I don't Agree With Robert Cabral. And That's Exactly Why I Like Listening To Him
I Don
There.
I've said it.
I'm a dog trainer. He's a dog trainer.
I disagree with some things he does.
You’ve probably seen some of his videos.
Maybe you've come across one of his videos filmed in a shelter, where Robert is standing with a particular dog that needs a home.
A dog that's been overlooked.
A dog that's struggling.
A dog that somebody needs to take a chance on.
And that's actually a big part of what made me pay attention to him in the first place.
Because underneath all the arguments about training methods, tools and ideology, there's a bloke who has spent a lot of time working with dogs that other people have struggled with or given up on.
And that matters to me.
Because rescue dogs are kind of my thing.
So when I listen to Robert talk about those dogs, I find myself agreeing with quite a lot of what he's saying.
Which makes the bits I disagree with rather more interesting.
Because it's much easier to dismiss someone when you think they're completely wrong.
It's considerably harder when you think they're right about some very important things.
I really like listening to Robert Cabral.
And that's exactly why this article is slightly awkward.
Because we've got ourselves into a rather strange place in dog training where, if you disagree with someone's methods, you're apparently supposed to disagree with everything they say.
And I'm not sure that's how thinking works.
The problem with choosing a team.
I've written quite a lot in the past about the tribalism that seems to have developed around dog training.
Positive.
Balanced.
Force-free.
Science-based.
Traditional.
Relationship-based.
Whatever label we're using this week.
Once we've picked our team, it becomes remarkably easy to dismiss everything said by the other team.
If they're a “balanced” trainer, everything they say must be wrong.
If they're “force-free”, they're obviously unrealistic.
If they're “science-based”, they're probably just hiding behind studies.
If they're a celebrity trainer, they're only in it for the money.
And if they disagree with us?
Well, obviously they're an idiot.
It's a wonderfully efficient way of never having to think too hard.
And I don't want to do that.
So here's my confession:
I personally wouldn't do some of the things Robert does.
I also think he gets some things very, very right. I'm quite comfortable holding both opinions at the same time.
Relationship, learning, then correction
There's a phrase Robert uses that I've been thinking about quite a lot:
Relationship, learning, then correction.
And honestly?
I think that's pretty close to perfect.
Not because I agree with everything that comes after the word correction, but because I think the order matters.
Relationship first.
Before I expect a dog to work with me, I need to have built some kind of relationship with them.
Trust.
Communication.
Predictability.
Engagement.
I need the dog to have some reason to believe that I'm worth listening to.
I don't think relationship is some fluffy extra that gets added once the “real” training has finished.
It's arguably the most important part of the training.
It's why I try to emphasise that it's my job to teach the owner and the owner's job to teach the dog.
Then comes learning.
And this is where I think the phrase gets particularly interesting.
Has the dog actually learned what I'm asking?
Have I taught the behaviour properly?
Have I given them enough reinforcement and repetition?
Have I gradually increased the difficulty?
Have I considered the environment they're in?
Are they actually capable of making the choice I'm asking them to make right now?
Because if the answer to those questions is no, we're not at the correction stage yet.
We're still at the learning stage.
And that matters.
Because if I ask a dog to do something they haven't properly learned, I'm not correcting a mistake they've made.
I'm correcting my own failure to teach it.
Now, sometimes the dog has learned.
Sometimes they understand what we're asking and still make a different choice.
That's where I diverge.
I don't use e-collars, I don't use prong collars.
Both are banned here anyway, but honestly, I don't think it's quite that simple.
Because saying:
“Robert uses e-collars and prong collars.” and leaving it there would give a pretty misleading impression.
Does he use them?
Yes.
Does he use them for everything?
No.
That would be ridiculous.
I'm also certain there are a huge number of things he considers before getting to that point. I don't want to create a caricature of somebody simply because I disagree with part of their methodology.
His argument isn't, as far as I understand it, “Put an e-collar on every dog and zap it until it behaves.”
That's a frankly ridiculous idea.
His argument is considerably more complicated than that. If I'm going to disagree with someone, I think I owe them enough intellectual honesty to disagree with what they're actually saying.
Where I do disagree is with the tools I would choose once the dog has learned.
I wouldn't use them.
I don't have the knowledge or experience to use a prong or e-collar safely, and I have enough sense to be able to say that.
I also don't believe I need one for the work I do.
That's enough reason for me not to use one.
I've also read a lot about these tools, and I'm not convinced the evidence base is nearly as straightforward as some people on either side of the argument would have you believe. Pick up the book "bad science" and then read one of the studies. I've talked f about this in other post so I wont bore you with the details.
