My Business Plan Is Absolutely Rubbish

I originally started thinking about this while doing my tax return.

There's nothing quite like sitting down looking at your bank account to make you question your life choices.

At some point, I looked at the numbers and thought:

Christ. I really need to make more money.

I've spent quite a bit of time looking at other dog-training businesses recently. Some are hugely successful. Busy diaries, full courses, impressive client numbers and what appear to be rather healthy businesses.

And, if I'm being honest, I've occasionally felt a little jealous.

I mean, what's going on? What are they doing that I'm not? Why aren't I making that sort of money?

Then I started looking at my own business.

And I came to a rather uncomfortable conclusion.

My business plan is absolutely rubbish.

Not necessarily because I'm doing a bad job. In fact, the problem might be that I'm doing a good one.

My brilliant business model

Here's how I would ideally like a client appointment to go.

Someone contacts me because they're having a problem with their dog. I visit, assess the situation, look at the whole picture, explain what's happening, help them understand why it's happening, put together a plan and give them the tools to move forward.

We work through what they need to know, and I leave them feeling more confident and capable.

Then, hopefully, I never see them again.

Not because I don't like them. Not because I don't care how the dog gets on.

Quite the opposite.

I'd love to finish an appointment and be able to say:

"Brilliant. I think you've got this. Hopefully I won't see you again."

From a customer-service point of view, that's probably quite good.

From a business point of view, it's bloody stupid.

I'm effectively trying to build a business where success means the customer doesn't need to come back.

Most businesses would probably consider that a fairly serious flaw in their business model.

I teach reinforcement and apparently learn nothing

One of the things I teach owners is that behaviour is influenced by consequences.

If something works, there's a good chance it will happen again.

Apparently, I've managed to miss the application of this rather important principle to my own business.

I put a lot of time into helping someone understand their dog. I give them a plan, answer questions, explain the reasoning and try to make sure they can carry on independently.

The result?

They don't need to book another appointment.

Excellent training.

Terrible business reinforcement.

I seem to have created a system where doing a good job actively reduces my chances of earning more money.

You couldn't make it up.

The £30 lesson

This is where things get a little more complicated.

Locally, there are trainers advertising sessions for around £30. My own consultation is £100.

I can imagine someone looking at the two prices and thinking:

"Why would I pay £100 when I can get a trainer for £30?"

And I understand that.

I know money can be tight for a lot of people.

The problem is that we're not always comparing like with like.

One £30 appointment costs £30. Six appointments cost £180. Ten cost £300.

That doesn't mean six or ten appointments are unnecessary. Some dogs genuinely need ongoing support. Some owners benefit from structured programmes, repeated coaching and follow-up appointments.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

But I do question whether repeat appointments should automatically become the business model.

Some trainers certainly appear to operate in a way where a relatively inexpensive initial appointment is followed by a recommendation for a block of sessions, and perhaps another block after that.

Perhaps that's entirely appropriate for the dog and owner. I can't judge every trainer's intentions or every case.

But I don't want to build my business around that approach.

I don't want someone to book me because their dog pulls on the lead, only to discover that every other piece of the puzzle requires another appointment.

I'd rather look at the whole situation, explain what is happening and give them as much useful information as I can from the outset.

In simple terms, I'd rather charge more for a comprehensive service than charge less and rely on people needing to keep coming back.

Or, to put it another way:

I'll charge you more today so I don't have to keep charging you later.

The trouble is, I give too much away

I suspect part of my problem is that we hear so many stories about people spending thousands of pounds on trainers for what might be a relatively straightforward issue.

I really don't want anyone thinking I'm one of those trainers.

Someone might contact me because their dog won't walk nicely on a lead.

I could turn up, demonstrate a few walking techniques, give them some exercises and leave.

But that's not really how I work.

Before long, we're discussing enrichment, engagement, stress levels, routine, communication, the dog's environment and half a dozen other things.

Not because I'm trying to sell them six more appointments, but because I don't think it's particularly helpful to treat one symptom while ignoring everything around it.

If I can see something that might help that dog, I want to explain it.

I don't want to say:

"That's another problem. You'll need to book another appointment."

I always seem to end up giving people more than they've actually booked me for.

I put everything into the dogs I work with. I research, think, plan, adapt and worry about whether what I've suggested is going to work for that particular dog and owner.

And sometimes I suspect I sell myself rather short in the process.

The puppy class experiment

I've already demonstrated that I'm not particularly good at the business side of things.

A while ago, I ran a puppy class with the intention of progressing the puppies into an adolescent class.

The idea made sense. Start with puppies, build foundations, then continue supporting owners as their dogs grow up.

It was around £40 a month, with a maximum of six dogs. I needed four just to break even.

There were hall costs, equipment, insurance and, of course, my time.

For about six months, I ran that class at a loss.

People gradually dropped out until I was left with one family.

They were brilliant. They attended, practised, asked questions and genuinely wanted to learn. I loved teaching them.

