Recently, we had a dog arrive at our home for training, and as the owners walked through the front door, our 10-month-old Great Dane, Ripley, started growling and barking from her crate which is nearest to the front door. My husband immediately stepped in and corrected the behavior. To someone unfamiliar with her, that moment could have looked pretty alarming. Big dog. Deep bark. Growling. Stiff body language. Uncertainty. At first glance, some people would immediately label

I recently watched a video of a parent and a toddler walking along a boardwalk covered in hanging strings. The adult walks through them without hesitation… and keeps walking. The toddler follows—hesitant, confused, a little overwhelmed because he's suddenly caught up in string. At one point, he panics. The parent pauses, walks back toward him… and then turns around and keeps going. No picking him up. No clearing the path. No doing it for him. Just… giving him the space to fig

(And Why That Might Be the Real Problem) There are days I don’t want to be a dog trainer anymore. Today is one of those days. Not because of the dogs—but because of what we’re asking them to become. Every Monday morning I open my inbox to message after message that, when you strip it down, all say the same exact thing: 'I want my dog to act like a stuffed animal.' No barking. No growling. No sniffing. No moving unless told. No thinking. No making mistakes. Just sit there. Loo

And Neither Is the Advice It’s Selling You We all know — at least on some level — that social media is curated. But I don’t think we always stop to consider just how curated it really is. Your feed is built around what you search for. What you pause on. What you read all the way through. What you comment on. What you message your friends about. What you photograph. What you talk about in videos. What you engage with when you’re worried. If you’re a dog owner, you see dog cont