The Dog Training World Is Divided, and It's Exhausting. Here's What I Wish We'd Do Instead.
THE SHORT VERSION
Dog training is unregulated in the US, so certifications became tribal, each one flagging which "side" a trainer is on. After 13+ years in this field, that division exhausts me. I share the moment a certification I loved asked me to give up part of who I am to earn their letters, why I built Wholistic Canine instead, and why I care more about your dog than the fight. The relationship matters more than the labels.
Dog training is a spectrum. On one end you have compulsion. On the other, force-free. And somewhere along the way, that spectrum stopped being about methods and started feeling like politics.
I tell my clients this all the time: our little world has its own version of left and right, its own party lines. And just like in politics, the question people ask first isn't "does this person help dogs?" It's "Are you certified? By who? Do you approve of them?"
I'm tired of it. And I think it's failing the dogs.
Why the Letters Turned Into Tribes
Here's a fact that surprises most owners: dog training is completely unregulated in the United States. No license required, no mandatory schooling, no exam, no governing body holding anyone accountable. I've written the full explanation on my dog trainer certification page if you want the whole breakdown.
Because no official body sets a standard, private organizations created their own. And here's the catch: almost every certification teaches one corner of the training quadrant, one side of the spectrum, whether that's force-free, positive-reinforcement-only, "humane" and "science-based," or balanced. So when a trainer tells you their certification, you can usually guess their whole belief system from it, because there's no single body teaching all of it.
Even a phrase like "science-based" gets used as a flag for a side. And I'll be honest: I love learning science, but science hasn't actually studied every part of this work equally. There's very little rigorous research on how fair corrections function in real-world training, so "science-based" can quietly come to mean "the methods that happen to have been studied," rather than the whole truth of working with a living animal. It's a great buzzword. It's just not the whole story.
That's how the letters after a name stopped meaning "this person is educated" and started meaning "this person is on my side, or the other side."
The Couch
I remember exactly where I was sitting.
I'd gone through a separation anxiety program I genuinely loved, Malena DeMartini's CSAT training. I was so excited. I wanted in. I wanted those letters after my name because I believed in the work.
So I got on a consultation to become certified. And it became clear, kindly and fairly, that they'd be glad to work with me on one condition: I'd have to stop using remote collars. Not just in separation anxiety work, where I'd never use one anyway, but across my entire practice. Their certification can't be associated with that tool, period. Which also meant I couldn't keep partnering with my mentor and best friend, Suzy, at the company we'd built together, Animal Minds.
And you know what? What they were asking was one hundred percent fair. If I'd built what they built, I'd have protected it the same way. They were being true to their program. As a private organization, that is absolutely their right, and I want to be clear I'm not saying a single bad word about them.
But it made me sit back and really look at myself.
The Mirror
Was I a trainer who wanted to hang onto that tool, or not?
I took real time with the question. And here's where I landed: a remote collar, used thoughtfully, gives me something I care about deeply. Off-leash freedom. Hiking. River days. That feeling of a dog who gets to be a dog in the world, safely. I love that for my own dogs, and when a client genuinely wants that for theirs, I want to be able to offer it.
To earn those letters, I'd have had to give that up, everywhere, and reshape my whole practice around one organization's rules. And that would have made me not me.
So I didn't take the certification. Instead, I built Wholistic Canine, so I could be exactly who I am.
I'll say this plainly: I still use that tool, and I name it openly. If someone doesn't want to work with me because of it, that's okay, honestly, it's their loss, because I'm very good at what I do. But I need a client who's willing to trust me and ask me questions, who wants reassurance about why we're going a certain direction and feels free to ask for it. If they want to go slower, we always can. Trust is the whole job.
Control Is Not the Point
That couch moment gave me something I didn't expect: clarity about what I actually want.
I don't want clients coming to me strictly for control of their dog. I want people coming to me for a better relationship with their dog.
Control can be an ugly word. And sometimes, honestly, it's an ugly word that's needed, there are real consequences in the real world, and a dog who lives in our home sometimes has to learn them. But control is never the reason I do this. The relationship is.
