From the age of three to nine, I lived in Zimbabwe, where some of my earliest and most lasting memories were formed. Surrounded by the kind of raw nature and wildlife only Africa can offer, I had the unique privilege of growing up alongside four Rhodesian Ridgebacks, a breed native to the region and deeply woven into its cultural fabric. These were my first teachers. I remember playing with them endlessly and even helping my parents care for our female during her first litter. Inevitably, I ended up absorbing, often unconsciously, the principles of raising, handling, and respecting dogs.
My parents developed a deep appreciation for the traditions surrounding the Ridgeback and continued to keep them even after we left Zimbabwe, all the way until I was eighteen years old.
The same year I turned 18, I moved to Europe to begin my studies, and almost in parallel, our last Ridgeback, Jambo, passed away from a heart condition his father had also suffered from. With Jambo’s death, my parents decided not to keep dogs anymore, and without realizing it, that chapter of my life quietly came to a close.
For the next five years, I had no involvement with dogs at all. They faded into the background, a vivid but distant part of my childhood.
Until, by chance, one evening on YouTube, that door cracked back open. I had stumbled upon a highlight reel from the IGP World Championships and I was captivated. My dogs had always been relatively well-behaved, I even remember partaking in some of the training classes with my dad, but I had never seen dogs do what I saw in that video. Not just obedience, but precision. Off leash. At a distance. With intensity. And not a treat in sight.
I’m not a big believer in manifestation, I think you do the right things enough so as to position yourself to receive the right information at the right time. And I think this is what happened with my re-introduction to dogs.
At that point in my life, I had already gone through a number of self-development and motivation programs, I was studying Psychology and Sociology, and had recently made the decision to specialize in Sports Psychology. My brain was primed to focus on patterns of behavior and motivation. So when I saw what those dogs were doing on the field, I didn’t just see control. I saw something else. I saw communication. I saw strategy. I saw obsession, discipline, structure, and an insane amount of preparation. All of which was built into a working relationship between dog and handler. And that was it. I was hooked.
Roughly six years later, here we are. I have been studying dog training ever since that day. Three years ago, I finally had the chance to have a dog again, and it happened in the most unexpected way.
I was walking down the street when I saw a man holding the cutest puppy in his arms. Anyone who knows me knows I am not usually the type to pet strangers’ dogs, but with this one, I just had to. As I reached out to pet the puppy, the man told me he needed to get rid of the dog. He went on to explain a convoluted and somewhat suspicious story about how the puppy had come into his possession. A few red flags went off in my head, and I began to suspect the dog might have been stolen. So when the man offered to give the puppy up for fifty euros, I did not hesitate.
My first instinct was not to keep the pup, but to figure out if it had an owner and return her if she had been taken. I spent the next three weeks searching, checking databases, asking around, and putting out feelers. But there was no match, no report, no trace. Not stolen nor missing anywhere.
That puppy is Chiquita, my demo dog, my training partner, and my daily reminder of why I do what I do.
The word “demo-dog” might sound weird to people who just view dogs as pets. But I will always remember what a mentor of mine told me: “as a dog trainer, your dog is your portfolio”. Chiquita isn’t just my portfolio. I’ve trained her to be a living portfolio for her breed.
Pit bull–type dogs are often seen as dangerous, unstable, or untrainable. She is the antithesis of that. I’ve worked to keep her natural power and drive fully intact, not suppressing who she is, but channeling it into work that is meaningful for her. Work she can do with intensity, clarity, and joy. We’ve put in countless hours to develop true neutrality around other dogs and animals, to build focus and control without compromising motivation.
Her training speaks not just for itself, but for what is possible in any dog when the training is done right.
At the highest levels of dog sport, judges look for exactly that: a dog that presents itself with intensity, power, and a genuine willingness to perform. Technical precision matters just as much, but if a dog executes everything flawlessly yet appears unwilling or unengaged, the team won’t qualify.
It’s at these upper echelons of the training world where new methods and frameworks are constantly being developed. The goal is not just effectiveness or precision alone, but to present a final picture that reflects clarity, joy, and drive: a dog that wants to work, and does so beautifully.
Which is exactly why I decided to create Merge.
I feel strongly that pet-dog training has so much to gain from the principles developed in sports like IGP and Ring. These two worlds are often kept apart, and understandably so…training a dog for sport takes years of preparation, both for the dog and the handler. And sport dogs are often handpicked from bloodlines that have been genetically honed for generations, built specifically for the demands of competition and work.
So, if you’re working with a “regular” pet, you might feel like that level of engagement, discipline, or transformation is out of reach. But here’s the thing… it’s not.
All dogs, in some way, descend from working dogs. For most of human history, dogs weren’t just companions, they always had a job. They guarded livestock, protected property, pulled weight, chased vermin, retrieved game, or watched over families. The reason dogs became so deeply embedded in our lives is because they helped us with something. And that working instinct, that need to engage with the world in a meaningful way, hasn’t disappeared.
Often, it is precisely because society has replaced children with dogs, and because we have gradually downplayed their role to that of mere companions, that many behavioral problems emerge.
By removing the purpose dogs were historically bred for, we create a disconnect. One that is especially confusing for the dog. We may live under the same roof, but we are no longer speaking the same language.
Which brings us to the second reason behind the name Merge.
My goal was not only to blend the worlds of dog sport and pet training, but also to bring together human psychology and canine psychology onto one shared, leveled playing field.
To find a way for the human mind to think more like a dog, not only to enhance training, but to better understand the animal they call friend. To help motivate people who can’t yet see the light at the end of the tunnel with their super reactive, aggressive, or otherwise problematic dog. To help them regain control of the life they share with their dog.
And lastly, a phrase that has always stuck with me from a mentor I deeply respect: "Competence creates confidence." This is the deeper goal behind Merge - not just to train dogs, but to elevate the standards by which we understand them. The word “kynology” refers to the scientific study of dogs, and I believe it’s time we bring that spirit back into dog training. That means looking beyond treats and trends, and instead grounding my work in behavior, psychology, and real-world function.
Merge exists to bridge worlds.
To make dog-human connections.
