23/06/2026
LOST ARTS?
When Did We Stop Training Our Dogs with Voice and Touch?
You have no idea how hard it was to find a photograph of a person rewarding a dog with praise alone.
Almost every image showed the same thing. A hand extended towards a dog, but the dog was not looking at the person. The dog was looking at the treat. Or the toy. Or the tug. The handler may have been smiling. The handler may even have been saying “good boy”, but the dog’s focus was elsewhere. The praise was incidental. The real event was the arrival of food or the chance to grab the toy.
That says something about where dog training has drifted.
Let me be clear from the outset. I am not arguing against clickers, food or toys. I use them. I value them. I encourage people in our puppy classes, and right through Bronze, Silver and Gold, to use a clicker properly. When a behaviour has become vague, unreliable or confused, one of the first questions I often ask is, “When did you abandon the clicker?”
The clicker is a wonderful tool when it is used well. It gives precision. It tells the dog exactly which behaviour earned reinforcement. Food is a powerful and practical reinforcer. Toys, especially for the right dog, can create energy, commitment and enthusiasm. There is nothing wrong with any of that. I train all my working and competition dogs with the clicker.
But something is missing if that is all we talk about.
Somewhere along the way, we seem to have stopped teaching people how to reward their dogs with their voices and their hands. We have become very good at explaining markers, reinforcement schedules, food placement, tug rewards and motivation. We have become much less good at explaining the art of handling: the tone of the voice, the timing of praise, the calming hand, the encouraging touch, the ability to lift a dog emotionally or settle him without reaching automatically for the treat pouch.
When I started training, we did not use clickers. We did not use toys very much either. Toys came in later and, when used effectively, they brought great benefits. But we were coached to use our voices effectively and to use our hands to praise our dogs. Voice inflexion was not an optional extra. It was central to good handling.
In RAF Police Dog Training from the 1950s through to the 1980s, voice inflexion was regarded as a cornerstone of training. A handler was expected to understand how his voice affected the dog. A brighter, lighter, more animated tone could raise a dog’s performance. A quieter, slower, steadier tone could calm a dog that was becoming too bouncy or too hectic. The voice could encourage, steady, reassure, reward and direct.
Used well, it worked extremely effectively.
That skill has not disappeared entirely, but it has become far less visible. I still see older exponents of dog sports use it occasionally. Some use it beautifully. Younger handlers, in my experience, use it far less. Many have been taught the mechanics of reinforcement, but not the feel of handling.
That is a loss.
A dog does not simply hear words. He hears tone, rhythm, warmth, tension, excitement and irritation. Anyone who has lived with dogs knows this. The same word can mean different things depending on how it is said. “Good dog,” spoken warmly and sincerely, is not the same as “good dog,” muttered flatly while the handler looks away. A quiet “steady” can calm. A bright “yes” can lift. A soft voice can reassure a worried dog. A sharp or frustrated voice can unsettle him, even when the words themselves are harmless.
More than the actual words spoken, voice is not just sound. Voice is information. Inflexion and intonation are everything. In training sessions I regularly handle a puppy whilst saying "horrible" things to it in a light and happy voice. The pup responds beautifully. I then say "nice" words in a flat tone and the puppy quickly loses interest, or goes flat.
Touch is equally important, and perhaps even more neglected.
Of course, touch must be appropriate to the dog. Not every dog wants to be touched in the same way. Some dislike hands over the head. Some dislike restraint. Some dogs, particularly those that are fearful or defensive, may tolerate touch without enjoying it. Some highly aroused dogs may find physical contact too exciting. So, like every other part of training, touch requires observation, judgement, and knowledge of and respect for the individual dog.
But when a dog enjoys physical contact, touch can be a powerful form of reinforcement and connection. A calm hand on the chest, a slow stroke along the shoulder, a gentle rub in the place the dog enjoys most, or a relaxed cuddle after work can mean far more than many people realise.
Touch can settle a dog. It can reward a dog. It can communicate safety. It can help a dog come down from arousal. It can build trust. It can deepen the physical and emotional bond between dog and owner in a way that a clicker, food reward or tug toy never will.
Again, that does not make the clicker wrong. It does not make food wrong. It does not make toys wrong. It simply means they are not the whole picture.
The clicker marks behaviour. Food and toys reinforce behaviour. Voice influences emotion. Touch strengthens connection. The skilled handler brings all these elements together.
The risk in modern training is not that we use food, toys or clickers. The risk is that the handler becomes little more than a dispenser. The dog works, the click happens - the food appears. The dog performs - the tug comes out. The mechanics may be excellent, but the relationship can become paper thin.
