When I talk about bullying in the K9 world, I’m not speaking from theory, I’ve lived it. As a young handler, I trained under people who were “big names” at the time. The way they trained their dogs, with a lot of coercion, pressure and intimidation, was exactly how they coached their young handlers too. Shouting. Cursing. Very aggressive body language. Laughing at you in a way that was meant to hurt, not to help.
When I made a mistake, they didn’t break the exercise down or explain what to do differently next time. They didn’t coach me, they attacked me. The blame was always on me. I was “not good enough”, “too soft”, “not ready”. They knew exactly how to crush your confidence, and they used that as a method.
Looking back, I can see how damaging that culture was, not only for me, but for many talented handlers who quietly disappeared from the field. We lost good people, not because they lacked potential, but because they lacked protection. And that is one of the reasons why I care so deeply about creating a more inclusive, safer dog training community today.
Why does self-promotion in the K9 world so often come with psychologically hurting others?
Almost every day I see trainers publicly humiliating colleagues. Someone gets ripped apart in the comments. Screenshots of blocked people are shared as trophies. At a seminar with a “big name” speaker, I watched him play videos of other trainers when their training went wrong. He clearly enjoyed explaining how “stupid” those colleagues were. The room laughed.
But what does that really say? Does it say something about the trainers in the videos, or does it say something about us as a community?
The philosopher R. G. Collingwood wrote: “The only clue to what man can do is what man has done.” If you want to know what people are capable of, look at what they actually do. We live in a world obsessed with success, status and recognition, and we as trainers are fully part of that. We call it ambition. Ambition in itself is not the enemy. The problem starts when our sense of self-worth depends on being seen as the best, the toughest, the smartest, especially online.
Of all people, we should understand behaviour.
We know that behaviour never comes out of nowhere. Behind behaviour are thoughts and emotions, and beneath that sit beliefs about who we think we are. Most people don’t live from their deepest self, but from a role: the strong one, the rescuer, the protector. In K9 terms it becomes the tough trainer, the “no-nonsense” trainer, the trainer who supposedly knows it all and never makes mistakes.
Carl Gustav Jung called this the persona: the mask you put on early in life to be seen and to belong. The persona itself isn’t always bad, we all play roles. We all switch slightly between how we are on the field, at home, at a seminar, or in front of a class. The real problem starts when we confuse the mask with our identity. When criticism of our work feels like an attack on our worth as a human being.
The important question isn’t which mask you wear. The important question is: who are you when you take it off?
Many trainers reach a point where they feel, often quietly: “I don’t want to be like this anymore.” So they start tweaking their behaviour. They eat healthier, work differently, talk more about “balance,” maybe travel less or change jobs. But if the deep belief underneath stays the same, “I’m only valuable if I’m better than the rest”, then nothing truly changes. The pattern still follows the same chain:
Identity → Belief → Thought → Feeling → Action → Result.
If, deep down, you believe you only count when you win, then attacking, shaming or belittling others becomes a “logical” strategy. You form cliques. You twist facts. You magnify mistakes. You use gossip as marketing. The ego feels powerful for a moment, but inside it stays empty and fragile. And because it’s fragile, it needs constant new fuel: a new enemy, a new “example” to mock, a new person to block and screenshot.
Positive training techniques
At the same time, as a community we’ve made huge progress in how we train dogs. Positive reinforcement, clear criteria, well-timed rewards, splitting behaviours into small steps, we know how powerful that is. We’ve seen it transform the confidence, motivation and performance of thousands of dogs. We proudly call it science-based, ethical, modern training.
And yet, some trainers still treat handlers in a way we would never accept for a dog. Public shaming, sarcasm, eye-rolling, humiliation disguised as “just being honest.” We reward dogs and punish people. We reinforce behaviour in the dog and attack identity in the handler.
If a dog makes a mistake, a good trainer asks themselves if their timing was clear, if the criteria were too hard, or if the environment was too challenging. They think about antecedents, reinforcement history, and stress. But if a handler makes a mistake, that same trainer may suddenly say, “You’re not good enough. You shouldn’t work this kind of dog. You don’t belong at this level.” That isn’t coaching. That’s punishment.
And just like punishment with dogs, it may suppress behaviour, the handler will say less, try less, risk less, but it doesn’t create deep understanding or sustainable growth. It creates fear, shame and withdrawal. It creates professionals who know how to obey, but are afraid to innovate. If positive reinforcement is such a game-changer for dogs, why are we still using punishment on the humans holding the leash?
Feedforward coaching
For several years now, I’ve been experimenting with something I call feedforward coaching, and it has changed the way I see learning for both dogs and humans. Where feedback often focuses on what went wrong in the past, “You did this wrong, you failed there, that wasn’t good enough”, feedforward looks at the future: “Next time, try this. Here is one change that will help you and your dog succeed. This part already went well, let’s build on that and adjust this one element.”
Feedforward stays specific and practical, but it is rooted in possibilities rather than blame. It starts from strengths instead of only from errors. And above all, it creates enough safety that people dare to keep trying, even after they fail. That safety is exactly what was missing when I was shouted at as a young handler. It’s also what keeps many talented trainers in the game instead of driving them out.
I’ve seen how powerful feedforward coaching can be, not just for the handlers and trainers I work with, but also for myself. The strength and clarity I gained from practising it were among the things that pulled me through a very hard year. In 2025, health issues forced me to cancel workshops and slow down. My usual rhythm of travelling, teaching and working with teams all over the world suddenly stopped.
Who do I want to be
In that silence, I had to look at myself again. At my own identity, my own fears, my own ego. Without the constant validation of full classrooms, packed seminar schedules and busy operational work, I had to ask: who am I without all of that? What kind of trainer, coach and human do I want to be in the next chapter?
I realised how important it is that we don’t just update our training methods for dogs, but also our way of treating each other. If we truly believe in learning, we must build environments where questions are welcome, mistakes are treated as information, and people feel safe enough to grow. We need a culture where we remember how we started, where we give credit to the people who helped us grow, and where we don’t tear others down to inflate our own ego.
New ACT! workshops in 2026
That’s also why I’m excited to plan new ACT! workshops for 2026. After this year of reflection, I don’t just want to teach about dogs, detection and training technology. I also want to focus on your role as a coach for others: how you give feedback, how you shape a safe learning environment for your team, and how you can use feedforward coaching to help people grow faster with more confidence and less fear.
For me, the future of the K9 world is not only about better-trained dogs, but about better-supported humans. Handlers who dare to ask questions. Instructors who can correct without humiliating. Leaders who can be ambitious without needing to crush someone else to feel important.
We work with dogs we’re proud of. Let’s build a K9 community we can be proud of too, one where we replace bullying with real coaching, replace ego with curiosity, and replace punishment with feedforward. That kind of community will learn more, grow faster, and stay stronger together than any superstar standing alone on a stage.