There's a growing reluctance within the dog training world to say "no" to dogs.
Somewhere along the way, we've started treating boundaries as though they're inherently unkind. As though communicating that something isn't acceptable is somehow damaging to the relationship we have with our dogs.
I find this increasingly concerning, not least because I'm seeing the consequences in the dogs and handlers I work with.
A boundary isn't a breakdown in communication. It's part of communication.
And I think we've become so focused on ensuring that our dogs have positive experiences that we're sometimes overlooking something equally important: helping them understand the world they're living in.
When the Absence of Boundaries Becomes a Problem
In my work with dogs struggling with reactivity, I'm increasingly meeting handlers who are deeply reluctant to tell their dogs that a particular behaviour isn't acceptable.
Often, these are thoughtful, caring people who desperately want to do the right thing. They've been encouraged to avoid saying no, avoid setting limits, and concentrate exclusively on creating positive experiences.
Their intentions are good. But I don't believe the information they're receiving is always serving them, or their dogs, particularly well.
A dog who is unsure about another dog, a person or a situation doesn't necessarily benefit from having no expectations placed upon them.
In fact, I would argue that clear, fair boundaries can be particularly valuable to dogs who are struggling.
If a dog is worried about another dog approaching, for example, I can acknowledge that worry without accepting every behaviour that might follow from it.
The dog's feelings are legitimate. But that doesn't mean every expression of those feelings is appropriate.
We can recognise an emotion without giving unlimited permission to the behaviour.
Of course, this comes with responsibility.
If I'm asking a dog not to react in a particular way, then it's also my responsibility to advocate for that dog. To manage the environment, create appropriate distance, prevent overwhelming experiences and provide opportunities for the dog to feel safe.
I cannot simply tell a dog what not to do and leave them to cope with a situation they find impossible.
But equally, I don't believe helping a dog feel safe means removing every expectation or boundary.
These things need to work together.
When a dog begins to understand what is expected, when their handler becomes someone who offers clear information and reliably advocates for them, we can start to create an environment in which that dog feels more secure.
And within that security, there is an opportunity for recovery, learning and growing confidence.
The boundary isn't there to suppress the dog's feelings. It's there to help provide a framework within which those feelings can be understood and worked through.
Kindness and Boundaries Are Not Opposites
We understand the importance of boundaries in human relationships.
We don't generally consider it unkind to teach children that certain behaviours aren't acceptable. We recognise that growing up involves learning how to navigate expectations, frustrations, other people and the world around us.
And yet, in dog training, we sometimes seem determined to present boundaries as something inherently negative.
I think we're confusing two very different things.
There is a world of difference between establishing a boundary and behaving harshly.
There is a world of difference between giving information and expressing anger.
And there is a world of difference between helping a dog understand an expectation and demanding obedience through intimidation.
The existence of a boundary tells us very little about the quality of the communication. What matters is how that boundary is established, whether the dog can understand it, whether the expectation is fair, and what emotional experience accompanies it.
A boundary can be delivered calmly, thoughtfully and with complete consideration for the dog's emotional state.
It doesn't have to be confrontational.
It doesn't have to be personal.
And it certainly doesn't have to damage the relationship.
Yes and No Are Both Valuable Information
This principle extends well beyond everyday behaviour and reactivity. It's equally important in the way I approach teaching dogs in sport.
When I'm training a dog, I want them to be an active participant in the conversation.
I want a dog who is thinking, trying, experimenting and genuinely interested in understanding what I'm communicating.
And for that to happen, the information I give needs to mean something.
Yes, that's what I wanted.
No, that's not quite it. Try again.
Both pieces of information have value.
In fact, one of the great arts of dog training is learning how to communicate that something isn't correct in a way that is not only clearly understood, but also motivating for the dog.
I'm not interested in establishing authority for the sake of authority.
I'm interested in communication.
When a dog is highly motivated to participate in training, information becomes valuable to them. They want to understand. They want to discover what works. They become increasingly interested in reading their handler and recognising the meaning behind the information being offered.
A well-communicated "no" doesn't have to diminish that desire.
Handled thoughtfully, it can give the dog another reason to try, to think and to pay attention.
Of course, this requires us to be good teachers. The dog needs to understand the task, have the ability to succeed and feel confident enough to try again when something isn't quite right.
If my dog becomes worried, frustrated or reluctant to participate, then I need to consider what my communication is creating.
But I don't believe the answer is to remove all information other than praise.
Because if everything we say is simply "yes", regardless of what's happening, then what are we actually communicating?
At some point, we're no longer having a conversation.
We're just cheerleading.
And cheerleading, however enthusiastic, isn't necessarily meaningful communication.
Communication Must Be a Two-Way Conversation
This is something I return to constantly in my teaching.
Good communication isn't simply about being positive. It's about being relevant.
It's about recognising what's happening with the individual in front of us and responding accordingly.
Sometimes that means encouragement. Sometimes reassurance. Sometimes an invitation to try something different. And sometimes it means communicating a clear boundary.
But whatever information we're giving, it needs to relate to what's actually happening.
If I'm celebrating enthusiastically while my dog is confused, disengaged or trying to tell me something else entirely, then I'm not necessarily communicating well simply because my intentions are positive.
I'm broadcasting.
The relationship becomes meaningful when the information moves in both directions.
I need to listen to my dog just as much as I expect my dog to listen to me.
And I need to make sure that what I communicate has relevance to the conversation we're having.
The Strange Contradiction in Our Training Culture
There's another aspect of this conversation that I find particularly troubling.
Within parts of the dog training community, there's a very strong movement towards what is often described as "purely positive" training.
And yet, I've witnessed some extraordinarily hostile communication directed towards trainers who work differently.
There's something deeply contradictory about promoting kindness, compassion and the avoidance of aversive experiences for dogs, while simultaneously communicating with other human beings through ridicule, hostility and public condemnation.
I don't believe this represents everyone who advocates for reward-based training. Far from it.
But the hostility exists, and I think it's having consequences.
Handlers are becoming frightened of doing something as ordinary as telling their dog "no", for fear that they'll be judged as unkind or even abusive.
And that's a serious problem.
We should absolutely challenge genuinely harmful training practices. We should question methods, examine the emotional experiences we're creating for dogs and continue to improve the standards of our profession.
But we also need to make room for thoughtful discussion, nuance and different approaches to communication.
A handler establishing a fair boundary is not automatically mistreating their dog.
And treating them as though they are doesn't help anyone, least of all the dog.
If we're going to champion thoughtful, compassionate communication, perhaps we should consider how consistently we apply those principles to one another.
The Relationship Is the Centre of Everything
For me, good dog training has never been about choosing between kindness and boundaries.
It's about understanding how both can exist within a healthy relationship.
I want my dogs to feel confident, capable and enthusiastic about working with me.
I want them to have opinions. I want them to communicate those opinions. I want them to be active participants in their education.
And I also want them to understand that there are expectations, limits and occasions when something they would like to do isn't appropriate.
Those things are not incompatible.
In fact, I believe they belong together.
A good relationship isn't one in which we only ever tell the other individual what they want to hear.
It's one in which communication is meaningful, expectations are understandable, and both individuals can develop trust in the information being exchanged.
Our responsibility as trainers is not simply to make every moment pleasant. It's to help dogs develop the understanding, resilience and confidence to navigate a world that won't always be straightforward.
That means listening.
It means advocating.
It means encouraging and rewarding.
And sometimes, it means saying no.
Because boundaries aren't the opposite of a good relationship. When they're fair, clear and thoughtfully communicated, they can be part of what makes that relationship work.
Deliverance Dogs — Relationship at the Centre of Training