Apparently, I’m a greedy, greedy man.
- RuffStartDogTraining
- 2 days ago
- 3 min read
Disclaimer:
This isn't aimed at any one person.
I've just had a rather impressive run of enquiries that have gone absolutely nowhere — including a few where I've carried out visits, written and sent full reports and training plans, provided advice and support… and then somehow ended up with neither a client nor any money.
So, before I spontaneously combust into a cloud of unpaid invoices and emotional damage, I thought I'd get it off my chest.
No animals were harmed in the making of this rant.
Normal Ruff Start service will resume shortly.
Probably once I've stopped glaring at my bank account.
Apparently, I charge money to train dogs.
And this, it seems, makes me terribly greedy.
Every now and then someone contacts me because they're really struggling with their dog.
So, because I'm an idiot…
I ask questions. Lots of questions.
What's happening?
When does it happen?
What happens beforehand?
What's the dog's history?
What have you tried?
If safe send me a video and we can talk about it.
Then I start thinking about the dog.
I'm walking mine, thinking about theirs.
I'm drinking coffee, thinking about theirs.
I'm in the shower and suddenly think, “Actually… I wonder if that's happening because…”
Before long I've mentally designed their training/management plan and become emotionally invested in a dog I've never met.
And then I start giving advice.
Because I genuinely want to help.
Eventually comes the question:
“How much do you charge?”
I show them where it is on my website.
And then…
POOF.
Gone.
Vanished into the WhatsApp wilderness.
And I'm left thinking:
“Hang on… have I accidentally done the consultation?”
Apparently, yes.
So, purely in the interests of proving just how outrageously wealthy I must be, I thought I'd have a look at what Ruff Start actually costs me every month.
My glamorous business vehicle is a 20 plus year-old Nissan X-Trail.
It needs business insurance, fuel, servicing, MOT, tax, tyres, repairs, breakdown cover and a little money put aside for the next time something goes “bang” and falls off.
Then there's:
Training equipment and treats.
Website and domain.
Phone.
Professional and public liability insurance.
Work clothes and boots.
Washing muddy clothes and dog towels.
Business banking.
Professional development and training.
All of that comes to roughly £600 a month before I've paid myself a penny.
And then there's tax.
There's always bloody tax.
Then add the hours spent answering messages, writing plans, travelling, paperwork, studying, researching, creating resources and generally thinking about other people's dogs when I should probably be thinking about my own.
Oh, and my own dogs have this annoying habit of requiring food and veterinary care.
While I love my vets they are also a business and not quite as committed to the concept of an NHS as I am.
Unlike being employed, I don't get sick pay, holiday pay, a pension or someone else paying the bills when I can't/dont work.
So yes.
I am clearly a greedy, greedy man.
Because when someone pays me £150 for several hours of assessment, planning and support — which can easily represent 20+ hours of work once everything is included — I obviously immediately rush out and buy my yacht.
Unfortunately, my yacht appears to be a old X-Trail I got from my father-in-law, which occasionally sounds like I'm dragging a body behind it.
The reality is that when you pay a professional for their time, you're not just paying for the hours you physically spend with them.
You're helping pay for everything that makes those hours possible.
And yes, I give advice before someone books.
Because I'm a decent human being.
And apparently have terrible business boundaries.
But eventually my brain has to remember:
“Chris. You have a business.”
If I'm not the right trainer for you, that's absolutely fine.
If you can't afford me, that's absolutely fine.
Just tell me.
I'd much rather hear “Sorry Chris, that's more than we're looking to spend” than spend hours trying to help, only to be ghosted the moment the word money appears.
No hard feelings.
I'll still wonder how your dog is getting on, though.
Because apparently…
I care.
And that's probably why I became a dog trainer in the first place.
Greedy?
Apparently.
Rich?
Have you seen my car?
Rant over.
Comments