One of the biggest lessons I learned early in my career is something that seems obvious now, but it took years of working with thousands of dogs to truly understand:

Every dog is different.

When I was starting out, I naturally wanted to find the things that worked and repeat them. But dogs quickly taught me that there is no universal formula. Two dogs can be the same breed, the same age, and even live in the same house—and respond completely differently to the exact same training.

I remember working with dogs that seemed almost impossible to motivate with food. You could have the best treat in your hand, and they would look at you as if you were holding a piece of cardboard. Then you pulled out a tennis ball and suddenly you had their complete attention.

Another dog might completely ignore the ball but would do anything for a piece of chicken.

And then there were dogs whose greatest reward wasn’t food or a toy at all. It was praise. A “good dog,” a pat on the chest, getting to interact with their handler, or simply knowing they had done something right could be incredibly motivating.

That taught me an important principle:

A reward is only a reward if the dog actually values it.

We sometimes assume that because something is rewarding to us—or because we’ve been told it should be rewarding to a dog—it automatically has value to that particular dog. It doesn’t.

Motivation is individual.

Some dogs are highly food motivated. Some are ball crazy. Some are motivated by movement, play, attention, praise, access to something they want, or simply the opportunity to engage with their handler.

The trainer’s job is to figure out what makes that particular dog want to work.

Learning to Read the Dog

That realization changed the way I approached training.

Instead of asking, “What do I want to teach this dog?” I began asking:

“What motivates this dog, and how can I use that motivation to teach?”

That requires paying attention.

You have to watch the dog—not just the behavior you’re trying to change. You learn to recognize when a dog is engaged, frustrated, confused, excited, nervous, overstimulated, or simply bored.

Those observations became just as important to me as the commands themselves.

I also learned that sometimes what looks like stubbornness isn’t stubbornness at all. A dog may not understand what you’re asking. The reward may not be valuable enough. The environment may be too distracting. The dog may be overwhelmed. Or the trainer may simply be communicating poorly.

That’s an important lesson for any trainer: when the dog isn’t getting it, don’t automatically blame the dog. Look at your own approach first.

My Early Mistakes Were Teachers Too

I made mistakes. Every trainer does.

Early in my career, there were times when I thought the answer was simply to be more persistent—to keep asking, keep correcting, or keep pushing until the dog complied.

Experience taught me that persistence and communication aren’t the same thing.

Sometimes pushing harder gets you compliance. But compliance isn’t necessarily understanding, and it certainly doesn’t always create a dog that wants to work with you.

The best training happens when the dog understands what you’re asking and has a reason to participate.

That doesn’t mean every dog gets to make the rules. Quite the opposite. Dogs need structure, boundaries, consistency, and clear expectations. But the best trainers learn how to establish those things while also understanding the individual dog standing in front of them.

My Mentors Reinforced That Lesson

My early experiences with other trainers and working dogs reinforced this idea.

I was fortunate to learn from people with very different backgrounds—from my brother Michael, who operated a professional training business in Cleveland, to experienced working-dog trainers in Europe and professionals involved in police and protection work.

Working around highly trained dogs showed me just how different motivation, temperament, drive, and learning ability could be from one dog to another.

It also taught me not to become overly attached to any single training philosophy.

The dog should determine how you communicate—not the other way around.

What I Eventually Came to Understand

After years of working with dogs, I realized that dog training is really a combination of science, observation, timing, communication, and experience.

You can learn techniques from a book. You can learn commands. You can learn equipment.

But you have to learn to read the dog.

And that’s something you develop by spending thousands of hours with dogs.

Today, when I meet a new dog, I don’t start by assuming what will motivate it. I start by observing it.

What gets its attention?

What does it naturally gravitate toward?

What makes it excited?

What makes it uncomfortable?

How does it respond to pressure?

How does it respond to praise?

Does it want food? A ball? A toy? Interaction? Movement? Access to something it wants?

Once you understand those things, you have the beginnings of a training strategy.

That’s one of the biggest lessons my early years with dogs taught me:

There is no such thing as “the dog.” There is only the dog in front of you.

And if you learn to understand that individual dog—what motivates it, what concerns it, how it learns, and how it communicates—you have a much better chance of becoming the kind of trainer that dog actually needs.