You’ve Probably Never Heard My Name — And I’m Okay With That

I don't have a big name in the sports scent work world.

And, actually, I quite like it that way.

There are trainers within scent work, and the wider dog training world, who have built incredibly successful personal brands. Their names are instantly recognisable. They have large followings, busy workshops and people actively seeking them out. Good for them.

Building that kind of profile takes work, confidence and a willingness to put yourself out there. It is a skill in its own right, and for some trainers it has been incredibly successful.

It's just never really been me.

I prefer flying under the radar

Part of that is personality. I don't particularly enjoy shouting about myself.

Part of it comes from spending many years working professionally in the detection dog world, where being good at your job didn't necessarily mean everybody needed to know who you were.

And part of it is quite deliberate.

The dog world can be ruthless.

The more visible you become, the more opinions people seem to have about you. Every sentence gets analysed. Every training choice becomes something somebody wants to argue about. And sometimes it feels as though putting yourself on a pedestal simply gives people a better target to aim at. I'd rather spend my energy training dogs and helping others. That doesn't mean I don't have opinions. Anyone who has trained with me will know that I absolutely do.

But I try very hard to remember that my way isn't automatically the way.

I could name-drop

This is perhaps the bit I find most uncomfortable.

Over the years, I've worked professionally with a lot of people in the working and detection dog world. There are names I could mention. There are organisations I could mention. There are people whose names carry considerable weight in certain parts of the dog world, and I could use my connection with them to make myself sound more important.

I've even had conversations where I've been told I should do exactly that.

"You need to tell people who you've worked with."

"You should be shouting about that."

"People would take notice if they knew."

And perhaps they're right from a marketing perspective. But it doesn't sit comfortably with me.

There's one example I sometimes smile about when I see a particular "big name" mentioned.

No, I didn't train him. But I did train the person who trained him.

It's a wonderfully ridiculous example of how quickly dog-training credentials can become a game of professional ancestry.

If you follow the chain far enough, we can probably all make ourselves sound terribly important.

Borrowed credibility isn't what I want

There is obviously value in experience.

Who you have worked with, where you have worked and what you have done professionally does matter. Experience shapes us. I've learned enormous amounts from the dogs, handlers, trainers and organisations I've worked alongside throughout my career. I'm proud of that background.

But I don't want someone else's name to be the reason you think I know what I'm talking about.

I'd much rather you watch me work. Watch how I approach a problem. Watch how I change something when it isn't working. Watch how I read the dog in front of me rather than blindly following a system. Watch the handler leave a session understanding more than they did when they arrived.

Then decide whether I have something worth listening to.

My job was to train my replacement

For many years, part of my professional role involved training trainers and training managers.

And there was something I used to say to them regularly:

"I'm here to train my replacement. And my replacement needs to be better than me."

I genuinely meant it. My job wasn't to make myself indispensable. My job was to give that person everything I possibly could so that, eventually, they didn't need me. In fact, if I left a project and the person I'd trained became better than me, I'd consider that an absolutely awesome result.

Because surely that's the point of being a trainer?

Interestingly, over the years I was sometimes advised to do the opposite. Don't give them everything. Keep a few things back. Keep your training "secrets" to yourself. That way, you maintain your value. I've never been very good at that.

Because I don't think my value comes from possessing a little box of secrets that nobody else is allowed to look inside. Knowledge isn't diminished by sharing it. If anything, sharing it forces you to understand it better. Someone will ask a question you hadn't considered. They'll apply something slightly differently. They'll challenge an assumption. They'll take something you've taught them and develop it further.

And sometimes they'll become better at it than you.

Good! That's exactly what I wanted. If someone I've trained goes on to become an exceptional trainer in their own right, that doesn't take anything away from me.

It means I did my job.

I don't want followers. I want thinkers.

That philosophy has followed me into the way I teach scent work now. I don't want people to copy everything I do because I said it. I want people to question me. I want trainers to understand why they're doing something. If I show you a way of training a line-up, developing an indication or troubleshooting a search problem, I don't just want you to reproduce the mechanics. I want you to understand what is happening underneath them.

Because then you can adapt. Then you can make decisions. Then you can develop your own ideas.

And maybe you'll take something I've taught you and make it better. I genuinely hope you do.

For someone who makes money teaching people, encouraging them to eventually not need you might sound like a slightly questionable business model. But it's the kind of trainer I want to be.

I'm much happier being the person behind the scenes

A lot of my professional career has involved troubleshooting. Looking at something that isn't quite working and asking why. Breaking a problem down. Looking at the dog, the handler, the training history, the environment and the methodology rather than immediately blaming one component. Sometimes making very small changes that create very big differences.

That's the part I love. And increasingly, what I enjoy most is passing that knowledge on.

I don't need somebody to leave one of my workshops thinking: "Karyn is amazing."

I'd much rather they leave thinking: "I understand my dog better now."

Or: "I finally understand why that was happening."

Or even better: "I know how to work through this myself next time."

That's success to me.

Quiet doesn't mean inexperienced

This is probably the only part I've had to become more comfortable saying. Not shouting about my experience doesn't mean I should hide it. I've spent a significant part of my working life around operational dogs, handlers and trainers. I've trained, managed, assessed, troubleshot and advised. I've worked across different countries, different disciplines and different operational environments. I've been the person people came to when something wasn't working. That experience absolutely influences the way I teach today.

So perhaps there is a balance.

I don't need to pretend I haven't done those things simply because self-promotion makes me uncomfortable. But equally, I don't need to turn every conversation into a list of people I've met, organisations I've worked with or jobs I've held. My experience can sit quietly in the background.

You'll see it in my training.

So no, you probably haven't heard my name

And I'm genuinely okay with that.

I'm not interested in becoming a scent work celebrity. I don't need to be the loudest voice in the room. I don't need everyone to agree with me. And I certainly don't want people accepting something simply because "Karyn says so."

I want to keep learning. I want to keep questioning. I want to keep working with good dogs and good people. And I want to pass on the things I've learned over many years to trainers and handlers who can take that knowledge and make it their own.

Maybe they'll take it further than I ever did. Maybe one day I'll watch somebody doing something brilliant and think: I taught them the foundations of that. And now they're better at it than me.

I can't think of a better measure of success as a trainer.

So if that gradually builds a reputation for Curious Canine, wonderful. But I'd like that reputation to come from the people I've helped. From the dogs I've helped. From the trainers who leave my workshops excited to try something new. And from the quality of the work itself. Not because I told everyone I was important.

I'd rather let the work do the talking.