Training Journal – Nugget, Mini Goldendoodle

This was lesson five with Nugget, and it may have been our most pivotal session yet. Nugget is a young mini goldendoodle, full of energy, cleverness, and just enough mischief to make his owner once believe he might be “untrainable.” When we first met, he pulled relentlessly on the leash, showed flashes of dog aggression, and had no concept of off-leash reliability. His world was small because his family didn’t feel confident letting him explore much further than the end of a taut leash.

But today, in the heart of Savannah, Georgia—a city park alive with distractions—we gave Nugget something different: freedom.

Now, this wasn’t ordinary freedom. This was structured, earned freedom. All around us were barking dogs, children squealing, bicycles rattling over pavement, and of course, the ever-tempting squirrels. To most, this would feel like the worst possible environment to test a recall. To Nugget, it was paradise. His instincts flared the moment he spotted movement, muscles tensed, eyes locked, and he launched into a full chase.

And here’s where training reveals its true purpose. With just a single cue, Nugget broke away from that primal surge of excitement and wheeled back to me, racing in with enthusiasm as though the recall itself was the greater reward.

This is the essence of what we worked on today: learning to take a dog to the very peak of drive, and then bring him calmly back down—over and over again. This is the heartbeat of training. We don’t try to snuff out a dog’s passion or control them into stillness. Instead, we teach them how to move between states of mind: excitement and calm, freedom and control.

It looks like magic to the casual observer, but here’s the truth—it is not magic. It’s repetition. It’s consistency. It’s the timing of marker words that make our communication unmistakably clear. And perhaps most importantly, it’s the handler stepping into their role with quiet confidence.

That last piece cannot be overstated. Nugget’s recall didn’t suddenly appear because of me. It appeared because his owner has been learning to handle him with certainty, to trust the process, and to trust herself. A dog feels that. Dogs do not require us to be master trainers—they require us to mean what we say, and to deliver that meaning the same way every single time. Confidence in the handler creates confidence in the dog.

What we practiced today—letting Nugget chase and then recalling him away—is not just a party trick. It is the foundation of real freedom. With this kind of training, Nugget isn’t just a dog who can walk nicely on leash. He’s a dog who can go more places, see more of the world, feel that full rush of excitement, and still remain connected to his family. That changes not only his life, but theirs.

And this is only five lessons in. Nugget is still at the beginning of his journey. The progress is proof of what can be accomplished quickly with clear goals, proper communication, and the willingness to practice. For Nugget, the future is wide open—filled with squirrels to chase, adventures to be had, and a family who now knows they can enjoy it all with confidence.

For me, today was a reminder of why I do this work. Training, at its heart, is not about control for control’s sake. It is about creating the kind of control that allows joy to flourish—for both dog and human. It’s about teaching balance, building trust, and shaping a partnership where excitement and calm can live side by side.

That, to me, is the art of dog training.