09/05/2026
Sue called me this week and asked for my opinion on a case.
I about dropped my phone.
Then I immediately thought, This is a test.
That probably tells you something about what it was like being Sue’s apprentice.
She used to send me short videos of dogs and ask one question: “What happens next?”
Then she would literally time my answer.
If I took too long, even if I eventually got it right:
“Well, Chris. You just got bit.”
Sue made no qualms about why she drilled body language into me so hard. If I was going to work professionally with dogs, especially dogs with significant behaviour concerns, I needed to understand what they were saying before they had to make themselves obvious.
This wasn’t just about making me a better trainer.
She told me it could save my life.
Years later, after working with plenty of dogs capable of seriously hurting me, I’ve never taken a serious bite.
There are a lot of reasons for that. Experience, management, good setups and knowing when to stop all matter.
But there have also been countless moments where I’ve seen something change in a dog and moved, stopped, created space or changed what I was doing before things escalated.
Sometimes I couldn’t even immediately tell you what I noticed. I just knew something changed.
Sue built that into me.
And I owe her more for that than she probably realizes.
But the thing that made Sue such an incredible mentor wasn’t just her ability to teach me how dogs communicate.
She refused to let me science my way through an answer.
“I’d reinforce that.”
Nope.
How?
With what?
When?
Where are you standing? Where is the dog? What is your leash doing? Which hand are you using? What happens immediately after? What happens if the dog doesn’t do what you expected?
Step by step, Chris.
She didn’t care whether I knew the terminology.
She cared whether I could actually explain what I was going to do.
She picked apart my leash handling, posture, positioning and timing. Then she made me explain why I was making every decision I made.
What are you seeing?
What changed?
What else could explain it?
What information are you missing?
What happens next?
I’ve had many, many teachers in this industry. I’ve learned from trainers, veterinarians, researchers and other professionals. I’ve taken courses and seminars, and I still spend a ridiculous amount of time studying.
I’m still a student.
But nobody has ever taught me quite like Sue did.
Because Sue didn’t just give me knowledge.
She taught me how to find an answer when I didn’t have one.
She taught me how to take a complicated behavior problem apart. Look at the dog. Look at the environment. Look at the person. Gather information. Build a theory. Then try to prove yourself wrong before you get too attached to being right.
That way of thinking became the foundation underneath everything I do.
And Sue never stopped being someone I learn from.
I still study her videos and content. I know her dogs. She knows mine. We talk openly about cases, education, business, what’s working, what isn’t and what we’re trying to build.
She also regularly tells me I work too much.
She’s right.
I’m apparently a slower learner in that department.
When I noticed that tiny change in Kairo’s gait recently, Sue was my first phone call.
I was worried about my dog, and I wanted another set of eyes I trusted.
I called hers.
That’s how much her judgment still means to me.
She also knows my imposter syndrome better than most.
She knew the apprentice who could get nine things right and spend the drive home obsessing over the tenth. She knew how badly I wanted to be good at this and how easily that became wondering whether I was good enough at all.
At one point she sat me down, broke down my work and told me I was one of the most talented apprentices she had seen in years.
I barely believed her.
She knew that too.
She never lowered the standard because I doubted myself. She kept holding me to it.
She wasn’t trying to convince me I was a good trainer.
She was helping me become a better one.
So this week, Sue called.
She told me about a case and asked:
“What do you think?”
Immediately, apprentice Christopher showed up.
What am I missing?
I listened, asked some questions and reviewed notes, and a little footage. We talked through it before I gave her my theory.
Then she paused.
And I thought, Here it comes.
Except it didn’t.
She was thinking.
She asked me a couple more questions, worked through what I was suggesting and then applied it to her case.
That fu**ed with me a little.
Because this is still someone I study.
Someone I call.
Someone whose opinion I trust enough that when something looked wrong with my own dog, she was the first person I wanted to talk to.
And now she was thoughtfully considering mine.
Not because I’ve surpassed my mentor.
I haven’t. Not by a long shot.
I’m still her student. Tomorrow I could very easily be the one calling her, and I hope there are many more years of that.
But maybe that’s what I misunderstood about being a student.
You don’t eventually reach some point where you stop needing the people who taught you.
You just become capable of contributing something back.
Sue taught me how dogs communicate.
She taught me lessons that have probably kept me from getting seriously hurt.
She taught me not to hide behind terminology.
She taught me how to take a problem apart when I didn’t know the answer.
More than anything, she taught me how to question everything.
And this week, the woman who taught me how to look deeper called because she wanted to know what I thought.
She listened.
She considered it.
And she used it.
I think I’m going to be sitting with that one for a while.
I’m still the student.
Apparently, every once in a while, the teacher just wants to see my notes.
And I'm honored she values my opinion enough to call for it.