Bosses are like dogs. There are hundreds of breeds of bosses who come in all shapes, sizes and colors. They can be male or female, have short hair or long hair, some shed and some don't, some bark and some whine, some have behavioral disorders, and they all like to be petted, but not all of them are housebroken. Some chase their tails round-and-round in manic circles, others are rigidly disciplined and well trained, some leave a big dump on your desk and others like to leave little sprinkles. Some chew up your stuff and leave it lying in ruined heaps of masticated pulp, and others steal your stuff and - the next thing you know - they're holding it down with one paw like it was theirs to begin with.
You have your alpha boss and your underdog boss. Some bosses like to let you know they're the boss right off the bat. No messin' around, they're aggressive and loud, they interrupt you when you're talking, they show up late without apology, they tell you they think you stink, they yell at you in front of other people, and they're - well - bossy.
Like my dog Sundance. He's a big, beautiful Golden Retriever who probably wasn't socialized enough as a pup, and when we take him for a walk and he sees another dog, he likes to let that other dog know right away who's boss. He strains against the leash, his tail goes straight up, he barks a lot of big, nasty loud barks, and then he tries to charge at the other dog. When things settle down a little, he sniffs the other dog's butt to see if it's got the right stuff and, if it does, he humps it.
Other bosses like to let you think you're the boss, and then they step in at the last minute and take charge. Like my other Golden, Cody. When Sundance wants to play, he's friendly and happy and jumps around and rolls on the floor in front of Cody to convince her that - really - she can trust him to play nice, and he promises he won't jump on her or hump her or otherwise publicly disgrace her (sounds like that other kind of boss again). But then, finally, Sundance can't help himself and he does jump and hump and embarrass her, and Cody has to let him know that - BARK! - he's had his fun, she's really in charge, he's annoying, and he'd better get himself together before she's forced to take control again.
Interviewing with a potential new boss is like adopting a new puppy. Whether you're at the shelter or in the park, at the puppy store or looking into a cardboard box in front of the supermarket, you're trying to pick the pup that best matches your fantasy of the perfect, unconditionally loving companion; but just like a prospective new boss, that pup really just wants to sniff your butt to see if you've got the right humpable stuff.
And don't even get me started on the hound dog boss or the bitch in heat.
I'm a boss. I like to think I'm the lead bitch. You know, like on a team of sled dogs. I like to think that I lead by example, pull my own weight, help others pull theirs, and that my team trusts me to steadily guide them to victory through the snowstorm in a long, fast race of speed and endurance. Ruff!
I've had bosses that I learned from because they did the right things that were good for their people and good for their business. I've had bosses I learned from because they did the wrong things and I saw what it did to their people and their business. I've seen a junkyard dog turn into a sweet, loving, obedient pet. But I've never seen a bad boss turn into a good one (except Ebenezer Scrooge - and c'mon - it was still all about him! And he didn't even have a dog!)
So what's your boss dog story? Or are you the boss? Or if you can't stand another dog analogy, just tell me a story about your best boss - or your worst boss. Send stories, pictures, drawings, video, whatever - and maybe I'll write a Boss Book. Or a Dog Digest. Or a Dog Boss Dibook.
Thanks.
- Lead Bitch Boss
(aka Grace)
You have your alpha boss and your underdog boss. Some bosses like to let you know they're the boss right off the bat. No messin' around, they're aggressive and loud, they interrupt you when you're talking, they show up late without apology, they tell you they think you stink, they yell at you in front of other people, and they're - well - bossy.
Like my dog Sundance. He's a big, beautiful Golden Retriever who probably wasn't socialized enough as a pup, and when we take him for a walk and he sees another dog, he likes to let that other dog know right away who's boss. He strains against the leash, his tail goes straight up, he barks a lot of big, nasty loud barks, and then he tries to charge at the other dog. When things settle down a little, he sniffs the other dog's butt to see if it's got the right stuff and, if it does, he humps it.
Other bosses like to let you think you're the boss, and then they step in at the last minute and take charge. Like my other Golden, Cody. When Sundance wants to play, he's friendly and happy and jumps around and rolls on the floor in front of Cody to convince her that - really - she can trust him to play nice, and he promises he won't jump on her or hump her or otherwise publicly disgrace her (sounds like that other kind of boss again). But then, finally, Sundance can't help himself and he does jump and hump and embarrass her, and Cody has to let him know that - BARK! - he's had his fun, she's really in charge, he's annoying, and he'd better get himself together before she's forced to take control again.
Interviewing with a potential new boss is like adopting a new puppy. Whether you're at the shelter or in the park, at the puppy store or looking into a cardboard box in front of the supermarket, you're trying to pick the pup that best matches your fantasy of the perfect, unconditionally loving companion; but just like a prospective new boss, that pup really just wants to sniff your butt to see if you've got the right humpable stuff.
And don't even get me started on the hound dog boss or the bitch in heat.
I'm a boss. I like to think I'm the lead bitch. You know, like on a team of sled dogs. I like to think that I lead by example, pull my own weight, help others pull theirs, and that my team trusts me to steadily guide them to victory through the snowstorm in a long, fast race of speed and endurance. Ruff!
I've had bosses that I learned from because they did the right things that were good for their people and good for their business. I've had bosses I learned from because they did the wrong things and I saw what it did to their people and their business. I've seen a junkyard dog turn into a sweet, loving, obedient pet. But I've never seen a bad boss turn into a good one (except Ebenezer Scrooge - and c'mon - it was still all about him! And he didn't even have a dog!)
So what's your boss dog story? Or are you the boss? Or if you can't stand another dog analogy, just tell me a story about your best boss - or your worst boss. Send stories, pictures, drawings, video, whatever - and maybe I'll write a Boss Book. Or a Dog Digest. Or a Dog Boss Dibook.
Thanks.
- Lead Bitch Boss
(aka Grace)
