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)
5 comments:
You likened yourself to the lead sled dog on a team. I certainly hope you and your dogs are never forced to run in the Iditarod, a race with with long, well documented history of dog, deaths, illnesses and injuries. For the facts, visit the Sled Dog Action Coalition website, http://www.helpsleddogs.org.
Here's a short list of what happens to the dogs during the Iditarod: death, paralysis, penile frostbite, bleeding ulcers, bloody diarrhea, lung damage, pneumonia, ruptured discs, viral diseases, broken bones, torn muscles and tendons, vomiting, hypothermia, sprains, fur loss, broken teeth, torn footpads and anemia.
At least 133 dogs have died in the Iditarod. There is no official count of dog deaths available for the race's early years. In "WinterDance: the Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod," a nonfiction book, Gary Paulsen describes witnessing an Iditarod musher brutally kicking a dog to death during the race. He wrote, "All the time he was kicking the dog. Not with the imprecision of anger, the kicks, not kicks to match his rage but aimed, clinical vicious kicks. Kicks meant to hurt deeply, to cause serious injury. Kicks meant to kill."
Causes of death have also included strangulation in towlines, internal hemorrhaging after being gouged by a sled, liver injury, heart failure, and pneumonia. "Sudden death" and "external myopathy," a fatal condition in which a dog's muscles and organs deteriorate during extreme or prolonged exercise, have also occurred. The 1976 Iditarod winner, Jerry Riley, was accused of striking his dog with a snow hook (a large, sharp and heavy metal claw). In 1996, one of Rick Swenson's dogs died while he mushed his team through waist-deep water and ice. The Iditarod Trail Committee banned both mushers from the race but later reinstated them. In many states these incidents would be considered animal cruelty. Swenson is now on the Iditarod Board of Directors.
In the 2001 Iditarod, a sick dog was sent to a prison to be cared for by inmates and received no veterinary care. He was chained up in the cold and died. Another dog died by suffocating on his own vomit.
No one knows how many dogs die in training or after the race each year.
On average, 53 percent of the dogs who start the race do not make it across the finish line. According to a report published in the American Journal of Respiratory and Critical Care Medicine, of those who do cross, 81 percent have lung damage. A report published in the Journal of Veterinary Internal Medicine said that 61 percent of the dogs who finish the Iditarod have ulcers versus zero percent pre-race.
Tom Classen, retired Air Force colonel and Alaskan resident for over 40 years, tells us that the dogs are beaten into submission:
"They've had the hell beaten out of them." "You don't just whisper into their ears, ‘OK, stand there until I tell you to run like the devil.' They understand one thing: a beating. These dogs are beaten into submission the same way elephants are trained for a circus. The mushers will deny it. And you know what? They are all lying." -USA Today, March 3, 2000 in Jon Saraceno's column
Beatings and whippings are common. Jim Welch says in his book Speed Mushing Manual, "I heard one highly respected [sled dog] driver once state that "‘Alaskans like the kind of dog they can beat on.'" "Nagging a dog team is cruel and ineffective...A training device such as a whip is not cruel at all but is effective." "It is a common training device in use among dog mushers...A whip is a very humane training tool."
During the 2007 Iditarod, eyewitnesses reported that musher Ramy Brooks kicked, punched and beat his dogs with a ski pole and a chain. Brooks admitted to hitting his dogs with a wooden trail marker when they refused to run. The Iditarod Trail Committee suspended Brooks for two years, but only for the actions he admitted. By ignoring eyewitness accounts, the Iditarod encouraged animal abuse. When mushers know that eyewitness accounts will be disregarded, they are more likely to hurt their dogs and lie about it later.
Mushers believe in "culling" or killing unwanted dogs, including puppies. Many dogs who are permanently disabled in the Iditarod, or who are unwanted for any reason, are killed with a shot to the head, dragged or clubbed to death. "On-going cruelty is the law of many dog lots. Dogs are clubbed with baseball bats and if they don't pull are dragged to death in harnesses....." wrote Alaskan Mike Cranford in an article for Alaska's Bush Blade Newspaper (March, 2000).
