What dog training taught me about fighting cancer

Most of you know me as a passionate dog trainer, a guy who’s always on the move, testing new gear, pushing boundaries, and striving to make detection dog training better every day. What you might not know is that recently, life gave me a new kind of challenge, one I didn’t choose, but one I now face with everything I’ve got: a battle with cancer. This diagnosis changed many things in my life, but interestingly, it also brought surprising clarity. In the middle of long hospital stays, draining treatments, and endless tests, I started to recognize something familiar. Patterns. Processes. Principles. They weren’t new to me, they were the same ones I’ve used for decades working with dogs. And slowly, I began to realize just how much dog training had prepared me for this fight.

 

One of the first things I learned (again) through this experience is that healing is not a linear process. People sometimes think dog training works like this: you teach a sit for two seconds, then four, then six, and so on. Neat and tidy. But real training, and real healing, isn’t like that.

There are good days, and there are setbacks. One day your dog nails the search, the next day they’re off. One week, I feel almost normal. The next, chemo knocks me flat. Progress comes in waves, not straight lines. Sometimes, we have to take a step back to move forward. In training, we accept that. We adjust. We pivot. And that mindset has been incredibly valuable in dealing with the ups and downs of treatment.

 

In dog training, especially detection work, nothing happens in isolation. Behavior, environment, handler input, even the weather, all are part of the system. Cancer treatment is the same. There’s no such thing as one symptom or one solution. Every decision my medical team makes is based on layers of data, interconnected signals, and previous experiences. Every day starts with testing: blood values, temperature, saturation, blood pressure. From there, treatment is adjusted. Criteria are set and monitored. Just like in training, it’s not about lucky guesses. It’s about protocols, experience, and teamwork. And it is a team. Doctors, nurses, kitchen staff, cleaners, they all play a role. No one is walking the halls with a hero complex. They rely on each other, just like a well-functioning K9 unit. And they value the smallest details, because in this work, just like in training, the smallest thing can make the biggest difference.

 

Another lesson that’s become deeply personal to me is understanding the difference between trust and confidence.

Trust is emotional. It’s what I feel toward my care team, toward the process, and toward the people around me. It’s what keeps me grounded when the road ahead is uncertain. Trust develops over time, and though it can be shaken, it’s what holds everything together when confidence is low.

Confidence, on the other hand, is more practical. It’s the belief in my body’s ability to handle what’s happening. Some days, that confidence is strong. Other days, especially after a rough treatment or disappointing test result, it wavers. But just like with dogs, confidence can be rebuilt. It’s a muscle that grows with repetition and success.

In dog training, we often see what happens when there’s too much pressure. When physical or mental load gets too high, performance breaks down. I’ve experienced that in my own body, when the physical demands are too high, my mental strength suffers. And when I’m mentally low, even simple physical tasks feel impossible. It’s a constant balancing act, and awareness of that balance helps me keep going.

 

Throughout this journey, I’ve found that writing keeps me mentally sharp. It gives structure to my thoughts, allows me to reflect, and gives me a way to stay connected to the world and the work I love. When I have the energy, I write blogs like this one. And when I don’t, I rest, because that’s part of the process too. Just like with dogs, rest is not a pause in progress. It’s an essential part of learning and recovery. We don’t train nonstop, and we don’t heal nonstop. The body and mind need time to reset.

 

One thing that’s been incredibly comforting is knowing that our shop, detectiondogshop.com, is still running smoothly thanks to my amazing wife Jolanda and our wonderful son Rick. They’ve stepped in to take care of everything, from packing orders to answering questions. Yes, sometimes an order might take a day longer, or a small mistake might slip in. But just like in training, we learn from those moments. We adapt, we improve, and we keep going. Their support allows me to focus on my health while staying connected to the work I care about. And knowing that so many of you continue to support us means the world.

 

Cancer is not something I ever wanted to experience. But life doesn’t ask us what we want, it challenges us to rise to what we’re given. And strangely enough, dog training helped prepare me for this. It taught me:

Most importantly, it taught me that progress is not about perfection. It’s about showing up, doing the work, and being willing to learn, even from the hardest days.

 

To all of you who’ve sent messages, placed orders, or simply stayed patient while I take longer to reply, thank you. Your support means more than I can express.

This journey isn’t over. There are still challenges ahead. But I carry with me everything I’ve learned from a lifetime of working with dogs, and I’m using those lessons every single day. We train. We adapt. We trust. We go again.