From Social Work to Dog Training: Why I Now Practice “Social Work with Dogs

Dogs Were Always There

How a career in social work, a life with dogs, and one small question on the school run led me to ethical, force-free dog training in Somerset.

I didn’t plan to become a dog trainer — although dogs have always been my greatest love. (Sorry, Kieron.)

Dogs have been woven through my life for as long as I can remember. I was the child who wheeled the family Jack Russell around in a pram instead of a dolly and dressed up our Spaniel like Mrs Nesbit from Toy Story. Sorry, Prince and Blacky — I was small, it was the 70s, and I didn’t know better.

My father had a very different approach to dogs. His was harsher, heavier-handed. That was never me. The dogs gravitated towards me. They curled up beside me, followed me around the farm, spent quiet time in my company.

Even as a child, I sensed something instinctively:

Connection mattered more than control.

Different breeds. Different personalities. They were simply there, always teaching me something. I’ve always loved working out how to live well alongside them — how to adapt, how to communicate, how to understand what they were trying to tell me.

The Deaf Dog Who Taught Me Communication

When I was about nine, our family dog went deaf. He was no longer considered useful as a gundog, so I was allowed to have him as “mine.” We became inseparable.

I didn’t know anything about training theory. I didn’t know about reinforcement or behavioural science. I just knew I wanted him to understand me — and I wanted to understand him.

So I began using hand signals.

I didn’t call it training. I didn’t follow a method. I experimented. I observed. I paid attention. I learned how he learned.

Looking back, that was my first real lesson in behaviour:

Communication requires us to adapt too.

Social Work: Behaviour Is Never “Just Behaviour”

Professionally, I trained as a social worker and later became a Social Work practice teacher.

I loved the theory. I loved reflective practice. I loved thinking systemically — understanding that behaviour never exists in isolation.

You look at context.
You look at family dynamics.
You look at attachment, stress, history, and systems.

Behaviour is never “just behaviour.”

And people are allowed to make choices — even unwise ones. That’s part of being human. Agency matters.

The Funeral That Changed My Direction

Then life interrupted my carefully mapped-out path.

A dear friend and colleague died suddenly. One day we were texting about meeting up in the school holidays with our children. The next day she was gone.

A healthy woman.
A small child the same age as mine.
No warning. Just an abrupt full stop.

She would often say, “When I finish this course… when I get through this project… then we’ll take the holiday.”

Like so many of us, she was diligent. Committed. Bettering herself. Delaying joy in the belief there would be time later.

And then there wasn’t.

Standing at her funeral, watching her small child follow her coffin, something shifted in me. Not dramatically. Quietly. But deeply.

We downsized. We simplified. We moved into rented accommodation. We began living more for now rather than someday. That apparently included rehoming a cat, buying a horse, acquiring a guitar — and Kieron deciding he needed at least three banjos in his life. (There may have been rather more than three at the height of what we now refer to as “the banjo phase.”)

We were happy.

But I was still in the same career.

The School-Run Question

Being able to pick my daughter up from school had always mattered to me.

One afternoon, walking home, I asked her if she’d had a good day. She told me about hers. Then she asked, “Did you have a fun day at work, Mummy?”

I said no. I said it had been stressful.

And she replied, very simply:

“If it’s not fun, why don’t you do something else?”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t confrontational. It was just honest.

In that moment, I realised something uncomfortable.

I had been telling other people that life was too short.

Now I had to decide whether I believed it myself.

From Dog Walker to Dog Trainer

I left social work and became a dog walker.

And I loved it.

Being outside in all weathers — even soaked through to my Bridget Jones, safely-all-gathered-in pants — I was in my happy place.

There was something about the rhythm of it. The quiet companionship. The connection with nature. Just being with dogs.

But I’ve never been someone who can do something without wanting to understand it deeply.

So I studied.

I completed courses with Canine Principles.
I trained with Sarah Whitehead.
I immersed myself in body language, learning theory, games-based training, and behavioural science.

And something clicked.

So much of what I was learning about dogs mirrored what I already knew about people:

• Adult learning theory

• Reflective practice

• Systems thinking

• Attachment

• Agency

• The power of language

• The understanding that behaviour is information

I gradually transitioned from dog walking into dog training.

Word spread. Clients came.

When Clients Cry

And week after week, something unexpected happened.

People cried.

They cried with relief when something finally made sense.
They cried with overwhelm.
They cried when they realised they weren’t failing their dog — they just needed a different lens.

And I realised I wasn’t just training dogs.

I was still doing caring work.
Still listening.
Still supporting.
Still trying to understand what sat underneath behaviour.

I wasn’t just teaching cues.

I was supporting families.
I was advocating for dogs.
I was making sure everyone was heard.

This was mediation.
This was agency.
This was advocacy.

This was social work — with dogs and their people.

Why Dog Training Is a Caring Profession

Over time, I began to recognise something else.

Dog training, when done ethically and relationally, is a caring profession.

And caring professions don’t clock off.

They leak into evenings. Into weekends. Into identity. Like nursing. Like teaching. Like social work.

You don’t just do the job — you carry it.

Most dog trainers are sole traders. Passionate. Empathetic. Committed. And suddenly they are not just training — they are running marketing, bookkeeping, websites, customer service, compliance, pricing, social media, finance, admin.

Every department that once sat within an organisation now sits on their shoulders.

It’s exhausting.
And it can be deeply isolating.

The Gap I Could See

In social work, we have reflective supervision. We acknowledge burnout. We understand compassion fatigue. We create space to process emotional labour.

In dog training, the culture can sometimes be different.

There can be pressure to push through. To project confidence. To collect qualifications. To fake it until you make it.

But collecting knowledge without pausing to integrate it doesn’t create professionals.

It creates technicians.

If we don’t embed what we learn — if we don’t reflect on it, question it, connect it to our own practice — we won’t be able to access it when we need it most.

That realisation led me to create the Dog Trainers Haven.

From there, The Mindful Dog Trainer was born.

Not a programme about more techniques — but about reflection. About imposter syndrome. About confidence. About values and ethics. About resilience. About boundaries. About the human end of the lead.

Because our businesses should sustain us — not the other way around.

The Thread Was Always There

When a dog lunges, or a client challenges you, or your nervous system spikes, you don’t need theory floating somewhere in your brain.

You need self-regulation.
You need the ability to pause and respond rather than react.
You need integrated understanding.
You need professional judgement.
You need reflection that has already done its quiet work.

When I look back now, the thread is obvious.

The nine-year-old girl with the deaf dog.
The social worker advocating for agency.
The friend’s funeral.
The school-run question.
The dog walker who couldn’t stop studying.
The trainer who listened beneath the surface.
The mentor who saw the gap.

I didn’t change direction.

I followed the same thread all along.

I just didn’t realise, at the time, that I was doing social work — with dogs and their people.

If this way of working resonates with you — if you’d like support that looks beneath behaviour rather than simply correcting it — I’d love to help.

You can book a discovery call here.

Because behaviour is never “just behaviour.”
And connection still matters more than control.