Learning Is Non-Linear: A Hard Lesson From My Own Dogs

My 3 beautiful bois (from left to right): River, Botchok, Kidlat

Now that I’ve had time to decompress from an unfortunate incident that happened with my dogs, I finally feel ready to share it. This experience perfectly illustrates what I always remind my clients — that learning is non-linear. There will be wins and breakthroughs, but also setbacks that make it feel like everything you worked on suddenly goes down the drain.

The Backstory

As some of you know, we recently welcomed River, a 9-month-old Aspin, into our home. Our resident dogs, Kidlat (5-year-old Beagle) and Botchok (4-year-old Aspin), didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.

So, we put careful management in place (barriers, gates, rotations) everything to help everyone coexist peacefully. Outdoors, they got along beautifully. Indoors, however, was another story, especially for Botchok, who tends to want to control River’s every movement. His reactivity often shapes how they interact.

Botchok and River perching and taking in their surroundings together.

River, bless him, has been wonderful. He’s social, patient, and incredibly tolerant of Botchok’s outbursts. All he wanted was to play and be friends.

Progress and the Setback

Over time, we started seeing progress. Botchok and River began playing indoors. Real play, not tension-filled interaction. Their play styles matched perfectly. Botchok even started looking forward to their playtime, initiating it sometimes.

I never thought this was possible, but we did it! :)

Everything felt so good. I was proud. Hopeful. Relieved.

Then, out of nowhere, something went wrong. Maybe I missed a signal. Maybe it was just bad timing. But Botchok snapped at River, and for the first time, River fought back. What started as a small scuffle turned into a serious fight.

As my partner and I tried to separate them, River redirected, and we got bitten. Badly.

I was in shock. I’d never seen River like that: he was in complete rage. It was as if he was gone for a moment, lost in panic and instinct.

I got bitten in the arm; my partner in the hand

Luckily, both Botchok and River were unharmed. Once things settled, River returned to his usual self, even acting playful toward Botchok again. But we knew we had to pause. We went back to complete separation indoors, allowing them to be together without a barrier only during walks.

The Emotional Fallout

When my partner had to leave for an out-of-country trip, Kidlat and Botchok stayed at my mom’s, which, in hindsight, turned out to be a good decompression period for everyone.

But emotionally, I was wrecked. The bite wasn’t the hardest part — it was the emotional pain.

I blamed myself. I questioned every decision: Did I move too fast? Did I miss something? Was I complacent?

I felt like all the progress was gone, like we were back to square one. And the hardest thought was, if I can’t manage this with my own dogs, how can I help my clients with theirs?

Finding My Ground Again

Thankfully, I have a strong community of colleagues and mentors who helped me see things clearly again. They reminded me that I’m not back at square one — that we’ve already built a foundation. This setback doesn’t erase all that; it just shows where we need to adjust.

They helped me shift from shame to curiosity, to see this as a learning curve, not a failure. A reminder to slow down, to tweak the plan, to observe more closely, to add layers of management.

We even talked about the possibility of rehoming River, not because of the bite, but because he’s the one who would easily get adopted. He’s a good, resilient dog, while Botchok has more complex needs that not every home could handle. But letting River go without exhausting every option felt uncomfortable, and we love him too much already that it's hard to let go.

I truly believe River has so much potential, maybe even to be a helper dog someday, assisting me in supporting other dogs who struggle, something he's already doing a bit.

Moving Forward

We’re now regrouping, renewing, and strengthening our strategy. We’re moving to a bigger space so they all have more room to breathe. We’re starting over — gently, intentionally — rebuilding trust and positive associations.

And yes, I’m considering hiring another trainer and behavior consultant to help us. Because just like doctors can’t treat themselves, even trainers need help with their own dogs. When emotions are high, it’s hard to be objective, and I don’t want to overthink every detail. I want someone I trust to guide us and make the plan, especially since working with a partner who also has her own fears adds another layer of complexity.

What This Experience Taught Me

Sharing this isn’t easy. It’s raw and humbling. But I hope it serves as a reminder to fellow dog parents: Meeting our dogs where they are is more than training. They’re not just pets we teach commands to — they are living, feeling beings with their own emotions, fears, motivations, and choices.

Creating harmony in a home shared by both humans and dogs requires change and compromise, especially for the one struggling the most. In our case, that’s Botchok.

And most importantly: progress isn’t a straight line. There will be painful setbacks, moments of doubt, times you’ll want to give up. But that doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It just means you haven’t found the right solution yet or you have to trust the process.

Teaching and learning, for both humans and dogs, never really end. It’s an ever-evolving journey, filled with lessons that change as we do.