Just because I wont use one doesn't mean I have to pretend that everyone who uses one reaches for it first.
It doesn't mean I have to dismiss everything else they know because I disagree with that particular tool.
In fact, doing that would be exactly the sort of tribal thinking I'm trying to get away from.
Because correction is a very broad word.
Changing direction can be a correction.
Removing access to something can be a correction.
Interrupting a behaviour can be a correction.
Lead pressure can be a correction.
A verbal interrupter can be a correction.
Those things aren't interchangeable simply because they can all sit under the same heading.
So I can look at Robert's sequence and think:
Relationship? Yes.
Learning? Absolutely.
Correction? That's where the conversation starts.
Not just about whether a correction exists, but about what it is, why it's being used, what the dog understands from it, what the dog experiences, and whether it was necessary.
Perhaps that's the bit I find most useful about the whole idea?
It forces me to ask a question I think every trainer should be asking themselves, regardless of what tools they use:
Has this dog actually been given a fair opportunity to learn before I decide they need a consequence?
Because sometimes the answer will be yes.
And sometimes the honest answer will be:
No.
And if it's no, the next thing I need isn't a correction.
It's better teaching.
Every tool can be used badly.
I think there's another important point here.
I don't have the knowledge or experience to use something like an e-collar safely.
That's not me pretending the tool doesn't exist.
It's not me claiming that everyone who uses one is automatically cruel.
It's me recognising my own limitations.
I think that principle should apply to every tool we use.
A collar can be used badly.
A lead can be used badly.
A harness can be used badly.
A muzzle can be used badly.
Food can be used badly.
And yes, even your voice can be used badly.
Nothing magically becomes good practice simply because we like the tool.
The question isn't just:
“Is this tool good or bad?”
It's also:
“Do I understand this tool well enough to use it responsibly, ethically and do I actually need it for this dog?”
Sometimes the answer is no.
That's why I don't use an e-collar.
Not because I've decided everyone who does is a monster.
Not because Robert Cabral uses one and therefore everything he says must be wrong.
Not because I think my own approach/methods are somehow incapable of being misused.
I'd be worse than a hypocrite if I thought they were.
It's because I've made a professional decision about what I'm comfortable using, what I understand, and what I believe I can achieve without it.
That's a very different argument.
Listening to the message
What I find interesting about Robert is the dogs.
A huge part of his work has centred around shelter and rescue dogs.
He talks repeatedly about dogs who have been failed.
Dogs who have been given up on.
Dogs who are difficult.
Dogs who don't fit neatly into somebody's preferred training system.
His argument, essentially, is that when one approach doesn't work, we shouldn't automatically conclude that the dog is broken.
We should keep looking.
That is a message I can get behind.
I've worked with rescue dogs whose lives have already gone badly wrong.
Dogs who have been passed around.
Dogs who have been labelled.
Dogs whose behaviour has scared people.
Dogs whose owners are exhausted.
One of the most damaging things we can do to any of those dogs is decide that we've already worked out what they are.
Because once you've decided what the dog is, you stop asking questions.
The dog in front of you matters.
This is where dog training gets interesting.
Imagine two trainers.
Trainer A says:
“I want this dog to feel safe, understand what I'm asking, have a good relationship with its owner and live a better life.”
Trainer B says exactly the same thing.
But they disagree about how to get there.
One uses positive reinforcement-based methods.
The other uses positive and negative reinforcement as well as positive and negative punishment including things the dog finds adversive.
We can have a legitimate argument about which approach is most effective.
We can look at welfare.
We can look at evidence.
We can examine risks.
We can discuss individual differences.
We can ask whether the same results could be achieved without the aversive component.
We can disagree strongly.
But we don't need to invent a completely different motivation for the other person.
Someone can use a method I disagree with without being a person who doesn't care about dogs.
Someone can have excellent intentions but get things wrong.
Someone can call them self FF+R and still cause unnecessary stress.
Someone can genuinely love dogs and still make decisions I believe are wrong.
both the dog
Human beings are annoyingly complicated like that.
So are dogs.
But if you use that tool, you're cruel
I'm not going to tell you that using a particular tool automatically makes someone a terrible person.
Nor am I going to tell you that because someone genuinely loves dogs, everything they do to dogs is therefore acceptable.
Both positions are too simplistic.
We should absolutely be willing to say when we think something is harmful.
For example, I think head harnesses are horrid things.
But If you use one, I'm not interested in belittling you.
I'd rather get you to the point where you feel confident enough that you don't need it.
That's the difference.
I can strongly disagree with a method without needing to make the person using it the villain.
