The dog daddy

I've been doing something slightly dangerous lately.

I've been researching dog trainers.

I have a file full of partly written articles.

Not just trainers I agree with.

Actually, quite the opposite.

I've been looking at different trainers, different philosophies, different approaches and different arguments because I don't think much is gained from sitting in an echo chamber telling yourself that everyone on the other side is an idiot. I want to test my beliefs; I want to sit here stare at my coffee and think maybe I'm wrong. Possibly more importantly If I'm going to criticise someone, I want to understand them first.

What do they believe?

Why do they do it?

What do they get right?

What can I learn from them?

And I've found that with almost every trainer I've looked at, even the ones who make me want to bang my head against a wall, I can usually find something.

Something I respect.

Something they've made me think about.

Something I might even agree with.

Sometimes it's a tiny thing.

Sometimes it's actually quite a lot.

But I can normally find a reason to say:

"Right. I don't agree with you, but I can see why people listen to you."

Then the algorithm decided to reintroduce me to The Dog Daddy.

Actually, that's not entirely true.

The algorithm has been introducing me to The Dog Daddy real name Augusto DeOliveira, repeatedly. 

Because apparently once you've watched enough dog-training content, the internet decides what you really need in your life is a walking advert for birth control, a lead, a frightened-looking dog and enough dramatic editing to make you wonder whether you've accidentally clicked on the trailer for Fast & Furious: Canine Drift.

So I've watched.

I've researched.

I've gone looking for context.

I've tried, genuinely, to find something positive I can say.

And this is where things get awkward.

I can't.

I've tried.

I really have.

With other trainers, I've deliberately looked for the good because I don't think it's intellectually honest to write a piece that simply says:

"Look at this terrible person. Aren't I clever?"

That's not analysis.

That's a Facebook argument with paragraphs.

But with The Dog Daddy, I keep coming back to the same problem.

I don't want to praise what I'm seeing.

I'm not going to invent something nice just because a balanced article apparently requires me to say:

"Of course, he clearly loves dogs."

Maybe he does.

I'm not inside his head.

And frankly, whether somebody loves dogs is not the professional standard by which I want dog training judged.

I love dogs.

Lots of dog trainers love dogs.

Lots of dog owners love dogs.

Love isn't a training method.

What matters is what we actually do with the animal in front of us.

And what that animal experiences while we're doing it.

That's where my problem starts.

Because I think there is a fundamental difference between changing behaviour and changing the reason for the behaviour.

And I think we've become dangerously comfortable pretending those are the same thing.

A dog stops barking.

Great.

But why did it stop?

A dog stops lunging.

Fantastic.

But what changed?

A dog suddenly walks beautifully past another dog.

Wonderful.

But what did the dog learn?

Because "the behaviour stopped" is not the end of the conversation.

It is the beginning of it.

Did the dog become less frightened?

Did it learn a different response?

Did it gain confidence?

Did it learn that its owner can help it?

Did it learn that the thing it was worried about isn't actually as frightening as it thought?

Or did it simply learn that doing the wrong thing has consequences it really doesn't want?

Those are very different outcomes.

That's the bit that bothers me about this kind of content.

It is spectacular.

It's dramatic.

And that's precisely the problem.

Because dog training isn't supposed to be a spectator sport.

The dog doesn't know it's making good television.

It doesn't know there are millions of people watching.

It doesn't know that someone is going to edit the footage, add music, cut out the boring bits and turn the whole thing into a three-minute story about a trainer who "fixed" a difficult dog.

The dog just experiences what happens to it.

And that should matter more than whether people enjoyed watching it.

I've worked with frightened dogs.

I've worked with rescue dogs.

I've worked with dogs whose behaviour makes absolutely no sense if you only look at the behaviour and don't bother looking underneath it.

I've seen dogs who are terrified.

I've seen dogs who are overwhelmed.

I've seen dogs who have learned that the only way to make something go away is to make a huge bloody fuss about it.

And I've seen what happens when people treat that behaviour as defiance.

Because sometimes the dog isn't saying:

"I'm going to ignore you."

Sometimes it's saying:

"I genuinely don't know what else to do."

Those dogs don't need a trainer to win.

They need somebody to listen.

And that's where I find myself getting properly angry.

Because there seems to be an increasing appetite for people like Augusto DeOliveira making dog "training" that looks like a battle.

Trainer versus dog.

Trainer takes control.

Dog resists.

Trainer increases pressure.

Dog eventually stops.

Cue dramatic music.

Cue triumphant trainer.

Cue comments about how amazing it is.

And I'm sitting there thinking:

Why are we celebrating the cartoon winning a fight with a dog?

What exactly is the prize?

A dog that has learned that the human holding the lead is stronger than it is?

Congratulations.

You have defeated an animal that weighs considerably less than you.

Would you like a certificate?

Maybe a little trophy?

Perhaps a badge saying "Successfully Intimidated Something With Four Legs."

Because that isn't the achievement I want to celebrate.

I want the dog to be better equipped to deal with life.

I want the owner to understand their dog.

I want the dog to understand what its human is asking.

I want communication.

I want cooperation.

I want the dog to have choices where choices are appropriate.

I want the owner to know what to do when things go wrong.

