Today I worked with a young chocolate Labrador named Dusty. He is right around one or two years old, carrying with him that unmistakable Labrador charm—cheerful, good-natured, and eager to be part of whatever is happening. He has a healthy food drive, a good interest in play, and a personality that leans happy-go-lucky. Out on walks, however, he struggles with a few triggers—namely, other dogs and passing bicycles.

This session was not about me handling Dusty directly, but about teaching his owner how to guide him through the three great motivators in training: food drive, prey drive, and negative pressure. Each of these taps into a different instinct, a different state of mind, and together they provide the foundation for clear communication and reliable behavior.

We began with food. The command was simple—“sit”—something Dusty already knew. That choice was intentional. When a dog understands the basics, the handler can focus on timing and communication rather than wrestling with confusion. Here, markers became the central lesson. Markers are the precise moments of communication that tell the dog: “Yes, that was correct,” or “No, try again,” or “Good, keep going.”

I stood back, guiding the owner, while Dusty looked up expectantly. The owner waited, holding the treats ready. When Dusty glanced away, I cued the owner to mark with a calm, “Nope—try again.” The moment Dusty returned his gaze, the owner marked “Yes,” released him, and rewarded. Each repetition was short, precise, and clear. The work wasn’t in the command itself, but in the communication. With every rep, Dusty learned—and equally, his owner learned—the subtle timing that locks understanding into both dog and human.

There is something quietly powerful in this process. The dog grows into a problem-solver, trying different behaviors to earn reward. The handler, too, sharpens their eye and their timing, learning to capture the instant of success. Like watching a dance slowly fall into rhythm, you can see clarity emerge on both ends of the leash.

Next, we moved to prey drive, introducing the flirt pole. Dusty had energy to spare, and the sight of the toy springing across the ground caught his eye immediately. Yet there is more to this tool than simply waving a toy. The movement must mimic prey—quick darts, sudden stops, just enough to ignite that instinct without letting it extinguish. I showed the owner how to spark Dusty’s chase, how to reward him with the thrill of tug once he caught the toy, and how to add life with sound—little growls, squeaks, noises of something alive and struggling.

The game was short, sharp, and exciting, just as it should be. After a few minutes, Dusty’s energy began to flag. This was the moment to stop. Always end play while the dog is still interested, so that next time he returns with fresh enthusiasm. Prey drive, when cultivated properly, becomes a tremendous tool—teaching the dog to work with intensity, even in the heat of excitement.

Finally, we introduced pressure. This is a lesson every dog and handler must eventually come to understand. The leash itself is not just a tether, but a line of communication. Pressure, applied with fairness, teaches the dog responsibility: that he can control when pressure ends by performing the task asked of him.

Again, we worked with “sit.” The owner lifted the leash gently upward. Dusty resisted for a moment, and I had them mark “Nope.” Then, as Dusty folded into a sit, the leash released, pressure vanished, and the reward followed. It was a small victory, but one that carries deep meaning. With repetition, Dusty will learn that the leash tightening is not a punishment, but a signal—something he himself can resolve by complying.

I reminded the owner that pressure must always come last. First, the dog must understand the command through food and play. Only once he is confident and clear should pressure be introduced, layered in slowly and fairly. Done too soon, it breeds confusion. Done correctly, it creates reliability—the understanding that even when food or toys lose their value against the pull of a distraction, the command still stands.

Food, prey, pressure—each motivator is powerful in its own right, but together they form something greater. Through food, the dog learns calmly, thoughtfully. Through prey, he learns in excitement and drive. Through pressure, he learns responsibility and clarity. Though the command is the same, each perspective deepens the dog’s understanding, embedding it at a level far beyond the surface.

Watching Dusty and his owner work today, I saw not just a dog learning to sit, but a handler learning the language of timing, repetition, and drive. It is in these layered lessons—short, clear, and purposeful—that true communication is built. And it is that communication, above all, which transforms training from a series of commands into a lasting relationship.