At every break in a 1-to-1 session or group class, I want handlers to let their dogs relax. But relaxation should not simply mean standing around while the dog sniffs the floor and the owner checks their phone. (I usually don’t allow phone checking unless Grandma’s death is imminent.)
Put your hands on your dog, if your dog enjoys that. Let him lean into you. Let him enjoy your company. Let him discover that being near you is rewarding even when no food is coming and no toy is about to appear.
This matters.
A dog should not see his owner only as the route to a treat bag or a tug toy. He should see his owner as someone safe, rewarding, interesting, reassuring and enjoyable to be with. Food and toys can help build that, but they cannot replace it.
There is also a practical advantage to voice and touch. You always have them with you. You may forget your clicker. You may run out of food. You may not have a toy in your pocket. But you always have your hands and your voice.
They are endlessly variable. They can be adapted to the needs of the dog you are handling in that precise moment. They can be animated, quiet, calming, enthusiastic, gentle, playful or steady.
That flexibility is invaluable.
A sensitive dog may need soft praise and slow touch. A flat dog may need a brighter tone and more animation. A young, impulsive dog may need calm hands and a voice that lowers the temperature. A confident working dog may thrive on enthusiastic verbal encouragement and physical celebration. A worried dog may need reassurance that does not overwhelm him.
This is where training becomes both an art and a science.
Science gives us principles. Timing matters. Reinforcement matters. Consequences shape behaviour. Emotional state matters. But applying those principles well requires feel. It requires the handler to notice the dog in front of them and adjust accordingly. A clicker cannot do that on its own. A treat pouch cannot do that on its own. A tug toy cannot do that on its own.
The handler must do it.
I remember John Rogerson telling a story about visiting a school and watching three or four children give a very impressive demonstration of clicker training with their young dogs. The dogs worked well. The timing was great. The clicks were accurate. The reinforcement was delivered cleanly. From a technical point of view, it was excellent.
But he said it was also a sad sight. Because, at the end, not one of the children got down with their dog for a hug, a cuddle or a moment of shared pleasure. The dogs had performed. The clicks had happened. The rewards had been delivered. But something fundamental had been missed.
In his view, they had missed one of the great joys of dog ownership: the tactile, physical bond between owner and dog.
I agree with him.
Training should not strip the relationship down to mechanics. It should enhance the relationship. The dog is not merely a machine producing behaviours in exchange for payment. The dog is a social animal, living with us, learning from us, constantly reading us, responding to our mood, our movement, our hands, and our voice.
Modern training has gained a great deal from clicker work, food reinforcement and toy rewards. We must not throw those gains away. We should not romanticise the past or pretend that all older methods were better. They were not. Many were harsh, crude or unfair. Progress matters.
But progress should not mean forgetting every useful skill that came before.
When I looked at the best senior dog handlers in the RAF Police, I saw handlers who could raise a dog with their voice, settle a dog with a change in tone, praise with their hands, and make the dog feel that work was a shared activity. The best modern handlers have it too. They are precise with their markers. They are generous with reinforcement. They use food and toys effectively. But they also know how to touch, speak to, and be emotionally present with a dog. That is the standard we should aim for.
These qualities were and are worth preserving. They must be preserved, because when they are gone, they’ll be gone forever.
The answer is not to choose between clickers and praise, or between food and touch, or between toys and voice. The answer is to use all of them as appropriate and use them well.
A clicker can tell the dog, “That was the behaviour.”
Food can tell the dog, “That was worth doing again.”
A toy can tell the dog, “That was exciting and powerful.”
A voice can tell the dog, “I am with you.”
A hand can tell the dog, “You’re a good lad, you're safe here.”
The best training happens when all those messages support each other.
So perhaps the question is not simply, “When did we stop rewarding our dogs with verbal praise and physical touch?” Perhaps the better question is, “Why did we allow those things to become secondary?”
They are not secondary. They are not old-fashioned extras. They are not sentimental decoration added after the real training has finished. They are part of good handling. They are part of good ownership. They are part of the bond that makes training more of a relationship rather than a transaction.
Use the clicker. Use food. Use toys. Teach clean mechanics. Reward generously. Be precise. But don't forget to speak to your dog. Don’t forget to touch your dog. Don’t forget to let your dog enjoy your company when there is nothing in your hand.
Because the best handlers aren't the ones who reject modern training tools.
They are the ones who use them brilliantly, without ever forgetting that they themselves should be the thing that matters most to their dog.
