing, doing nothing, and being nothing."

~Denis Waitley --

In the past ~6 years I've failed at more trials than I can even count. I've failed in Ontario trials. California trials. Florida trials. British Columbia trials. Texas trials. Every state and province inbetween trials (in many cases, multiples times). I've failed at sheep trials. Cattle trials. Even a goat trial. I've even managed to fall short helping out at or putting on trials. I've had DQ's, RTs and scores so low that letters would probably have been better. In my first international shed in my first double lift the two judges had to confer just to figure out how to even score it. Rest assured no prizes were won that day. But amidst all that failure? There's been some successes too. There's been some runs where my dogs and I punched above our weight. Some buckles and cheques long before we expected or hoped for them. Some double lift appearances well before we were ready (not just ones that left the judges scratching their heads!). And more often I'm realizing that the handlers I admire most, whether they run in Open or Novice, have plenty of those kinds of stories as well. Of taking leaps not because they were sure they would succeed, but because they weren't sure if they could. And the more I think about it, the harder it becomes to escape the realization that failure isn't just everywhere... it's pretty essential to get anywhere. And it sure seems like the folks who seem to have a healthy relationship with it seem to get somewhere a lot faster (and go a lot further) than those who don't. --  "Success is most often achieved by those who don't know that failure is inevitable."

~Coco Chanel --

So what's the point of all this? Why talk about failure? Isn't it obvious that no one ever wins a trial or has a good run without stepping to the post and risking losing, or worse, having a bad one? Well, that's the thing... I don't think it always is. Especially when it comes to the next wave of aspiring handlers, trainers and competitors who already have a lot of obstacles in their path when it comes to getting deeper into this world as it is. The people who are just starting out and who probably haven't made it to Open yet (or aren't sure they ever will). The people who, like it or not, the competitive herding scene arguably depends on as much if not a lot more than the big hats or established names. To these folks, this last part is for you: Sometimes it's easy to listen to the folks that tell you "you aren't ready" or "your dog has no business on that field". To give in to the snide snickering or the passive aggressive "negging". To worry about what's being whispered under the handler's tent, or typed in the Facebook comment sections or texted/spoken over the phone by the avid practitioners of the infamous sheepdog gossip network. To fear the performative disaproval of the noisy crowd of has-beens or never were's who resent that you have the audacity to try, and risk, what they can't, wouldn't or no longer ever dare to. Let them keep their fear and their insecurity without letting it be yours. And yes, sometimes it's also tempting to listen to the voice inside your own head that worries that maybe you can't or shouldn't risk failure. Maybe that's even the trickiest voice of all at the end of the day. But what to do instead? Keep trying. Keep failing. Sign up for that trial or that clinic. Walk to the post. Train that dog that someone told you won't ever amount to anything. Try that course, or work that stock, you're not sure you can pull off just yet. Volunteer to scribe, or exhaust or anything else. Ask that question. Put on that event. I can't promise you that you'll succeed on the first, second, or 100th attempt. No one can. But I can promise you that you never will unless you give it a shot. That your next low might be what the highest high you'll ever achieve might be built on. And that all your successes, big and small, down the road depend on being willing to fall short today. It won't always be easy. It will probably be a bit scary. But it might just be worth it. Take it from a failure like me. Photo credit: Felicia Pynes @ the 2024 BlueGrass Classic (another trial I failed at)