The Other End of the Lead: the human element of my job
- 3 days ago
- 4 min read
People imagine my job involves whispering to dogs, staring meaningfully at cats. But if I’m honest, being a clinical animal behaviourist is about 20% animals and 80% humans, with the remaining 10% being diplomacy, and not react at moments that are objectively absurd. Yes, I realise that maths doesn’t add up, neither does family life when an animal is involved.
Before you carry on reading, I absolutely love my job and for the large amount of client's I see as couple or family's life is fairly cohesive, but not always and there lies the challenge.
My human therapist mates, say Claire I do not know how you do your job, it’s like working with parents of a voiceless child who uses different communication from another world, I like a challenge and to problem solve!
The pet as the referral, the human is the work.
The animal is the reason I’m invited in. The humans are the reason for diplomacy.
I arrive to help with a dog who growls, barks, bites, a cat who pees with impressive accuracy, and may also bite. Within ‘x’ minutes, I’m sitting on someone’s sofa watching an argument about whose fault this really is.
On one occasion a full-blown expletive fight happened with storming out.
Another time when a rather manipulative child was involved, he wanted 10 quid there and then to listen to me, he then tried to haggle more from the parents when I asking him to try some training with the dog. The one thing about kids, they will always expose the adults.
Commonly heard…
He’s just anxious.
She's manipulative.
You’re too soft.
You’re too hard
The dog lies between them, ears back, silently thinking: I didn’t ask for any of this. The cat has removed themselves; they do not need this; they are cats after all.
And that’s where my real role begins.
Couples or family therapy, but with more fur
I have witnessed:
Couples sleeping in separate bedrooms because the dog can’t cope alone
One partner choosing the dog over the rest of the family (He understands me)
Heated debates over whether the dog needs medication or just more discipline
Parents united on nothing—except that the animal is somehow the problem
Animals have an extraordinary way of exposing fault lines. They don’t cause the cracks, but they will absolutely widen them.
My job is not to pick sides, it really isn’t.
My job is to build a coherent team, because behaviour change collapses the moment people pull in different directions. Consistency isn’t a training buzzword—it’s a relationship skill, giving the animal a voice, if any luck getting in early before the cracks become craters.
Animals communicate constantly, the trouble is, people are noisy and don’t know how to listen.
Fear gets labelled as stubbornness.
Overwhelm becomes attention-seeking.
Pain is dismissed as bad behaviour.
Often, I am the person in the room translating what the animal has been shouting for months.
No, he’s not being dominant. He’s terrified.
No, she’s not spiteful. She’s stressed.
No, this isn’t disobedience—it’s communication.
Giving the animal a voice isn’t about anthropomorphism. It’s about interpretation, and sometimes about gently telling people things they don’t want to hear.
The myth of the quick fix
We live in a world of same-day delivery, instant streaming, and five-step life hacks. Behaviour change refuses to cooperate.
Clients want timelines.
Animals offer trajectories.
He’ll be better in six weeks, right?
I pause, breathe, smile, I choose honesty.
This work asks for patience, reflection, routine, and emotional regulation, mostly from the people.
That’s not a popular prescription.
Progress often looks like:
Fewer reactions, not none
Shorter recovery times
Better understanding, not perfection
And yes, sometimes medication is part of the picture.
Bridging the gap: Behaviour, Medicine, and Psychology
One of the most challenging—and important—roles I play is being the translator between worlds.
Behaviour doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Pain, neurochemistry, hormones, trauma histories—all of these matter. When psychopharmacological support is needed, collaboration is everything.
That means:
Helping people understand that medication isn’t giving up
Supporting vets by contextualising behaviour beyond symptoms
Bridging emotional resistance with scientific explanation
I often find myself standing between medical and psychological models, holding them together long enough for a proper team to form.
When it works, it really does work
When it doesn’t, everyone suffers—especially the animal.
Why I keep doing this
This job is emotionally demanding, it asks for empathy without rescue, authority without ego, and humour without disrespect.
But when a family finally aligns—which can be fairly quick when tension calms and small wins show up, something shifts.
The animal relaxes.
The household exhales.
And suddenly, change feels possible.
I don’t just change animals’ behaviour.
More, that I help people to watch, listen and engage.
And sometimes, that’s the hardest behaviour change of all. At some point I’ll get too old for this and move aside to allow my team to take the reins, any recommendation of alternative careers?!?!
