Canine Evolutions

05/07/2025

I recently came across footage of KNPV trainers in Holland using electric fly swatters, lounge whips, and even hanging dogs on leashes as part of their so-called training methods. Let me be clear—this is not about guidance, it’s about domination through fear and physical pain. In the video, the electric fly swatter is visibly making direct contact with the dog’s face. You can actually see the dog flinch from the impact, its head snapping back and its body tensing up. But it doesn’t stop there. I watched as the trainer yanked the leash so hard that the dog was almost suspended off the ground. And as if that weren’t enough, whip came out—a long, snapping strikes across the dog’s head and body, sending it into a state of sheer panic. This is not training; this is abuse. It’s as simple as that. It’s appalling that in 2025, we are still seeing such primitive methods being justified in the name of “control.”

As a cynologist with over three decades of experience, I’ve dedicated my life to understanding canine behavior at its core—studying their cognitive processes, their mind states, and the way they learn. What I saw in that video was not learning. It was survival. The dog’s body language is screaming discomfort: ears pinned back, eyes flickering with anxiety, and a stiff, hesitant gait. That isn’t precision heeling; that’s a dog trying to avoid getting hit again. The electric swatter isn’t a training tool—it’s a weapon used to force compliance. And the worst part? It’s being normalized under the banner of KNPV, a sport that is supposed to be the gold standard for working dogs.

The use of physical aversives like this is not just unethical; it’s damaging. When you strike a dog, you aren’t teaching it to understand—you’re teaching it to fear. You’re stripping away its confidence, its willingness to problem-solve, and you’re replacing it with learned helplessness. The dog isn’t walking beside you out of respect or engagement; it’s desperately trying to avoid another hit. This isn’t training—it’s coercion. And the effects of this kind of “training” linger long after the fly swatter is put away. I’ve worked with enough damaged dogs to know that fear-driven obedience is fragile, brittle, and dangerous.

What infuriates me the most is the sheer hypocrisy of it all. KNPV prides itself on producing elite working dogs—capable, confident, reliable. But how can a dog be reliable if it’s operating out of fear? In a real-world scenario, a dog that heels because it’s afraid of being hit is not going to perform when real pressure is applied. I’ve seen it time and time again—when push comes to shove, fear-based obedience falls apart. The very foundation of trust is eroded, and what you have left is a dog second-guessing its every move, paralyzed by the fear of getting it wrong.

We know better. Modern neuroscience has shown us how dogs learn—through clarity, consistency, and more positive reinforcement. True heeling isn’t achieved by shocking or striking; it’s achieved through engagement and mutual understanding. I’ve spent years teaching trainers how to cultivate that kind of relationship—a bond where the dog heels not because it’s afraid, but because it’s connected and engaged with its handler. That is true mastery, not wielding a fly swatter and a whip like it’s the solution to poor handling.

I’m calling on the KNPV community and the broader training world to do better. It’s time we hold ourselves accountable and reject these outdated, barbaric methods. If we are to produce confident, capable working dogs, then our training must reflect that standard—built on trust, not fear. Because at the end of the day, if your training tool is an electric fly swatter, hangin, and beating the dog, it’s not the dog that’s failing—it’s you.

Bart De Gols

05/05/2025

I am not into politics nor do I support one party over the other — however, as a lifelong cynologist, I feel compelled to speak up about something that truly matters to me, beyond political lines.

For over 40 years, a lab at the National Institutes of Health was involved in painful, invasive experiments on beagles. These gentle dogs were infected, subjected to brutal procedures, and ultimately killed — over 2,000 of them — in the name of scientific research. It’s something that has deeply disturbed those of us who work closely with dogs, not just as animals, but as companions with personalities, emotions, and immense capacity for love and loyalty.

Now the NIH officially shut down that lab.

