The Dog Training Conversation We're All Ignoring:

I set out to write this article with a kind of certainty, presuming everyone understood what force-free dog training was all about. But a conversation with my aunt proved me utterly wrong. She was bewildered(and she has 30 years of experience) and that's when it hit me. We often get lost in the weeds of our own expertise, forgetting the basic questions and the assumptions.

So, what is force-free training? Force-free training is simply the method of training dogs (or any animal per se) without using force, coercion, threats, or intimidation or inflicting pain on the animal. This involves avoiding punishments or anything that invokes fear and panic, cause pain, or harm the dog in any other way.

We love its emphasis on positive reinforcement, its feel-good promise of harmonious human-canine relationships. Studies are bandied about, stories of miraculous behavioral transformations are consistently passed on to us. It seems too good to be true. Let's at least look at the possibility that maybe it is to good to be true.

Here's the thing: when you dig into these studies, there's an interesting pattern. Sure, a puppy kindergarten class boasts a 94% retention rate(retention rate meaning owners keeping dogs and not removing or euthanizing) compared with the 33% average. The 33% average meaning that 1 and 3 dogs will stay with their original owner through their life cycle. That's a staggering improvement and I can't think of a single person who wouldn't be on board with that(Theresa Deporter ran the study and hopefully we will get to interview her)

But let's play devil's advocate. Is it really the force-free training that's miraculous, or is it something else?

Imagine you're a dog owner. You're struggling. Maybe your puppy is a terror on the leash, or perhaps you're dealing with something more serious. You enroll in this force-free class. It's your first step in seeking professional help. You're taught timing, technique, and patience – skills most new owners lack.

Of course you're going to see improvement! It's the difference between fumbling around solo and having a knowledgeable coach at your side. If we're having a writing contest with 99 people who have pen, paper and a typewriter and the 100th contestant has a complete computer with internet access. All things being equal, we can expect the person with better tools to create a better result.

The problem is, we're so in love with the idea of force-free training that we lose sight of the common-sense factors at play. If someone has ZERO training, and you give them a single tool, of course there's going to be massive improvement.

Before we decide force-free training is the next evolution in dog training, we need a different kind of study and conversation. We need to compare force-free vs. traditional training, with both led by skilled professionals. Control for the handler's expertise, and then we might actually discover whether the philosophy itself is the magic bullet it's often touted as. If not, we're selling dog owners short by focusing on the wrong problem.

Think about it this way: you're in a writing contest. Ninety-nine folks are armed with nothing but pens, paper, maybe an old-school typewriter. Then there's contestant number 100, sitting in front of a sleek computer, internet access humming. Now, put aside any notion of raw talent. Who's likely to produce the better outcome? The one with the superior tool, of course.

It's not rocket science, but we sometimes forget this simple logic. When we see someone succeed with seemingly minimal effort, the instinct is to assume they're special. But maybe... just maybe... they started with an advantage we simply didn't see. In many of these examples, if we take someone with no professional skills whatsoever, and give them average skills, the output increases. As a matter of fact, it would be nearly impossible for it not to do so.

Let me be clear – I'm not anti-force-free training. I don't know everything. As a matter of fact, I have days where I'm not sure I know much of anything. Handling dogs is a humbling experience and that's probably putting it nicely. Especially when it's me.

Kindness is always good and theoretically, should be the default setting for how we treat everyone and especially our animals. That being said, overzealousness toward any single method risks obscuring what might be much simpler solutions that could benefit far more dogs and people.

Dogs are not just our companions—they're woven into the fabric of our society. Yet, how we train them often seems haphazard, driven more by trends than any real understanding. We want them to be good citizens, safe and happy, but we sometimes cling to methods without asking if they truly work.

We love narratives, sound bites, and feel good stories more than asking the tough questions and doing the work. Everyone wants the ideal dog, but very few want to do the work to get said dog. People want the Instagram followers, they want the notoriety, but they don't want to be working dogs in freezing rain. This brings us to a very uncomfortable, and controversial piece of the conversation.

There's an intriguing disconnect when it comes to how we train dogs. On one hand, there's the a popular push toward force-free methods – Then there's the reality that the most high-stakes professions – military, law enforcement, search and rescue –bite sports that continue to rely heavily on balanced training.

Nassim Nicholas Taleb's concept of "skin in the game" resonates here. Shouldn't the people facing the greatest consequences be the most invested in choosing the absolute best methods? Those whose actions have a direct impact on life and safety? If positive, force-free techniques are as effective as proponents claim, why wouldn’t they be the gold standard for serious dog training?

This isn't about denouncing force free training. It's about a fascinating question: When the stakes are this high, why not explore every potential advantage available? If force free training was really that effective, why wouldn't it be used by all these other avenues of dog sports and work?

The dog training world is rife with stereotypes. On one side, you have the caricature of "balanced" trainers – egotistical, stubborn, even sadistic. On the other, "force-free" enthusiasts convinced that their opponents simply hate animals. It's a battleground of oversimplifications, obscuring a much more complex and fascinating reality.

Let's consider the "balanced" camp. These are individuals obsessed with results, training dogs to perform reliably in the most extreme conditions. They prioritize the dogs' safety above all else. They're relentlessly pragmatic, seeking out the world's top experts, pouring time and money into their craft. In fact, they often invest far more in their dogs' wellbeing than many do in their own.

Now, here's the puzzle: If a demonstrably superior, more effective training method existed, wouldn't these be the first to adopt it? Wouldn't their pragmatism and laser focus on results override any outdated traditions or bruised egos? Is it possible that they’re not wrong?

Imagine if we approached other crucial skills this way. Would we let a child learn math from just anyone, using any random technique? Of course not! There's an objective standard for a reason. Ensuring our dogs are well-trained is as important. It impacts their safety, our safety, and the overall harmony between humans and canines. It's not just the logistically correct decision it's the correct moral question.