And I want the progress to still exist when the camera is turned off.

Because that's the bit nobody gets to see.

The boring bit.

The bit where you work below threshold.

The bit where you change the environment.

The bit where you manage triggers.

The bit where you teach the owner to read body language.

The bit where you discover that yesterday's successful distance isn't today's successful distance because the dog is tired, stressed, in pain, overwhelmed or has already had three difficult things happen.

The bit where progress isn't linear.

The bit where you go home and think:

"Well, that was absolutely bloody exhausting, but we moved two inches in the right direction."

That doesn't make particularly exciting content.

But it can make a real difference to a dog's life.

And then we come to the inevitable:

"But it works."

Yes.

I'm aware.

At the end of the video it appeared to have worked. I doubt he would have posted it if it didn't look that way.

I've never understood why people think this ends the discussion.

If a behaviour stops, something has worked.

The real question is what worked, and what did it teach?

Pain works.

Fear works.

Intimidation works.

Suppression works.

Management works.

Reinforcement works.

Avoidance works.

Habit works.

Medication can work.

Changing the environment can work.

There are lots of things that can change behaviour.

That doesn't mean they're all equally appropriate.

And it certainly doesn't mean they're all equally kind.

So when somebody tells me:

"But look! The dog isn't doing it anymore!"

I'm tempted to answer:

"Yes, I have functioning eyesight."

The more interesting question is why.

Because if your entire argument for a method is that the dog stopped doing the thing, you've told me remarkably little.

This isn't just some obscure argument between trainers.

This stuff is being watched by enormous audiences.

People who don't necessarily know what they're looking at.

People who may have a frightened rescue dog at home.

People who have just brought home their first puppy.

People whose dog growled at another dog yesterday and who are now wondering whether they've got a "dominant" dog.

People who are exhausted.

People who are desperate.

People who have been told by somebody else that their dog is stubborn, aggressive, dominant, difficult or broken.

And those people are watching.

They're learning.

They're copying.

And that responsibility matters.

Because if the lesson they take away is:

"When my dog doesn't do what I want, I need to make it."

then we've failed them.

We've taught them control instead of communication.

And the dog pays the price for that lesson.

This isn't just my personal opinion either.

There has been significant international criticism of Augusto DeOliveira methods.

There have been protests and petitions surrounding appearances, cancelled tour dates, and public criticism from professional organisations in the veterinary and animal-training world.

That doesn't automatically make every criticism correct.

I'm perfectly capable of saying that.

But it does mean this isn't simply:

"Some random trainer on Facebook doesn't like him."

There is a much wider professional conversation happening here.

And I'm quite happy to be part of it.

Because I don't think criticism of dog training should be dismissed simply because the person doing the criticising uses a different methodology.

Sometimes somebody needs to stand there and say:

"Hang on. Why are we applauding this?"

And apparently today that's going to be me.

Because I don't want to be the trainer who can make a frightened dog look obedient.

I want to be the trainer who can help a frightened dog become less frightened.

Those aren't necessarily the same thing.

And perhaps that's why I have struggled so much to find something nice to say about Augusto DeOliveira.

I've found plenty to say about his reach.

His audience.

His ability to create dramatic content.

His ability to make people watch.

Those are real skills.

But they are the skills of an entatainer they aren't the skills I'm looking for in a dog trainer.

Because if the trainer becomes the most interesting thing in the room, I'm already suspicious.

The dog should be the interesting thing.

The dog should be the reason we're here.

Not the trainer's ego.

Not the spectacle.

Not the dramatic before-and-after.

Not the hero narrative.

Not the applause.

The bloody dog.

And that's the thing I keep coming back to.

Augusto DeOliveira seems to have become the main character in his own dog-training story.

And the dogs?

They're supporting actors.

Props in somebody else's demonstration of how much control they can exert.

And I find that profoundly uncomfortable.

It's less dog training and more theatre, with a dog unfortunate enough to have been cast in a supporting role.

It's a travelling demonstration of why context matters.

It's what happens when confidence becomes the evidence of competence.

It's a TikTok algorithm wearing trousers.

And perhaps the most spectacularly unnecessary audition for the role of World's Most inept PE Teacher I've ever seen.

But underneath all the sarcasm, there is something much more serious.

I don't care whether a trainer looks impressive.

I care whether the dog is okay.

I don't care whether the trainer wins.

I care whether the dog learns.

I don't care whether the footage makes good entertainment.

I care what happens to that dog when the cameras are gone.

And I don't care whether somebody thinks I'm being too emotional about it.

Yes. I'm emotional.

I'm a dog trainer.

I'm supposed to care what happens to the bloody dog.

So no.

I haven't found anything nice to say about Augusto DeOliveira.

I've tried.

The algorithm kept handing him to me.

I've watched.

I've researched.

I've questioned my own assumptions.

And I've come out the other side with exactly the same conclusion.

No.

I'm not impressed.

I'm not entertained.

And I'm certainly not going to pretend that making a dog surrender is the same thing as helping a dog.

Because I don't want to make dogs afraid of getting things wrong.

I want to teach people how to help their dogs get things right.

And if that makes me the villain in somebody else's dog-training story...

Fine.

I've started my villain arc anyway.

At least my weapon of choice is cheese.