It’s been over a year since I started my current job. Like any other job, there are ups and downs;
good days and bad days; days when I’m ready to quit and pay my rent training
the canines of the wealthy Westchesterites (Weschesterans? Westchesterers?) and
days when I come home glowing from a major accomplishment. I know, I know – most of you can’t fathom how
somebody who works with 30 Golden Retrievers on a daily basis could possibly
have a bad day. Trust me, it’s not the
dogs that cause the bad days (exceptions: diarrhea, vomiting, and behavioral
issues do account for about 5% of all bad days). Lately, though, I’ve been having a tough time
finding pleasure in my day-to-day job.
The bad days have outweighed the good for whatever reason – usually because
of office politics, bruised egos (my own or others’), and general
frustrations. I’ve been struggling and I
realized today that I had lost sight of the bigger picture. I realized that despite all of my
frustrations, despite all of the drama and egos and stress and disenchantment
that I have grown enormously as a person because of this job.
Today I watched as the latest group of trainer trainees worked
with the latest group of disabled clients.
I saw myself a year ago in their shoes.
I watched them trip over themselves to help these people, to grab the
leash, command the dog, not realizing that these are the behaviors that foster
dependence, not the independence that the clients crave so much. We are providing service dogs, not service
humans, so unless they want to go home and live with these clients, they better
step back. I watched them become
frustrated as the clients “ruined” “their” dogs. The dogs challenged these clients who can’t
move their arms, legs, or speak clearly.
The dogs pulled, they refused the retrieve, they ignored the clients and
I watched the trainers jump to the rescue to get the dog’s attention, give
treats, give commands, prove that “their” dogs new the commands. I used to do that. I used to jump to the rescue but today I stood
back and watched trusting that the process would work itself out, as I’ve seen
happen repeatedly over the past year.
In the past year, I may have become a better dog trainer,
though that’s not obvious. I may have
become a better teacher, a better volunteer manager, or a better office
organizer (also not obvious). The most
obvious thing I’ve learned in the past year is patience. It took 25 years, but, Mom, look! I am actually patient. I realized this as I watched one trainer after
another give up in frustration working with a particular client with physical
and vocal limitations. This client
cannot pet the dog, she cannot produce treats or toys, she cannot move her own wheelchair. However, this client is mentally incredibly
nimble and bright. She knows all the
commands, but it can take up to 3 minutes for her to produce them orally. It is so tempting to just spit it out, just
tell the dog what to do, try to put the words into her mouth in the hopes that
saying them before her will make her say them faster. Instead, I wait. The door may close 3 times before we get the
sequence of commands to get through it, but I’ve got time. And here’s the kicker – I absolutely adore
working with her and admire her as the woman that she is. And tonight, as I was leaving for the
evening, she said to me with a huge smile on her face “You are so good at your
job, you’ve taught me so much, you actually listen to me, and I am lucky that
you’re working with me.” Ladies and
gentleman, that is what I’ve learned
this year and that is why, no matter
what, I love my job career.
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