Like many kids who grew up in the ’80s, I was obsessed with Magnum P.I. One of the characters, Higgins, an ex–British military major, had two Doberman pinschers, Zeus and Apollo. The breed had such a dignified, almost regal aura about it; those dogs walked with such intent. I remember telling myself, “One day, I’m going to have a Doberman of my own.”

My first, Tasha, wasn’t a show dog—just a beloved pet. But, in the early 2000s, I got Sharé, a Doberman puppy bred from show dogs, and started enrolling her in competitions. By 2007, I’d acquired another Doberman, Dani, who I entered in Doberman Pinscher Club of America national specialty, a competition in the U.S. I met my future husband, Greg, around that time. I dragged him to a show, expecting him to feign polite interest, but he ended up falling in love with that world as much as I had. We started breeding and raising Dobermans at our home in Newtonville, Ontario. Penny, Dani’s great-granddaughter, was born in 2021.

Greg and I could tell almost immediately that Penny was different. Purebred dogs are judged against a written standard, which, for Dobermans, is almost mathematical in its precision. Everything about their bodies has to be balanced and symmetrical: square, muscular and sleek. Even as a puppy, Penny fit that blueprint almost exactly. She also had a confident demeanour that verged on arrogance, like she already knew she was somebody.

We started Penny’s training at eight weeks old. By the time she was one, we knew she had the potential to one day compete at Westminster, the most prestigious dog show in the world. Prepping for that is nothing like teaching a regular pet to sit or walk on a leash—it’s more like Olympic training for canines. A show dog has to stand perfectly square, hold their neck and head in a natural, beautiful line, and maintain that composure even when a judge is running hands all over their body. To get Penny ready for the elite level, Greg and I enlisted the help of Andy Linton, one of the best handlers in the business, who we met at a U.S. national show in 2023. As soon as he met Penny, he was eager to show her too.

Greg and I were thrilled, but it meant that Penny would have to move to Washington state to live with Andy full-time. It felt a bit like we were sending our talented child away to play junior hockey, knowing that, even if it was the right move for her future, we’d miss her every day. Greg and I made a point of flying out at least once a month just to see her and observe her training—a meticulous, repetitive process, because that’s how dogs learn best. Penny was always strong-minded, so one of Andy’s biggest challenges was teaching her not to pull on the lead and to stay patient in the ring. Dobermans are mainly judged on their movement, so Andy also had to condition Penny’s muscles around that. Sometimes, that involved running on a treadmill or beside Andy as he biked.  

Andy travelled with Penny up and down the West Coast, getting her used to the lights, crowds and pressure, fine-tuning her into a winning machine. In the span of two years, she racked up 65 all-breed Best in Show wins. Then, last year, she made her first appearance at Westminster. Before a dog can compete for best in show, it first has to win its breed category and then its working group. In the latter, Penny finished second to Monty, the five-year-old giant schnauzer who went on to win the whole thing. With another year of work, we knew Penny could go all the way.

This year’s Westminster dog show was held at Madison Square Garden, with roughly 2,500 dogs in the running. As soon as Penny entered the ring, she was on fire. She quickly won best of breed, which moved her into the working group. At one point during the technical portion, she stopped, spun around and faced Andy, standing perfectly square, like she was performing an effortless dance combination. After that, the judge pulled her to the front of the line.

By the time we reached the best in show portion, it was just Penny and six other dogs. My heart pounded every time the judges stopped near her. All I could think was, Please see what we see. The crowd certainly did, including one especially loud guy who yelled “Go Penny!” and got the other tens of thousands of onlookers hyped up in her favour. When they finally announced her as the winner, it didn’t feel real, even if we knew she was the best from the beginning.

After her big win, Penny officially retired from showing. She’s home with me and Greg in Newtonville for good. Andy jokes that he misses her every day, partly because his family no longer has Penny to “rinse” their dinner plates before they put them in the dishwasher. As for what comes next, I’d love to get Penny certified as a therapy dog. She adores people and, after the intensity of the show world, it’ll be nice for her to channel her energy into connecting with them rather than competition. 

Greg and I have built a dog-trophy room, filled with ribbons and awards from all the Dobermans we’ve raised over the years. Penny’s wins—which took many years and a team of seven humans to amass—now take up most of the wall space. Every time I walk in there, I pinch myself that the little creature we watched wobble around our yard grew up to be the best dog in the world.

Theresa Connors-Chan is the co-founder of ConnQuest Dobermans.

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