How on earth do we find dog trainers we can trust?
The unregulated dog training industry is full of conflicting voices. (And even fields with expected schooling, exams, and certifications are often more nuanced than we give them credit for.) While “work with a professional” is truly great advice—especially for severe behavioral issues—it’s not always simple to act on. In a world of name calling and abuse allegations and method wars, how are we dog owners supposed to know who to hand our leashes to?
Paying close attention to Scout’s quirks and preferences has given me a solid foundation, but I have a lot to learn from experts (and will never pretend to be one myself).
How can I find the right experts, though? How can I choose environments that set my dog up for success? What are the risks of a bad training consult setting us back in our training journey?
Sometimes it’s paralyzing to imagine all the work we’ve put in being “undone” by someone I thought I could trust and realized too late I couldn’t. The stakes feel particularly high because 1) Scout is one of the most important things in my life and 2) she’s quite sensitive. Her wellbeing (physical, mental, emotional) is not something I take lightly.
While I’ll be the first to admit that I have probably too many “trust issues” with professional dog trainers… my reservations are also rooted in genuine concern. Here are some reflections on our personal trainer experiences and what I’ve come to look for.
Our personal experiences with dog training professionals
Since adopting Scout in early 2019, we’ve consulted with a few dozen different dog trainers. Some connections have been single phone calls, others have resulted in ongoing group classes, and a handful have led to one-on-one virtual or in-person lessons.
Here’s what I’ve loved—and what hasn’t sat well with me.
Things we’ve loved about the dog trainers we’ve worked with
The best trainers are really good people coaches
Of course dog trainers need to be good with dogs. Understanding canines is a huge part of their job! They also need to be good with people—especially in private lesson situations with more direct owner involvement (at least up front) than board and trains do.
Since I’ve wanted to be involved in all of Scout’s training from the very beginning, my favorite trainers have felt more like partners in our journey than experts we’re simply paying for a one-and-done service exchange.
The best trainers ask us about our personal goals
A while back Sean wrote a blog about the first questions he thinks a dog trainer should ask. The most important one to me: What are your personal goals? Or rephrased, what does success look like in your individual life?
Make no mistake: There are certainly some high level, general standards I think it’s good for the majority of dog owners to aim for. But so many decisions come down to different environments, preferences, and priorities!
Our best trainer experiences have been with professionals who take the time to ask what we want to live well together instead of assuming they can decide for us. These coaches trust that Scout and I are the ultimate determiners of whether or not a certain approach is working. They don’t force an arbitrary list of goals they believe every dog owner “should” have—instead, they offer personalized guidance tailored to us.
At the end of the day, I want to work with someone who respects that we don’t need to have the exact same definition of success as they (or their other clients) do.
The best trainers care about my dog’s emotions… and mine, too
Closely related to personal goals: My favorite dog trainers value emotions. They care not just about how my dog looks out in the world but also about how she feels. And they respect my experiences as her owner, too.
This doesn’t mean I want professionals to coddle us, or tell us we’re already perfect, or shy away from difficult conversations and challenging homework. It does mean I want them to care about us as sentient beings! We’re complex social creatures trying to build a harmonious life together, not checkboxes to be ticked off a list. No surface-level accomplishment is worth it if it doesn’t actually bring Scout and I joy in the long run.
The best trainers are open to questions
I saved the most important thing for last. The best dog trainers I’ve ever worked with have not just tolerated but actively welcomed my questions.
These professionals are able to answer the “why” behind everything they recommend. If they don’t know something? They’re happy to admit it and either 1) dive into more research on their own to share with us later or 2) point me in the direction of where I can learn more myself. They want me to be involved in the training process. They respect my intelligence and opinions. They’re energized rather than threatened by my engagement.
Red flags in dog trainers we’ve worked (or consulted) with
The worst trainers try to put us down
Our most discouraging dog trainer experiences have been with people (usually men older than me, though that demographic also includes some of my favorite coaches) who try to belittle us. They make light of my emotions. They act like they know everything and I know nothing. They tell me I’m too weak to be a good dog owner, that Scout’s issues are entirely my fault, all sorts of things designed to make me feel small… so they can feel big. So I will roll over and accept their help blindly.
Is there a time and place to acknowledge the things about ourselves that affect our dogs? To challenge internalized beliefs that are holding us back? To start difficult conversations? 100 percent. But anyone who focuses their energy on putting me down rather than trying to help is not the personality I’m looking for.
And if they make me feel that way… how are they going to make my dog feel?
The worst trainers fear monger
Make no mistake here: Some parts of dog ownership are absolutely high stakes. It’s important we understand risks. It’s important we act responsibly!
But a professional who primarily uses fear tactics—slippery slope fallacies, dramatic claims that if we don’t do X, Y, or Z our dog is going to die, skewed statistics—is not someone I’m interested in collaborating with.
