How to Find a Trainer Who Works for Kibble
I’m gearing up to head to Senegal and The Gambia to do some field observations, and my family and I headed over to a clinic to get our Yellow Fever Vaccinations. It’s required when traveling between the two countries, and it may well be prudent. We were ushered into a warmly decorated office with three chairs positioned in front of a massive computer screen.
The nurse pulled up the first page of, what turned out to be, a slide presentation on every illness known to man. My 8-year-old daughter’s eyes drew wide with horror at the cluster of images displayed on the screen. A man—face grim with pain—leaned backward to show his neck and chest, covered in a terrible red rash. A woman—skin yellowed and sallow—looked down in depression. Pus-filled sores oozed.
Quickly, and I rarely do this, I shoved my phone into my daughter’s hands. “Watch something,” I said, hoping I was quick enough to prevent nightmares.
My husband and I suffered through slide after slide warning us of the terrible diseases that could befall us on this trip. We were, after all, and she didn’t want to say it this way, “going to a third-world country.”
Once we were good and certain that we’d die a tragic death by the side of a cess pool, clutching contaminated street meat in our naive tourist hands, the nurse offered some relief. She had at her convenient disposal an array of solutions! We could inject this vaccine and those other ones too. There were pills and sprays, and powders that could be sprinkled upon food.
Then she showed us the price tag.
For the low price of $6,500 we could be “safe.”
I hate this shit.
But we’re all familiar with it these days, aren’t we?
Many years ago, I hired a fledgling trainer who believed that a new client was “standing there with their wallet open.” She was a decent trainer, a little green, but charming with humans and fun with dogs. I noticed right away that the session packages she was selling to clients were too large for the behaviors being treated. I suspected she was struggling with training techniques. So, I sat down with her to discuss ways that she could get results more efficiently, and save her clients time and money.
She looked at me aghast. Didn’t I want her to sell more training? How was she supposed to make any money (she was paid a percentage) if I made her sell fewer sessions? I tried to explain to her that when a person hires an expert to help them with something they know very little about, that expert has a moral obligation to protect that person from anyone or anything that would take advantage of their gap in knowledge. She just stared at me.
We never did see eye to eye, and she left my company and opened her own. She and many trainers like her are out there in the community trying to sell as much training as possible to people who don’t have any way of knowing how much training they actually need. They fan the flames of fear, and capitalize on vulnerability. Such con artists are difficult for an untrained eye to identify, because sometimes dogs struggle with behaviors that are dangerous, and seasoned experts are pricey. That’s how the scammers get their foot in the door.
They poke at our hearts with a needle carved from a kernel of truth.
There’s a particular kind of rot to this con, because it only works with authority figures. The doctor, the accountant, the trainer—we get handed trust in our expertise before we’ve earned it. When we use that trust to scare people into spending, it’s not just bad business: it’s betrayal.
Stacks of books teach entrepreneurs how to use such methods, as if it was the norm. Perhaps it is. They call it “marketing.” But there is such a thing as ethical marketing, and it’s the only way. Folks have called me naive my entire career, but the proof is in the kibble (“pudding” just doesn’t feel right here).
Every time I solve a client’s problems quickly and efficiently—kibble.
Every time I tell a client they don’t need more than one session—kibble.
Every time a trainer on my team helps someone in the community free of charge—kibble.
Literally every time we are honest, it comes with kibble. Because honesty is rarer than it should be.
And, of course, when we provide long-term training for a dog with a serious issue or provide holistic packages throughout puppyhood and adolescence, we cultivate trust and earn our kibble too. The price tag isn’t the issue, it’s the trickery. I don’t mind paying for a valuable service. I do mind being ripped off, especially (ESPECIALLY) when someone uses my fears to rope me in.
So how can you tell the difference?
Red Flags:
You feel scared or pressured by them when they show you the price tag. You may be scared or worried about your dog’s behavior—that’s normal—but they should be helping to calm you instead of fanning the flames.
They guarantee results or give an uninformed prognosis. Dogs are individuals, and no expert can, ethically, promise you anything in the first five minutes. It’s a sales tactic.
They are secretive or you notice some sleight-of-hand. A general idea of their typical price structure should be loud and clear somewhere on their website, and they should be able to articulate it. It’s completely normal for them to customize a quote to suit your goals and lifestyle, but their average ad hoc session price should be clear.
Yellow Flags:
They charge nothing for a consultation. This is such a common strategy for bringing in new clients that it doesn’t always warrant suspicion. Sometimes, it is genuinely a great way to build trust and get to know each other. Still, someone once told me that “There’s always a price. Find out what it is.” A free consultation usually means a sales pitch. Sales pitches themselves aren’t evil, but keep your antennae up and be sure to use the time to discover if they are honest and skilled.
You didn’t ask for much, but they insist you need everything under the sun. This one’s harder to suss out. There are times when I spot something concerning during a training session and I’ll recommend additional training. You’ll need to rely on your gut and common sense. I’ll give an example of the sort of thing you should expect from an ethical trainer in a situation like that. Once, I noticed resource guarding behaviors during a routine hyperactivity session. The high-energy behaviors only needed one session to work through, but the resource guarding needed a full package (about 3 or 4 sessions). When I told the clients, they were suspicious of a slick sales strategy. I saw the look in their eyes, and was afraid they would skip the training their dog needed simply because they did not yet trust me. So, I referred them to a trusted colleague in the neighborhood. This ensured that they got the help they needed and it convinced them beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had their best interests at heart. Truth is, I care more about the dogs than the rest of it. And, of course, they returned later for fun and games training and to express their gratitude.
Kibble.
With Love,
Amanda G