What I Found Instead: Why, Not How
For a long time, every certification felt like it was asking me to pledge allegiance to a how. This method, these tools, this side.
Then I found Kim Brophey's L.E.G.S.® framework, and it finally sang to me, because it's about the why, not the how. Why is this dog doing what they're doing? What's their learning history, their environment, their genetics, their individual self? We can all agree on a good why. We're allowed to differ on the how.
That's the whole thing I wish more of our industry understood. A certification should credit you for a method you've genuinely studied, and it shouldn't punish you for choosing a different method for a different dog or a different client. The moment a credential owns your entire identity instead of certifying your education, it's stopped being about dogs.
For the record, I'm not anti-certification. I hold my Licensed Family Dog Mediator credential through Kim Brophey's program because its whole-dog philosophy matches how I already saw dogs, and I'm proud to represent it. I hold a foundation certification with the IACP, and I support them partly because they actually work on legislation toward regulation, which matters to me. I earned my Certified Trick Dog Instructor title through Kyra Sundance's Do More With Your Dog. And I'm a Pet Food Nutrition Specialist through Dogs Naturally Pro, because what goes into a dog is part of seeing the whole dog, too. Beyond that, I've studied at the Michael Ellis School, learned from Tyler Muto, and I'm currently taking classes with Trish King out in the Bay Area, some of the best education I've found. I've even looked hard at the University of Washington's applied animal behavior program, and may still pursue it.
I chose every one of those. I didn't collect them to win an argument or prove which club I belong to.
Naming Names on Purpose
You might have noticed I just named a lot of trainers, including one that declined to certify me. I did that on purpose.
I think calling out other professionals, honoring them, crediting them, respecting them even when we do things differently, is one of the most important things we can do in this field. And almost nobody does it. We're so busy defending our camps that we forget we're all supposedly here for the same reason.
Malena DeMartini built something excellent and stayed true to it. Suzy shaped me and remains my friend. Trish King is teaching me things right now. These are not my "competitors" to me. They're colleagues in a craft I love.
Where I Stand
Here's my honest ask, if you're an owner trying to choose a trainer: don't ignore certifications, but please don't let them be the only thing you look at. Ask a trainer how they learned. Ask who mentored them. Ask whether they keep studying, whether they'll explain the pros and cons of what they do, and whether they'll tell you honestly when your dog needs someone else. Notice whether they make you feel judged, or supported.
Those things will tell you more than any string of capital letters ever could.
I'm not interested in the fight. I'm interested in your dog. I'll keep learning, I'll keep crediting the trainers who've taught me, and I'll keep refusing to pretend that the camp someone belongs to matters more than the good they do.
Because the dogs don't care about our politics. They just need us to get it right. And we get there faster together than we ever will divided.
Questions Owners Ask Me About This
Is dog training regulated in the United States?
No. Dog training is an unregulated profession. There's no license, no required schooling, no exam, and no governing body holding trainers accountable. Anyone can call themselves a dog trainer. That's exactly why certifications exist, private organizations created their own standards to fill the gap.
Do I need a certified dog trainer?
A certification can be a helpful signal that a trainer has pursued education, but it isn't a guarantee, and its absence isn't automatically a red flag. What matters more is whether a trainer keeps learning, explains their reasoning, refers you elsewhere when needed, and builds trust with you and your dog.
Why do dog trainers disagree so much about methods?
Because there's no single governing body, most certifications teach just one part of the training spectrum. Trainers often align with the philosophy of whichever organization certified them, which can turn method differences into an "us versus them" divide. I'd rather focus on the shared goal, helping the dog, than the camp.
What is the L.E.G.S.® framework?
L.E.G.S.® stands for Learning, Environment, Genetics, and Self, the four things that shape a dog's behavior. It comes from Kim Brophey's Family Dog Mediation program. I love it because it focuses on the why behind a dog's behavior rather than locking you into a single method.
How do I choose a good dog trainer?
Look past the letters. Ask how they learned and who mentored them. Ask whether they keep studying and whether they'll explain the pros and cons of what they do. A trustworthy trainer is honest about their limits, refers you elsewhere when your dog needs it, and makes you feel supported rather than judged.
A friend to your furry family,