Yes, this happened during President Trump’s administration. Regardless of one’s political views, the closure of that facility — and the broader move toward more humane research alternatives like organ-on-chip technology and AI modeling — is a monumental win for animal welfare. It’s proof that progress can happen when enough people raise their voices.

Organizations like the White Coat Waste Project and the Beagle Freedom Project worked tirelessly for this day. I’ve followed their efforts and supported their mission because they align with what I believe at my core: dogs are not test subjects. They are sentient beings, deserving of compassion and protection.

As someone who has dedicated his life to studying dogs, I’ve always found beagles to be among the most trusting and affectionate breeds. That very nature — their eagerness to please, their gentle demeanor — is what made them targets for lab testing. Now, some of them may finally get a second chance — to run, to play, to be adopted into loving homes.

Bart De Gols

05/01/2025

Today 13 Years ago, Cynologist Bart De Gols was teaching BA Animal Behavior studens of the University of Tokyo about the neurobiological changes in our dogs during trainig. Very unique experience to work with a translator. These were some good time! Miss those days.

04/30/2025

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04/21/2025

Throughout my career I have witnessed a profound transformation in our understanding of dog training. What began as a simple practice of conditioning has evolved into a sophisticated science of managing canine cognition. This evolution reflects our growing understanding that successful training isn't merely about teaching and reinforcing behaviors—it's about managing the dog's brain state to optimize learning and promote lasting behavioral change.

I've observed countless cases where traditional training approaches fall short because they focus solely on external behaviors while ignoring the dog's internal state. A classic example I encounter frequently is the reactive dog who learns to lie down in the presence of triggers but remains in a state of high arousal with the mind still thinking about the stimuli he is reacting to. While the external behavior appears correct, the internal state continues to reinforce the underlying reactivity. This disconnect between behavior and mind state represents one of the most significant challenges in modern dog training.

In this article, I will guide you through the intricate relationship between neuroscience and practical dog training, revealing how our understanding of brain function directly shapes successful training outcomes. Drawing from my extensive experience as a cynologist, I will demonstrate how recognizing and managing different mental states in our dogs is crucial for achieving lasting behavioral change. Far too often, I witness training programs that focus solely on external behaviors while ignoring the underlying mental states that drive them. Through detailed case studies and practical examples from my work, I will show you how understanding canine brain function allows us to move beyond simple obedience training to develop comprehensive approaches that address both the visible behaviors and the internal states that govern them.

Bart De Gols

In this article, I present my approach to dog training that moves beyond traditional behavioral conditioning to embrace the complex neuroscience of canine cognition. Through the years I've discovered that successful training isn't merely about teaching and reinforcing behaviors—it's about understa...

04/21/2025

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04/20/2025

I find it necessary to respond to the increasingly politicized and scientifically distorted narratives spreading through the dog training community. One recent example—a post attempting to trace the origins of modern training tools like prong collars, e-collars, and bite sleeves back to slavery, colonialism, and systemic violence—is particularly concerning. While I share a zero-tolerance stance against abuse in all forms, whether against humans or animals, I also believe it is imperative to defend science from being hijacked by emotionally manipulative storytelling. The post in question is not a serious examination of canine welfare or behavioral methodology—it is an ideological attack that collapses centuries of behavioral science into a caricature of oppression and cruelty.

The notion that today’s training tools are direct descendants of instruments used to terrorize enslaved peoples or suppress political dissidents is historically incoherent and scientifically dishonest. Prong collars and remote collars did not emerge from slave patrols or war zones; they evolved from the empirical work of behavioral scientists such as B.F. Skinner, whose operant conditioning model defined the four quadrants of learning: positive reinforcement, negative reinforcement, positive punishment, and negative punishment. These concepts are foundational to modern behavioral theory and are used across multiple species, including humans, in contexts ranging from classroom learning to therapeutic interventions. To imply that using a leash correction is akin to perpetuating colonial violence is not only absurd—it undermines legitimate conversations about welfare, ethics, and training efficacy.

