The Other Side of the Leash: What It Really Means to Be a Dog Trainer

When people hear “dog trainer,” they often picture someone in a sunny park, tossing treats to golden retrievers and doling out advice with a smile, and sure, sometimes it is that. There are those beautiful moments when a reactive dog checks in instead of barking, or when a nervous puppy offers their first tail wag of trust. I live for those moments.

But I want to talk about the other side of this job. The side people don’t always see.

I’ve been doing this work for years - with dogs who growl when you reach for the lead, with owners who are hanging on by a thread. I’ve sat on the floor of living rooms beside crying guardians who feel like failures. I’ve coached people through heartbreak, rehoming decisions, bite incidents, end-of-life care. I’ve helped people navigate dog fights, trauma histories, abuse, grief, shame.

And I love it. I truly do. But it comes at a cost.

We show up bright-eyed and breezy…

...but behind that calm smile is someone who maybe got bitten last week. Or who just spent four hours researching the latest anxiety medication trials to support a dog like yours. Or who hasn’t eaten lunch yet - or, in fact, for the past 3 days - because they're juggling a packed calendar, trying to fit you in before the weekend hits.

People don’t always realise that when they’re texting at 4pm on a Sunday, asking “quick question!”, that we’re not just making an exception for them. We’re making an exception for everyone.

Because we care. Fiercely. We want to help. Desperately. And most of us entered this profession because we’ve been there! On the other side of the leash. The overwhelmed, exhausted, crying-on-the-kitchen-floor dog parent side.

But this work is more than the hour we spend together.

It’s:

• Driving between clients, trying not to miss the exit while eating a granola bar in traffic.

• Writing session notes at 10pm because you don’t want to forget that the dog finally sat on cue.

• Making facebook posts at midnight so your clients have accessible info.

• Emailing shelters, posting flyers, introducing yourself to every local vet tech, handing out cards at breweries and farmers markets and dog-friendly patios.

• Managing a website. Accounting. Tax prep. Social media scheduling.

• Getting ghosted by potential clients after six back-and-forth emails.

• Hearing “Your prices are too high!” after spending 15 unpaid hours prepping a custom plan.

And even then, we’re thinking about your dog. What cue might land better. What we missed. What we could tweak. What we should try next. Because each dog is not just a job.They’re a story. A soul. A spark.

And yes, there’s risk.

Sometimes, it’s physical - breaking up a fight, being on the receiving end of a redirected bite, reading the micro-signals of a dog deciding whether to lunge or freeze. Sometimes, it’s emotional - absorbing the pain of guardians whose hearts are breaking because they feel like they’re failing. Sometimes, it’s financial - because even when we pour everything into this, it’s hard to make ends meet in a field that values compassion more than capital.

But we keep showing up. We keep bringing the same energy, the same drive, the same nerdy fire, even when we’re tired. Even when we’re hurting. Because the joy of seeing a fearful dog take a treat…The pride of a guardian telling us they got through a walk without a meltdown…The moment a client says, “I think my dog actually trusts me now”…

That makes it all worth it.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve worked with a trainer - send them a thank you.

Even if it’s been months. Even if you didn’t follow through. Even if it didn’t go perfectly.

And if you are a trainer - I see you.Your work matters. Your rest matters. You are allowed to be tired. You are allowed to have boundaries. You are not a failure for needing space. You are not a bad trainer for taking time off. You are a walking nervous system regulation toolkit for dogs and people, and you deserve that same kindness in return. 🩵