I did not plan on becoming a dog trainer. I started as a dog walker, handling dogs in real environments. Real neighborhoods. Real distractions. Real consequences.
Walking one dog is simple. Walking multiple dogs exposes everything. Leadership shows up fast. Anxiety spreads fast. Confidence or lack of it becomes obvious.
That was my first education. Not theory. Not certification. Reality.
Eventually, basic walks stopped being enough. Dogs were still restless. Still wired. Still looking for an outlet.
So I started taking dogs on off leash adventures. Trails. Distance. Nature. Places where instincts turn on and structure actually matters.
You cannot fake control off leash. Dogs either trust you or they do not. That is where relationship replaces obedience. That is where behavior starts changing without force.
That was the turning point.
People noticed the change. Dogs came back calmer. More social. More satisfied.
Then the questions started.
How did you get my dog to act like this?
Why does my dog listen to you?
Why is my dog different after being with you?
That is when I began working with owners, not just dogs. Teaching structure, timing, and clarity. Not gimmicks. Not fantasy. Real communication.
This work grew into formal training services under Instinctual Balance and earned five star ratings on Yelp and Google because dogs actually changed and owners felt it.
I believe in quick change when corrections and communication are precise. I have seen dogs change in a single session. It can be like a chiropractic adjustment. One clear moment of alignment.
That does not mean the work is done. It means the direction is right.
If a trainer cannot demonstrate visible change in front of you during a session, that matters. Progress should be noticeable.
Energy does not disappear. It gets redirected. When you change behavior, energy has to go somewhere. That is why temporary behaviors can surface during change. That is part of the process.
We are sculpting energy, not pretending it vanishes.
There was a moment in my career that permanently changed how I work with dogs.
During a group play session, a pit mix named Max attacked another dog named Pooty. Up until that moment, Max had gotten along with other dogs. There were no obvious warning signs that screamed what was about to happen.
When it happened, it happened fast.
I intervened immediately and minimized the damage, but Max still got his teeth into Pooty causing damage. I took Pooty straight to the vet, and he made it through it.
The experience was traumatic for me. Not because I was careless, but because I was honest enough to admit something afterward.
In hindsight, I should have seen it. I did not at the time.
That day forced me to confront a truth many people avoid.
Dogs are not blank slates. Genetics matter. Instinct matters. Some dogs are meant to be social. Some are not, and pretending otherwise puts dogs and people at risk.
The mistake is not acknowledging reality.
The mistake is wishing a dog was something it is not.
That incident reshaped how I evaluate dogs, structure play, and approach safety. Some dogs need outlets. Some need management. Some need distance from other dogs entirely.
That is not failure. That is responsibility.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty.
Jax was one of my adventure dogs. Endless energy. Smart. Driven.
At home, his life was falling apart. He was destroying his owner’s apartment. Stress behaviors. Even pooping on the floor right after walks. His owner was facing eviction.
Other trainers and walkers turned her down because they labeled him aggressive.
He was not aggressive. He was overwhelmed and under fulfilled.
Around COVID, I took Jax in. Once his needs were met and his energy had structure, the chaos stopped.
Jax is honest. Treats rank higher than loyalty. If offered a snack by a stranger, he would betray me without hesitation. No shame. Pure truth.
Artemis came from a rescue situation where people used tongs to clean her crate because she would show aggression toward anyone nearby.
She had every reason not to trust humans.
When I met her, something clicked. No force. No pressure. Just presence and clarity. She bonded deeply.
Artemis does not care about treats like Jax. She cares about connection. Attention. Approval. If Jax would sell me out for food, Artemis would skip food entirely to stay close.
They could not be more different.
Once Jax and Artemis became part of my home, they began influencing other dogs.
Dogs learn from dogs faster than from humans. Nervous dogs relaxed. Reactive dogs softened. Overstimulated dogs slowed down.
Calm became contagious.
That shaped how I train. Less focus on commands. More focus on systems, energy, and social learning.
If there is one thing I learned above all else, it is this.
Dogs love to chase.
Not walk politely. Chase.
Most toys either encouraged chaos, fixation, or were unsafe. Some worked for certain dogs. Others failed completely.
I needed a tool that allowed timing, movement, control, and communication. Something adaptable to different dogs and even other animals.
At one property I lived at, four stray cats befriended my dogs and started chasing alongside them. That was the moment it clicked. This kind of play taps into something universal.
That realization led to the Whimsy Stick Flirt Pole.
What surprised me most is how quickly it became a core training tool.
It taught impulse control. Dogs chased only when told. They learned to stop, drop, reset, and reengage intentionally.
It became one of my primary tools alongside leash work and structured communication. Not a replacement for training. A reinforcement through instinct.
Most dogs never forget it once they experience a clean chase and shared rhythm.
Today my work sits at the intersection of instinct, structure, and relationship.
I am not interested in pretending dogs are robots. I am also not interested in excuses.
I work best with owners who want responsibility and clarity. People who understand that calm is earned, not demanded.
Dogs do not need perfect people.
They need consistent people.
Everything I do comes back to one thing.
A lasting partnership between dogs and owners.
Not obedience for appearances.
Not suppression.
Not management forever.
Alignment.
Calm is not forced.
It is earned.
I do not work from scripts or ideology.
I do not label dogs as broken or fix them with treats alone.
My work is rooted in instinct, genetics, energy, structure, and responsibility.
Some dogs change quickly when communication is precise. Others require time, cycles, and consistency. Both are real.
I do not sugarcoat behavior. Dogs are not blank slates. Pretending otherwise puts dogs and people at risk.
If you are looking for guarantees, shortcuts, or someone to tell you what you want to hear, I am not the right trainer.
If you want clarity, honesty, and a deeper understanding of your dog, keep reading.
This work isn’t for everyone. That’s intentional.
