So You Want to Be a Dog Trainer That Works Behavior Cases
A few weeks ago, I posed a question about how other dog trainers are handling clients who are vocally supportive of 47. The responses I received, especially from non-trainers, often boiled down to "just focus on training the dog, not the people." Those responses made me realize that many people don’t actually understand what I do.
I am not just a dog trainer. That title is a simplification, an easy way for people to grasp, at a high level, the work I do. In reality, I rarely train dogs in the way most people imagine. My work revolves around supporting families in improving their dog's mental health and ensuring the safety of both the dog and their community. And beyond that, I handle the never-ending administrative demands of running a small business, care for my wife and my girls, navigate personal challenges, and manage life’s everyday obstacles. This isn’t a job I can just leave at the office.
The Families I Work With
Most of the families I work with are dealing with moderate behavioral challenges—fear of visitors, leash reactivity, or general anxiety. Their dogs, in most situations, are wonderful companions. But then there are the more complex cases:
Dogs so afraid of their owners that they hide, shut down, or refuse to eat unless the environment is perfect.
Dogs that respond aggressively to normal human activities—standing up, bending over, or moving too quickly.
Dogs that have attacked another household pet, sometimes brutally and repeatedly.
Dogs that have severely injured or even killed another animal without provocation.
Dogs that have been attacked themselves and now struggle with PTSD.
Dogs that once adored their human family but became unpredictable and dangerous when a baby started toddling.
Dogs that went to a "balanced" trainer for basic manners and came back thin, terrified, and aggressive.
Families navigating the grief and guilt of behavioral euthanasia, or those trying again with a new dog but seeking reassurance that they won’t repeat past mistakes.
People who are afraid of their own dogs.
People who are grieving the dog they thought they were bringing home.
People who feel trapped, ashamed, and exhausted because they’ve tried everything and still have no solutions.
This is the reality of behavior work. It is emotionally draining, complex, and deeply personal. I see people at their most vulnerable, wrestling with impossible decisions. And sometimes, they share those emotions in ways I am not prepared for—sending me unfiltered images of injuries, desperate for guidance and relief.
The Emotional Weight of This Work
It is February 25th—only 56 days into the new year—and I have encountered every single one of these situations.
Some days, I go from working with a family dealing with a high-energy adolescent dog to sitting in a living room where one person is desperately trying to keep their aggressive dog from lunging at me. One particular session that stands out involved an older couple—a second marriage for both, filled with love and mutual respect. Their new dog, from a puppy mill, had bitten them and chased the husband. When I visited, I wasn't sure what to expect. I carried my own biases about their background and political affiliations, assumptions that were shattered when the husband broke down in tears, telling me about his fears—not just of his dog, but of the world.
"When we brought this dog home, I was so excited to have a new project that would give me time away from the horrors of this country. Instead, I am afraid of her."
He wasn't just grieving a dog that wasn't what he hoped for. He was grieving everything—the changing world, the safety of his LGBTQ+ children, the limitations of his own aging body. And there I was, not just a trainer, but a witness to his pain. I am not a licensed therapist, though I have training in active listening, behavioral euthanasia support, and grief counseling for pet owners. But in moments like this, I take on that role anyway.
The Unseen Toll on Behavior Professionals
This work is not just about training dogs. It is about supporting people through some of the most painful experiences of their lives. Those of us in this field don’t just teach dogs to sit and stay. We:
Counsel families in crisis.
Help people process grief, fear, and trauma.
Advocate for dogs and their well-being while balancing the realities of safety and quality of life.
Work alongside veterinarians, vet behaviorists, and mental health professionals to provide holistic support.
Take on the emotional weight of every case, often reliving our own traumas in the process.
And yet, the world still sees us as "just dog trainers."
Many of us come to this work because we have lived it. We have had reactive, fearful, or aggressive dogs. We have made the hard choices. We have faced judgment from friends, family, and strangers who think they know better. We hold space for people who are struggling, all while managing our own lives, relationships, and mental health.
I am one of the lucky ones. I have a loving wife, two amazing dogs (who drive me up the wall with their antics), a phenomenal therapist, and a support network of friends and colleagues. Not everyone in this field has that. Many of us don’t even have health insurance, making therapy an unaffordable luxury. Perhaps it's time for our major professional organizations—IAABC, CCPDT—to step up and provide access to group insurance plans for behavior professionals. But that’s a conversation for another day.
Why I Can’t "Just Focus on the Dog"
If you’ve read this far, you now understand why this work isn’t just about the dog. It is about families. It is about communities. It is about the people who love these dogs and the professionals who support them. It is emotionally exhausting. It is consuming. It is rewarding, heartbreaking, and everything in between.
This is not a job I can do without boundaries. I must prioritize my mental and emotional health. That means choosing my clients carefully, ensuring that the people I work with do not threaten my safety or well-being. This is not "just business"—it is deeply personal. It is who I am.
So, if you believe I should simply "train the dog and ignore the people," this field is not for you. And if that sentiment extends beyond this post, well, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.
For those who understand, who have lived this, who support this work—thank you. And if you want to help keep more families together, consider donating to the Pawsitive Access Canine Training Fund:
PayPal: paypal.me/PACTFund
Venmo: @PACT_Fund
