4 Big Lessons I’m Doing Differently with Arya (and Why It Matters)
During my period of pontification, I continued to learn, study and expand my education. It was also a period of reflection of things I did right, things I did wrong and things that didn’t quite work with Ace and Ava. When I first brought Arya home, something in me felt different. This wasn’t just another puppy. It was a clean slate. A new beginning. And this was a chance to apply everything I’ve learned—about dogs, yes, but mostly about myself.
I’ve loved and trained dogs before, but I’ve also made mistakes. I’ve been impatient. I’ve been inconsistent. I’ve held myself to impossible standards. This time, I’m choosing to slow down, listen more, and lead with intention.
Here’s what I’m doing differently with Arya—and why those changes matter more than I ever expected. First up at bat is:
More focus on calm energy before action. Mostly.
If you’ve seen any of my YouTube videos on crate training, you’ll know I’m a big fan of it. That doesn’t just mean getting your dog to go into the crate when asked—it means teaching them to be in the crate calmly. That takes time and patience.
Arya, for the most part, is doing really well with her crate. But she still gets worked up sometimes—randomly during the night or when she hears something off in the distance. It can be annoying, sure. But instead of reacting to the excitement, I wait for her to settle down before I let her out. I reward the calm, not the chaos. This is something I didn’t do enough with Ace and Ava. Back then, if they barked, I’d tell them to be quiet, even if they weren’t ready to understand what I wanted—especially Ava.
The leash, on the other hand, is a whole different story.
While I’ve started heeling work in our training sessions, I haven’t attached a formal command to it yet. Most of our walks are loose and relaxed. I’ve maybe lured her into heel position a handful of times, but outside of that, I let Arya explore. Be curious. Roam a bit.
What I used to do—day one—was start leash training with corrections. If they pulled or walked too far ahead, I’d pop the leash. And because of that, our walks didn’t go far. Exposure was limited unless we specifically took them somewhere. Ace got out a lot. Ava, on the other hand, struggled. She was reactive, loud, and high-strung. And it wasn’t fair to her. Going from being over-stimulated and unstructured to a bunch of harsh leash pops didn’t work. There has to be a middle ground.
That’s what I’m aiming for with Arya: balance. Don’t get that confused with balanced training.
I’m still training, but I’m not setting her up to fail. On our walks, she’s allowed to sniff and pull a bit—within reason. I want to preserve her drive. I see it as foundational for future bite work or any other high-intensity work she may do. At the same time, I’m making sure she meets and sees as many new people as possible, keeping her social, grounded, and curious.
2. Why Mistakes Are Required - For Both Of Us
Puppies will fail. That’s not only expected—it’s essential. They won’t understand immediately. They’ll look awkward, unsure, uncoordinated. And the same goes for me. I won’t always read her right. I’ll miscommunicate. I’ll be off balance. That’s part of it too.
We’re learning a rhythm together. Like two dance partners who’ve just met, we have to figure out how each other moves. Where she steps, how I lead, what feels natural and what needs time. It’s clunky at first—sometimes even frustrating. But clunky doesn't mean broken. It means we’re in motion.
“Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves up.”
– Alfred Pennyworth, Batman Begins
Mistakes are a built-in part of the process. That doesn’t mean we lean into failure recklessly—but it means we don’t overreact when it happens. My goal isn’t to chase perfection; it’s to build effort through connection. I want Arya and I to enjoy the journey together, not be paralyzed by whether we got everything “right.”
When she gets something wrong—or I do—I’m not going to let that moment define the day. I’m going to use it to teach, to adjust, to breathe. That’s what growth looks like. If you watched AM Series #11, you’ll notice we started off a little out of sync. She was off, I was off. But instead of letting that derail us, we adapted. And we left that session better than we started—on a high note.
That’s the game. Show up. Learn. Make mistakes. Regroup. Keep going—with patience, with grace, and with trust in the process.
So if you're training your own dog—or even just trying to be better in your own life—remember: it’s okay to stumble. Just don’t stop the dance. Give yourself and your dog the space to fail forward.
Change 3: Building relationship before obedience
Everyone wants an obedient dog. Of course we do—why wouldn’t we? But most people go about it backward. Not all—some dogs are naturally easygoing or biddable, and if you've got one of those outliers, you probably didn’t have to think much about relationship building.
But for the rest of us, raising a puppy is work. Even I forgot how much until I brought Arya home. So I completely get it.
Still, if you're asking for obedience without first building a relationship—without trust, without respect—you’re setting yourself up for frustration. At best, you’ll get half-hearted compliance. At worst, you’ll get resistance or fear. And even if the commands work now, they won’t hold up under pressure or over time.
It’s the classic question: would you rather be feared or respected?
Or as Michael Scott puts it:
“Would you rather be feared or loved? Easy. I want people to fear how much they love me.”
– The Office
That’s why my focus, especially early on, is on relationship—not obedience. When you build trust, your dog starts to bond with you. That bond becomes the foundation for respect, and respect is what makes them want to listen, follow, and stay connected.
So, how do you build a relationship with a dog? The same way you do with people: consistency, patience, time, and shared experiences. Let them learn who you are. Show them they’re safe. Be reliable.
Obedience is a skill—yes. It can be trained, refined, and sharpened. But relationship is the bridge that gets you there—and keeps you connected, even when things go off-script. Obedience is a skill. Trust is a bond. Train both.
Change 4: The Danger Of Comparison & The Power Of Patience
One thing I knew I had to change was my impatience. With Ace — and especially Ava — I pushed too hard, too fast. I wanted results early. I wanted them to impress people. I was chasing an image, not the process.
And with my ego leading the way, I put them in situations they weren’t ready for. They weren’t emotionally or mentally there yet, but I wanted obedience and performance. So instead of building step by step, I had to constantly go backwards — back to basics — because I skipped too far ahead.
If I had spent more time reinforcing fundamentals and letting them own the behaviors I wanted, we wouldn’t have had to restart so much. It’s not that public outings or higher distractions are bad — they’re essential eventually — but timing matters. A little at a time, in short, managed doses. Not to prove something. Not to get somewhere fast. But to build something that lasts.
But I’ll admit — part of what fueled that impatience was comparison. I wasn’t just chasing progress. I was trying to beat others. I’d see someone’s dog doing a flashy heel or crushing obedience drills at five months old, and suddenly I felt like I was behind. I even made a video years ago about how you shouldn’t compare your dog’s progress to anyone else’s — and I still fell into that trap. It’s a hard thing to unlearn, especially when you’re passionate and want your dog to be the best. But that mindset steals from the connection. It turns the journey into a race — and no one wins when it’s rushed.
Now, with Arya, I’m not trying to rush milestones. I’m not trying to show off. I’m focused on her pace, not mine.
If you’re raising a puppy—or reflecting on past mistakes like I have—what’s one thing you’d do differently this time? Drop it in the comments or send me a message.
