Running for Georgia Pup 2026

For a long time, Ruff existed in carefully controlled spaces.

He appeared on certain weekends, during certain trips, around certain people. I kept him compartmentalized because that felt safer. There was my everyday life, and then there was this other side of me that only came out in places where I thought he would be understood.

But somewhere over the last year, that separation quietly disappeared.

Ruff stopped being something I visited occasionally and became part of how I moved through the world every day. Not louder. Not more performative. Just more honest.

Atlanta was where that rediscovery really began, but London changed it in ways I never expected. Last September, I made the decision to stop treating Ruff like something that only existed in hidden corners of my life. I let him exist fully while I was there. Publicly. Socially. Consistently. And in doing that, something shifted. I stopped spending so much energy trying to manage which parts of myself were allowed to be visible.

That choice changed my life more than I can properly explain.

It deepened friendships. It strengthened my connection to community. It gave me confidence and stability during a period of enormous personal change. It also led me to Kuma, not because I suddenly became someone different, but because I had finally stopped hiding so much of myself from the world around me.

Over time, this community became far more than a social outlet or hobby for me. It became part of how I healed after my divorce. It became a place where I relearned joy, softness, playfulness, and connection. It gave me spaces where my nervous system could finally exhale instead of constantly performing stability for everyone else.

As Ruff became more integrated into my life, I also found myself becoming more invested in the community around me. I started teaching classes. Mentoring newer pups. Volunteering at events. Helping people navigate their first pup night, their first mosh, their first moment of realizing they were not nearly as alone as they thought they were.

I also started thinking more seriously about stewardship.

About what it means to protect the queer spaces that allow communities like ours to exist at all. About how we welcome newcomers while still keeping spaces safe. About visibility, accountability, and the responsibility that comes with becoming recognizable in a community that gave me so much when I needed it most.

The more visible Ruff became, the more I realized visibility itself carries responsibility.

People are always watching how we treat each other. How we handle conflict. How we create safety. How we support people who are nervous, awkward, overwhelmed, or trying to figure themselves out. I’ve come to believe that leadership in this community is less about authority and much more about care. About consistency. About being willing to show up for people over and over again.

And somewhere in the middle of all of this, I realized something that honestly would have terrified an earlier version of me:

I want to do more.

I want to help represent the community that helped me rediscover myself. I want to advocate for joyful, emotionally intelligent, community-focused puppy play. I want to continue building bridges between Atlanta, London, and the broader communities that have shaped me. I want to keep teaching, mentoring, supporting events, and helping newer pups feel like there is room for them here too.

So after a lot of reflection, encouragement, growth, healing, and probably an unhealthy amount of chaos corgi energy, I’ve decided that I will officially be running for Georgia Pup 2026 at Dog Days in Augusta this August.

That sentence still feels surreal to write.

Because for a very long time, I never imagined I would allow myself to be this visible.

I never imagined I would feel this grounded in who I am.

And I definitely never imagined that the thing I once treated as a compartment of my life would eventually become one of the healthiest and most meaningful parts of it.

There is also another reason this run feels so emotionally important to me personally.

This will not technically be my first time running for a title. Back in 2012, I held the title of Rocky Mountain Leather Sir. I learned a great deal from that experience, and I met incredible people because of it. But looking back now, I realize I do not think I fully understood why I was there at the time.

A large part of that journey was tied to my marriage and to goals that existed within that relationship. Even though I personally did very well in the contest, my ex-husband’s experience was much harder emotionally, and I think that affected both of us more than I realized back then. Instead of being able to fully celebrate what I had accomplished, a lot of my focus shifted toward trying to emotionally support both of us through the experience together.

Looking back now, I do not think I ever truly allowed myself to feel proud of how well I had actually done.

I moved past it too quickly. I minimized it. I treated it more like something that had happened around me instead of something I had personally achieved.

And I think part of that came from where I was emotionally at the time. I was still measuring so much of my worth through relationships, through stability, and through whether the people around me were okay. I did not really know how to separate my own joy or success from the emotional atmosphere around me.

This time feels completely different.

I’m not running because it fits into someone else’s vision for my life or because I feel pressure to become a certain type of person. I’m running because this community genuinely changed me, and because for the first time I feel like I am stepping into something fully as myself.

That realization has been surprisingly emotional.

Because after divorce, after rebuilding, after rediscovering who Ruff actually is outside of everyone else’s expectations, this feels like a chance to finally stand on my own four stubby paws and say:

“This is who I am. This is the community that helped me get here. And this is the kind of leader I want to be.”

Not perfect. Not polished all the time. But authentic, visible, caring, playful, emotionally honest, and deeply invested in the people and spaces that helped me become myself.

#UnapologeticallyPuppy has never meant being the loudest person in the room. It has never meant having everything figured out. For me, it means allowing yourself to exist authentically before you feel fully ready. It means embracing joy without apologizing for it. It means understanding that softness and chaos can coexist. That leadership can still be playful. That vulnerability and strength are not opposites.

It means teaching classes while wearing a wagging tail. It means checking on the nervous first-time pup standing awkwardly near the wall. It means protecting the bars, camps, and queer spaces that allowed so many of us to become ourselves in the first place. It means recognizing that community is something we actively build together, not something we passively inherit.

Most of all, it means refusing to shrink yourself just to make other people more comfortable.

Because somewhere out there is another pup who still thinks they need to hide parts of themselves in order to belong.

I want them to know they don’t.

No matter what happens in Augusta, I’m already grateful for what this journey has given me: community, friendship, healing, visibility, purpose, and a version of myself that finally feels whole.

Thank you for helping me become Ruff.

Now let’s see what comes next.

#UnapologeticallyPuppy