23/12/2025
Full story from my last post
A few years ago, I trained a German Shepherd named Whiskey. He was about two years old at the time—and serious as a heartbeat.
During our initial evaluation, Whiskey bit me a couple of times while I was in protective equipment. He wasn’t being “bad.” He was overwhelmed, stressed, and had no other way to communicate. At that point, there truly felt like there was no hope for him.
What saved Whiskey’s life—literally, and that’s not an understatement—was play.
Play gave us a way to bond. It gave him an outlet. It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t fear or conflict. It gave him purpose.
When his owner first came to me, I didn’t have availability to take him into my program. So instead, we started with private lessons. From day one, I told her the same thing every time we met: we had to build the game. That foundation mattered more than anything else. There was a break of a few months before I could finally take him in, and I think at that point she may have thought I had given up on them—but I hadn’t. I knew that for Whiskey and me to be successful, we needed the right outlet, something he genuinely enjoyed.
The first day I had him was incredibly stressful. All he wanted to do was attack. He was highly stressed and missing a huge piece of proper socialization and guidance from when he was a puppy. Instead of addressing the root of the problem, people had tried to suppress his reactivity—and that was never going to be the answer.
Cases like Whiskey’s are complicated. When dogs reach this point, people often think it’s easy to “fix” them with tools alone. We all know how that story ends for far too many dogs.
Training dogs like this requires compassion, patience, and a deep understanding of learning and methodology. These are sentient beings with emotions and experiences. We cannot rush to suppress behavior without understanding why it exists in the first place.
Luckily for Whiskey, he ended up in the right place at the right time.
We changed his behavior for the better—but dogs like him are never “easy.” They require maintenance, consistency, and respect. When Whiskey came back recently after years apart, I’ll be honest—I was a little worried. After the initial barking and lunging, something clicked. He remembered where he was.
We went straight back to playing.
The first few days were challenging as we both reacquainted ourselves, but what amazed me most was that he hadn’t forgotten anything. This time around, I’m truly enjoying him. He’s opened up completely—seeking affection, allowing grooming, letting me pet him everywhere.
Whiskey is a very dominant dog, and trust like this doesn’t come easily. But it’s a testament to what compassion, love, and strong foundations can achieve. The work we did years ago still lives in him.
And that’s why I do what I do.