Jon Saraceno wrote in his March 3, 2000 column in USA Today, "He [Colonel Tom Classen] confirmed dog beatings and far worse. Like starving dogs to maintain their most advantageous racing weight. Skinning them to make mittens. Or dragging them to their death."
The Iditarod, with its history of abuse, could not be legally held in many states, because doing so would violate animal cruelty laws.
Iditarod administrators promote the race as a commemoration of sled dogs saving the children of Nome by bringing diphtheria serum from Anchorage in 1925. However, the co-founder of the Iditarod, Dorothy Page, said the race was not established to honor the sled drivers and dogs who carried the serum. In fact, 600 miles of this serum delivery was done by train and the other half was done by dogs running in relays, with no dog running over 100 miles. This isn't anything like the Iditarod.
The race has led to the proliferation of horrific dog kennels in which the dogs are treated very cruelly. Many kennels have over 100 dogs and some have as many as 200. It is standard for the dogs to spend their entire lives outside tethered to metal chains that can be as short as four feet long. In 1997 the United States Department of Agriculture determined that the tethering of dogs was inhumane and not in the animals' best interests. The chaining of dogs as a primary means of enclosure is prohibited in all cases where federal law applies. A dog who is permanently tethered is forced to urinate and defecate where he sleeps, which conflicts with his natural instinct to eliminate away from his living area.
Iditarod dogs are prisoners of abuse.
Here's a short list of what happens to the dogs during the race: death, paralysis, penile frostbite, bleeding ulcers, bloody diarrhea, lung damage, pneumonia, ruptured discs, viral diseases, broken bones, torn muscles and tendons, vomiting, hypothermia, sprains, fur loss, broken teeth, torn footpads and anemia.
At least 133 dogs have died in the Iditarod. There is no official count of dog deaths available for the race's early years. In "WinterDance: the Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod," a nonfiction book, Gary Paulsen describes witnessing an Iditarod musher brutally kicking a dog to death during the race. He wrote, "All the time he was kicking the dog. Not with the imprecision of anger, the kicks, not kicks to match his rage but aimed, clinical vicious kicks. Kicks meant to hurt deeply, to cause serious injury. Kicks meant to kill."
Causes of death have also included strangulation in towlines, internal hemorrhaging after being gouged by a sled, liver injury, heart failure, and pneumonia. "Sudden death" and "external myopathy," a fatal condition in which a dog's muscles and organs deteriorate during extreme or prolonged exercise, have also occurred. The 1976 Iditarod winner, Jerry Riley, was accused of striking his dog with a snow hook (a large, sharp and heavy metal claw). In 1996, one of Rick Swenson's dogs died while he mushed his team through waist-deep water and ice. The Iditarod Trail Committee banned both mushers from the race but later reinstated them. In many states these incidents would be considered animal cruelty. Swenson is now on the Iditarod Board of Directors.
In the 2001 Iditarod, a sick dog was sent to a prison to be cared for by inmates and received no veterinary care. He was chained up in the cold and died. Another dog died by suffocating on his own vomit.
No one knows how many dogs die in training or after the race each year.
On average, 53 percent of the dogs who start the race do not make it across the finish line. According to a report published in the American Journal of Respiratory and Critical Care Medicine, of those who do cross, 81 percent have lung damage. A report published in the Journal of Veterinary Internal Medicine said that 61 percent of the dogs who finish the Iditarod have ulcers versus zero percent pre-race.
Tom Classen, retired Air Force colonel and Alaskan resident for over 40 years, tells us that the dogs are beaten into submission:
"They've had the hell beaten out of them." "You don't just whisper into their ears, ‘OK, stand there until I tell you to run like the devil.' They understand one thing: a beating. These dogs are beaten into submission the same way elephants are trained for a circus. The mushers will deny it. And you know what? They are all lying." -USA Today, March 3, 2000 in Jon Saraceno's column
Beatings and whippings are common. Jim Welch says in his book Speed Mushing Manual, "I heard one highly respected [sled dog] driver once state that "‘Alaskans like the kind of dog they can beat on.'" "Nagging a dog team is cruel and ineffective...A training device such as a whip is not cruel at all but is effective." "It is a common training device in use among dog mushers...A whip is a very humane training tool."