For one thing, I’d rather feel motivated to work towards a bigger picture goal than to simply avoid grisly death and destruction. For another, there are countless better arguments for training methodologies. An appeal to basic emotions is often an attempt to cover up larger flaws in logic.
The worst trainers have a one-size-fits-all approach to every dog they see
Ah, rules of thumb.
Generalizations can be helpful. Many concepts apply across dogs and handlers and situations. Some owners want a simplified, step-by-step process they can follow without exerting too many of their own resources. There’s merit here!
But one-size-fits-all approaches can also do so much damage. I have left many training consults frustrated by professionals assuming they know everything about my dog and her behavior—without even seeing it firsthand—simply because she’s a cattle dog. Simply because she barks and growls and lunges. (More on that in the below Instagram post.)
While I’m never looking for someone to completely reinvent the wheel when working with me and my dog—that’s usually unproductive, not to mention I’m under no illusions that we’re “so special” to do everything differently—I do expect a good professional trainer to be willing to see us as individuals. Someone who recommends the exact same approach for all dogs, regardless of genetics and past experiences and roots of their behavior (fear versus frustration and so on) is someone I am not at all interested in handing Scout’s leash to.
The worst trainers are upset when we ask questions
The more dog trainers I interact with, the less patience I have for professionals who get defensive when asked questions.
I’ll be the first to admit I can sometimes be a trainer’s “worst nightmare”. (I am perhaps too invested in Scout and determined to understand every last thing. ) But there is no reason a competent professional should shy away from genuine questions asked in good faith. If someone can’t tell me why they’re doing something—or if their explanation directly contradicts my own values or understanding of current research—that’s a red flag.
Sure, some defensiveness is completely natural, especially when we’re passionate about a topic. I don’t expect perfection (and I certainly don’t bring it to the table myself). Consistent bristling, though, indicates some ego issues I’m not comfortable with. If someone is unable to open themselves up to thoughtful conversation, I’m not having it—no matter how many certifications or names they can drop. I want a coach I can trust. Someone who respects me. Not who needs to feel superior all the time.
What’s an owner to do?
Here’s how I’ve come to approach getting dog training information from professionals.
I’m as up front as possible with any trainer we work with
If a trainer and I aren’t a good fit, I’d rather know as soon as possible. I put it all out there when I first get in touch with someone new—politely, but firmly—and am no longer afraid to call it quits even if that means leaving partway through a consult.
What does “putting it all out there” look like?
Sharing our personal goals
Outlining work we’ve previously done
Laying out the values I won’t compromise on
Clearly stating what I’m looking for in a certain training scenario (neutral exposure to other dogs in a group class, guidance on a specific problem we’re having in one-on-one lessons, a theoretical discussion in a virtual session, etc)
(You can read more about how I’ve reached out to trainers to find group classes in this piece.)
I’ve worked a lot on my own confidence to advocate for my dog & our goals
One of my worst experiences as Scout’s owner was a training consult back in our first few months together. I felt small, and embarrassed, and unprepared. I was overwhelmed with my dog’s behavior and the sheer volume of conflicting knowledge in front of me. And I let a trainer continuously stim her on an ecollar while forcing her to sit still as another dog (her biggest fear) walked by in close proximity.
(They also made her yelp several times by using nothing but leash pressure (no other communication or regard for her body language) to force her into a down position. It was awful all around.)
I’ve carried guilt about that day with me for a long time. And I’ve worked really hard to build up my own confidence since then so I’m better able to advocate for Scout. I’m still a mess sometimes—as recently as last spring I failed to have her back in a different training scenario—but we’ve come a long way as a team. Her trust means more to me than just about anything else.
You can read more about this in my article on how going through previous emotional abuse has affected my dog ownership, specifically my confidence communicating with professionals.
We engage in a lot of self-directed learning
This isn’t something I’d recommend to all dog owners across the board. There’s no reason to expect everyone to have the same level of interest or access to resources in order to be absolutely worthy of sharing life with a canine! But it’s been huge for me personally.
Because I want to be intimately involved in all of Scout’s training decisions (and because I’m simply interested in the dog training space to start with) investing in self-directed learning has been one of the biggest sources of our growth.
Some of my personal favorite resources for this include:
Ivan Balabanov’s Training Without Conflict video vault and pocast
Jay Jack’s GRC podcast, blog, and Patreon
Canine cognition research and books (Clive Wynne and Brian Hare’s work especially)
Overall animal research and books (most notably Frans de Waal)
I feel it’s important to note that self-directed learning doesn’t fully replace personalized professional guidance—especially if we’re really struggling with a severe problem—and that there’s inherent risk involved in taking things on ourselves. Depending on the situation at hand, though? It can be a really good option.
The below Instagram post by our friend Yujia shares some more thoughts on the topic.