Equally misleading is the claim that force-free training is truly force-free. In behavioral science, “force” encompasses far more than physical pressure—it includes environmental constraints, verbal cues, and the social withdrawal of rewards. Even a firm “no” or the act of withholding a treat constitutes a form of consequence. The idea that reinforcement alone can sustainably shape behavior contradicts both theory and observed data. A behavioral system built entirely on one end of the operant spectrum is like a battery with two positive ends—it cannot function. Behavior, in both animals and humans, is shaped by consequences of various kinds. Skinner himself made it clear: behavior that is reinforced will reoccur, and behavior that is not reinforced—or is punished—will diminish. Ignoring this fact is not compassion. It is willful blindness.

Scientific research strongly supports this broader understanding of consequence. Cooper et al. (2014) at the University of Lincoln demonstrated that dogs trained using electronic collars under professional guidance showed no evidence of long-term stress or behavioral suppression. Salgirli Demirbas et al. (2016) found similar results, with remote collars producing no significant cortisol elevation in controlled learning settings. Even Schilder and van der Borg (2004), whose study is often used to condemn aversive tools, concluded that stress was elevated only when tools were misused or inconsistently applied—not when they were implemented with clear structure and timing. It is not the existence of a tool that causes harm. It is the absence of clarity, skill, and communication.

That said, I must draw a clear line: I am firmly and unequivocally opposed to the use of choke chains. Unlike prong collars, which apply evenly distributed pressure and are designed for precision, choke chains apply indiscriminate force to the trachea and neck. They often result in tracheal trauma, airway constriction, elevated anxiety, and confusion, especially in fearful or reactive dogs. As early as 1974, Berzon et al. warned of the anatomical risks posed by choke chains, and modern observational data supports that conclusion. Dogs fitted with choke chains frequently exhibit avoidance behaviors, excessive licking, tail tucking, and other indicators of distress. These tools offer no feedback clarity and no mechanical limit to the pressure they exert. For these reasons, I do not condone their use in any context.

In fact, in 99% of my cases, I use no tools beyond a flat collar and a leash. My methodology prioritizes cognitive engagement, relationship building, and structured communication. Tools are not the foundation of my work—they are occasionally useful supplements, employed only when absolutely necessary, and always within a transparent, fair, and humane framework.

Central to all behavioral learning—whether tools are used or not—is the concept of predictability. Dogs, like humans, are neurologically wired to find safety in clarity. The limbic system, especially the amygdala and hippocampus, processes cues of threat and reward, and the brain’s stress response is closely tied to how well outcomes align with expectations. Mobbs et al. (2007) illustrated this in humans, showing that the brain’s threat-processing systems activate strongly when expected outcomes are violated. For dogs, unpredictability can be destabilizing. A boundary that is sometimes enforced and sometimes ignored creates more stress than a mild but consistent correction.

This brings us to the role of corrections in healthy learning. A correction does not inherently mean a physical action. It can be a verbal cue, the withdrawal of a reward, or even a mismatch between expected and received reinforcement. If a dog anticipates the delivery of a high-value ball but receives a piece of kibble instead, this discrepancy serves as a form of negative punishment. Neuroscience refers to this as prediction error—a disruption in the dopaminergic reward system caused by unmet expectations (Schultz, 2000). These events, while subtle, can induce stress and confusion if they are not part of a coherent training structure.

When delivered fairly, predictably, and in proportion, corrections do not erode the bond between dog and handler. On the contrary, they often strengthen it by increasing clarity. Hiby et al. (2004) found that dogs trained with a combination of positive reinforcement and well-timed correction demonstrated fewer behavior issues and stronger obedience than dogs trained using reinforcement alone. Corrections are not inherently violent—they are part of natural social development in canids. Ethologist Marc Bekoff (2001) described how maternal dogs use muzzle grabs, growls, and body blocks to guide puppies through early impulse control and boundary-setting. To deny dogs the same structure from humans, especially in cases where their behavior could pose a danger, is to deny them a vital aspect of their social development.