During the 2007 Iditarod, eyewitnesses reported that musher Ramy Brooks kicked, punched and beat his dogs with a ski pole and a chain. Brooks admitted to hitting his dogs with a wooden trail marker when they refused to run. The Iditarod Trail Committee suspended Brooks for two years, but only for the actions he admitted. By ignoring eyewitness accounts, the Iditarod encouraged animal abuse. When mushers know that eyewitness accounts will be disregarded, they are more likely to hurt their dogs and lie about it later.
Mushers believe in "culling" or killing unwanted dogs, including puppies. Many dogs who are permanently disabled in the Iditarod, or who are unwanted for any reason, are killed with a shot to the head, dragged or clubbed to death. "On-going cruelty is the law of many dog lots. Dogs are clubbed with baseball bats and if they don't pull are dragged to death in harnesses....." wrote Alaskan Mike Cranford in an article for Alaska's Bush Blade Newspaper (March, 2000).
Jon Saraceno wrote in his March 3, 2000 column in USA Today, "He [Colonel Tom Classen] confirmed dog beatings and far worse. Like starving dogs to maintain their most advantageous racing weight. Skinning them to make mittens. Or dragging them to their death."
The Iditarod, with its history of abuse, could not be legally held in many states, because doing so would violate animal cruelty laws.
Iditarod administrators promote the race as a commemoration of sled dogs saving the children of Nome by bringing diphtheria serum from Anchorage in 1925. However, the co-founder of the Iditarod, Dorothy Page, said the race was not established to honor the sled drivers and dogs who carried the serum. In fact, 600 miles of this serum delivery was done by train and the other half was done by dogs running in relays, with no dog running over 100 miles. This isn't anything like the Iditarod.
The race has led to the proliferation of horrific dog kennels in which the dogs are treated very cruelly. Many kennels have over 100 dogs and some have as many as 200. It is standard for the dogs to spend their entire lives outside tethered to metal chains that can be as short as four feet long. In 1997 the United States Department of Agriculture determined that the tethering of dogs was inhumane and not in the animals' best interests. The chaining of dogs as a primary means of enclosure is prohibited in all cases where federal law applies. A dog who is permanently tethered is forced to urinate and defecate where he sleeps, which conflicts with his natural instinct to eliminate away from his living area.
Iditarod dogs are prisoners of abuse.
Um... wow?! Hey, Mr. SDAC: That has nothing to do with BOSSES at all!
I'm trying to think of what kind of dog I'd peg you as, as a boss.
Goldens are really friendly (that works), but allow themselves to be walked all over and have no mood other than wag-wag-you-name-it-I'll-do-it (and that doesn't work).
I'd say you're a Golden/Shepard/Beagle mix. How's that?!
C.
What would you call the "first time" boss? You know, the one who isn't sure of her/himself but gets to be a better boss as tiem goes on? a puppy boss?
Hello seventh sister!
The first-time boss as the "puppy" is a pretty apt descriptor since it denotes a relatively fresh and eager approach to your new role. It's true that we who have been (or are!) first-time bosses are eager to succeed, eager for people to respect us and like us, and we generally want to please our bosses, our colleagues and those who work for us.
As we all know, puppies can be endearing, and we're willing to put up with all the little messes they're constantly making because they're just so darn cute. But eventually, if that puppy hasn't learned his way around without making all those little messes, we're likely to send them back to the shelter!
What do you think?
- Grace
Sled dog action coalition -
While edifying to the point of ad nauseum (emphasis on the nauseum), your post on my blog is a blight on my particular landscape - and if I had any idea how to delete it, I would. I'm a dog lover, never doubt it, and my dogs are among the happiest on the planet! I am also a supporter of many causes for which I feel passionate - but the fact that you chose to write 33 unfortunate paragraphs of dog crap in support of your cause on my blog is abusive and offensive. So you're officially in the doghouse.
STAY!
- Grace
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