About a year after publishing Braveheart, someone who had read it asked me a question about something I’d written. I found that part in the book, and as I started answering, I caught myself thinking: “Hmm… I wouldn’t explain it like that now.” Then I went back through the book. There were a couple of things I’d changed my opinion on. Something I would explain differently. A technique I would now approach another way… And honestly? I was devastated. People had paid for this. They were following my advice. Some had told me it was the best dog training book they’d ever read. Others called it a bible for dog trainers. And here I was, thinking I could teach parts of it better. “Should I rewrite it? Should I tell everyone? What am I supposed to do now?” I talked to my friend Lila about it, and she said: “Alex, the bigger problem would be if you hadn’t changed anything about your training. This just means you’re growing.” That stayed with me. I’d spent so long trying to finish a book I could be proud of. Publication was delayed by about TWO YEARS because I kept tweaking things. Without the contractual obligations and my publisher getting really angry, I’d probably still be tweaking it today. 😂 I wanted it to be the best it could possibly be. But I hadn’t really considered what would happen when my own learning continued after publication. The book captured what I knew then. Publishing it wasn’t going to stop me learning. That’s the story behind the reel I’ve attached: Being a good dog trainer means realising how dumb you were 12 months ago. Every 12 months. 😂 You don’t need to reject everything you used to do. But being able to look back and say, “I understand this better now,” is something worth celebrating. For example, when I wrote Braveheart, I hadn’t yet developed my Play Formula into the Play with Purpose system I teach today. The structure, the detail and how I coach it have evolved since then. The way I approach confidence training and explain TBRR now is on a different level.