There are also serious consequences to avoiding correction altogether. A dog that repeatedly breaks boundaries and receives no feedback does not learn calmness—it learns unpredictability. Over time, this lack of structure can lead to dysregulation, reactivity, and even learned helplessness. Maier and Seligman (1976) identified this phenomenon in their foundational research on control and stress, concluding that animals subjected to unpredictable environments often develop anxiety, passivity, and behavioral shutdown. In dogs, this presents as excessive vocalization, destructiveness, fear responses, or emotional detachment. These are not signs of resilience—they are signs of confusion.

Beyond the science, there is a dangerous conflation at play in the narrative that inspired this article. The attempt to draw a moral equivalence between training a household dog using a structured correction system and the weaponization of dogs in warfare or civil oppression is intellectually dishonest and emotionally manipulative. The use of dogs in unjust military or police operations must be scrutinized, yes—but it is a different conversation entirely from a handler in a park using a prong collar to prevent a reactive lunge. Collapsing those contexts into one ideological attack only serves to polarize and misinform.

Dog training is, and should be, an evolving discipline. But true evolution is driven by inquiry, not ideology—by science, not slogans. I oppose abusive practices. I oppose choke chains. I reject any tool or method that obscures communication or causes harm through confusion or cruelty. But I also reject revisionist histories, fear-based activism, and the condemnation of professionals who use skill, structure, and consequence in their training systems. We owe our dogs better than ideological absolutes. We owe them clarity, engagement, and the full breadth of science—not just the pieces that make us feel comfortable.

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1209926663828114&id=100044323751824

GolsBart De Gols

04/20/2025

Response to De Morgen’s Article on Dogs and Environmental Impact

As a cynologist I find the article published by De Morgen—which claims that dogs and cats are harmful to the environment—both misleading and dangerously reductionist. This kind of politicized rhetoric, masked as scientific concern, distracts from the true environmental crises we are facing and unfairly vilifies the bond between humans and animals.

Let’s be clear: blaming pet owners for climate change while ignoring the catastrophic impact of lithium mining for electric vehicles, industrial agriculture, fast fashion, and unchecked urbanization is not only absurd—it’s hypocritical. The production and dumping of lithium used in EV batteries, for example, leads to toxic groundwater contamination, child labor exploitation, and permanent destruction of fragile ecosystems. But that rarely makes headlines in lifestyle sections, does it?

Dogs are not consumer objects—they are sentient beings with whom humans have co-evolved for tens of thousands of years. Their presence improves our mental health, reduces loneliness, enhances physical well-being, and in many cases even saves lives. Whether it’s PTSD service dogs for veterans, guide dogs for the blind, or dogs used in search-and-rescue operations, their contribution to humanity is immeasurable—and no carbon footprint calculation can account for that.

Let’s not forget that the average “carbon pawprint” of a pet is drastically different across contexts. A working dog in rural communities who is fed table scraps, performs essential labor, and receives minimal veterinary intervention has a completely different environmental profile than a designer lapdog in a high-rise penthouse being fed imported freeze-dried bison meat. But nuance doesn’t serve clickbait.

Yes, we should all strive to reduce our ecological footprint—including making sustainable choices in how we care for animals. But the moment we start scapegoating dogs and cats, we lose sight of both science and humanity. This article is not about saving the planet—it’s about shifting blame.

Let’s focus our energy on fighting deforestation, regulating industrial polluters, and rethinking consumerism—not on guilt-tripping people who share their lives with animals.

Bart De Gols

Na de huiskat blijkt nu ook een hond als huisdier een aanzienlijke en overwegend negatieve impact te hebben op natuur en milieu. ‘Mensen sluiten hun ogen voor de negatieve impact van hun trouwe viervoeter’, zegt onderzoeker Lauren Gilson aan Scientias. Toch werpen de experts een belangrijke vraa...