I can believe someone has good intentions while still arguing that I think their method causes unnecessary stress or carries unnecessary risk.
Those are two different arguments.
What matters more than the ideology
One of the things I genuinely like about Robert's philosophy is his rejection of the idea that a dog should simply be written off because it doesn't fit neatly into a particular training approach.
He has spent a lot of time working with difficult dogs in shelters, and I like to think I understand the environment he's coming from.
Shelters can't give trainers unlimited time.
Some dogs are facing enormous consequences because their behaviour is difficult to manage.
That doesn't mean I would necessarily make the same decisions.
I wouldn't.
I'd use different tools.
I might approach some dogs differently.
I might reach a different conclusion about what is appropriate for an individual dog.
But the underlying question is one I think every decent trainer should be asking:
What does this dog need from me?
Not:
Which training ideology can I prove correct?
That's a very different question.
I don't want to be a trainer who thinks they know everything
This is actually one of the reasons I like listening to people I disagree with.
They make me think.
Sometimes they make me angry.
Sometimes they make me roll my eyes so hard I'm worried they'll get stuck.
But occasionally they make me stop and think:
Hang on.
Is there something here I've missed?
That's useful.
I don't need to agree with someone to learn from them.
In fact, sometimes the people I disagree with most are the people who force me to examine my own beliefs most carefully.
If I only ever listen to people who agree with me, I'm not learning.
I'm being reassured.
Those are two very different things.
This doesn't mean everything is subjective.
Before someone accuses me of turning dog training into a giant “you do you” festival...
No.
Some things matter.
Evidence matters.
Welfare matters.
Pain matters.
Fear matters.
Stress matters.
Learning theory matters.
The consequences of our choices matter.
We absolutely should be willing to say when we think something is harmful.
I'm not arguing for moral relativism.
I'm arguing against intellectual laziness.
“Robert uses tools I don't like, therefore everything he says is rubbish” is lazy.
“Robert cares about rescue dogs, therefore everything he does must be okay” is equally lazy.
Both are shortcuts.
Dogs deserve better than shortcuts.
Maybe the real skill is being able to hold two thoughts at once
I can think:
“I don't agree with that tool.”
And:
“That's a really good point.”
At the same time.
I can think:
“I wouldn't train this dog that way.”
And:
“I understand why someone working in that environment might make a different decision.”
At the same time.
I can think:
“I strongly disagree with this trainer's statement.”
And:
“I'd still quite happily listen to what they have to say.”
At the same time.
Apparently, this is controversial.
One of the best arguments I've ever had ended in a rather strange place.
By the end of it, I was arguing their points and they were arguing mine.
We'd started out disagreeing.
But we'd actually listened to each other.
We'd tested each other's arguments.
We'd found the bits where we'd misunderstood each other.
And somewhere along the way, we both ended up making the strongest possible case for the other person's position.
That's what a good argument should do.
It shouldn't leave you thinking:
“I absolutely destroyed that idiot.”
It should leave you thinking:
“Bugger. They might have a point.”
That's how you learn.
And that's what I want more of in dog training.
So, Robert...
I don't agree with some of the tools you use.
I don't train dogs the way you do.
There are things you advocate that I would choose not to use.
And I reserve the right to say so.
But I know you've worked with and helped dogs I couldn't handle.
I really like your message about not giving up on dogs.
I like the emphasis on relationship.
I like the idea that difficult behaviour doesn't mean a difficult or bad dog.
I like the willingness to work with dogs that don't fit neatly into somebody else's training system.
And I like the fact that you make me think.
I don't need to agree with everything you say to appreciate that.
And perhaps that's the point.
Maybe the goal isn't to find the one trainer who is right about everything.
Because they don't exist.
Maybe the goal is to become the kind of trainer who can listen to someone, disagree with them, learn something from them, question them, change your mind when necessary...
...and still go home and do what you believe is right for the dog in front of you.
Without needing to turn the other trainer into a villain.
I'm still going to use my own approach.
For the avoidance of doubt, this isn't me announcing a career change.
You're not going to see me next week standing there with an e-collar.
That's not happening.
I still have my own philosophy.
I still have my own boundaries.
I still believe there are better and less risky ways of achieving many of the things people use aversive tools to achieve.
And I'm perfectly happy to argue that case.
But I'd rather argue the case than attack the person.
Because the moment I decide that someone has nothing to teach me because I disagree with them...
I've stopped being curious.
And that's probably a much bigger danger to a dog trainer — and to dogs — than using a piece of kit I disagree with.
Stay curious.
Even when the person you're listening to makes you uncomfortable.
Especially then.
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