But financially, I was effectively running a weekly class for one family.

I kept going because it felt wrong to stop when they were benefiting from it.

Did it generate any one-to-one clients?

No.

Perhaps I was doing such a good job they didn't need me. That's the explanation I'm sticking with because the alternative is rather depressing.

Financially ridiculous. Personally rewarding.

I'm beginning to notice a pattern here.

The business model I keep trying to change

I regularly find myself considering changing the way I run Ruff Start.

Perhaps I should offer cheaper individual sessions. Perhaps I should introduce blocks of appointments. Perhaps I should run more courses, create a membership, offer ongoing subscriptions or find some clever way of encouraging people to keep coming back.

I look at successful businesses and wonder whether I'm missing something obvious.

Maybe I should stop trying to do everything in one appointment. Maybe I should split things into smaller stages. Maybe I should be better at selling follow-up sessions.

And then I come back to the same problem.

Would I actually want to run my business that way?

I don't object to follow-up appointments. If a dog needs ongoing help, I'll happily provide it. Some cases are complicated, some take time, and some owners need more support than others.

But I don't want to create a situation where people feel they have to keep paying me simply because I haven't given them enough information to move forward independently.

I don't want to manufacture dependency.

I want people to understand their dogs, recognise what's happening and have the confidence to make good decisions without needing me standing beside them.

Perhaps that's not the most commercially sensible approach.

But it's the approach I believe in.

Apparently, I need a successful business before I can learn how to run one

I've even looked into business coaching and a business school specifically for dog trainers.

It sounded like exactly the sort of thing I needed. Some guidance on marketing, pricing, business planning and how to turn Ruff Start into something a little more financially sensible.

There was just one small catch.

I needed to already be earning over £3,000 a month before I could sign up.

Now, I'm not knocking the course. I'm sure there's some excellent advice in there, and perhaps the entry requirement makes sense from their point of view.

But I did find myself wondering:

If I was already earning over £3,000 a month from dog training, why exactly would I need the course?

At that point, the day job would be getting its two-minute notice.

Perhaps that's the problem. I'm looking for help to build a successful business, but some of the help seems to be aimed at people who have already built one.

Still, at least I know what my first business milestone is.

Apparently, I need to become successful enough to afford to learn how to become successful.

I'm sure there's a business lesson in there somewhere.

What I'd actually like to build

Here's where things get a little contradictory.

If I could build a business with fewer clients, each paying a fair price for the time, knowledge and support I put into their cases, I'd be perfectly happy.

Not because I want to make a fortune.

Because it would give me something I currently don't have enough of.

Freedom.

I'd love to be able to run free workshops for dog owners.

I'd love to occasionally take on a particularly difficult case for someone who simply couldn't afford professional help.

I'd love to give some of my time to a rescue or shelter.

I've spent time volunteering in rescue environments, and I know how difficult life can be for some of those dogs.

I'd particularly like to work with individual dogs who are struggling and help potential adopters understand them.

Not turn up and tell experienced kennel staff how to do their jobs. Many have an excellent working knowledge of the dogs in their care.

I'd like to offer practical behavioural support where it's needed, help dogs prepare for life in a home and help prospective owners understand the dog they're considering adopting.

Sometimes a dog needs someone to look beyond the behaviour they're displaying in a kennel and help people see the dog underneath it.

That could make a genuine difference to their chances of finding a home.

And that's something I'd love to be able to do.

But I can't give away time I haven't got.

If I continually undercharge, overdeliver and struggle to cover the costs of running the business, I eventually reach a point where I can't help anyone.

So perhaps charging a fair price isn't the opposite of making dog training accessible.

Perhaps it's what allows me to make more of it accessible.

So, what happens next?

I suspect I'll continue looking at other businesses, occasionally feeling jealous, and wondering whether I should change everything.

I'll probably watch another YouTube video about marketing funnels at 11.47pm, convince myself I need to completely rethink my business, and wake up the following morning wondering why I don't just concentrate on helping dogs.

I might even change the business model again.

It's entirely possible.

But I keep coming back to the same thing.

I don't want to build a business that depends on people needing me.

I want to build one that gives people what they actually need.

I'd rather have fewer clients who value the service, pay a fair price and leave feeling confident about what they're doing.

And if that eventually gives me the time and financial breathing space to help people who can't afford me, support rescue dogs and run workshops for owners, then perhaps that's a much better measure of success than how many appointments I can squeeze into a week.

Although, admittedly, it might be worth having a word with whoever designed my original business plan.

They clearly weren't paying much attention to the financial implications.

Unfortunately, that person was me.

My business plan is absolutely rubbish.

But I'm not entirely convinced I want to change the bits that matter.

There may even be a new price list coming soon. Assuming I can stop redesigning my business model long enough to actually produce one.

Watch this space. It could be exciting. It could be financially sensible. Or I might just change my mind again.