Be the human your dog sees in you

This week has been one of the hardest of my life. 

Sitting on the floor in a small room with my head against the wall, I held my good boy Ernie’s head in my lap. Across the room, a window framed the bones of a tree with only a few remaining signs of fall. The sun spotlit blackbirds performing in the distance as they reshaped in indecisive aerobatics.

Sunlight warmed my face as tears found their way to the end of my nose. The veterinarian returned with a few syringes in her hand. A few moments later, I watched as she reached the end of the last tube. I rubbed Ernie’s soft coat and told him he was a good boy as I felt him take his last breath.

Monday was without a doubt one of the worst days of my life as I gave that dog up. I realize if you’re not a pet person, this probably sounds crazy that someone could love a dog so much. That’s partially why I’m writing today’s post.

I want to share just how heavy the grief is in hopes of giving you the gift Ernie gave me—empathy. 

Man’s best friend

My wife and I adopted Ernie days after returning from our honeymoon. He was the first dog we’d seen at the shelter that we both liked. He became my obsession. We took him to the park, on walks, and I taught him a wide range of tricks (his army crawl was a crowd pleaser). He was soon joining us on hikes, camping trips and road trips. Five years later he welcomed our first kid, and his role changed from the sun I revolved around to the protector of our baby. 

My wife works the night shift, and Ernie kept me company on the thousands of nights she worked during his life. He was at my feet as I did the research to start my company, and he has been at my feet for nearly every newsletter I’ve written. He was at the first founder meeting for GoWild, and became a staple at the office when we went full time for our little startup.

This little 43 pounds of fur gave me more joy and friendship than I deserved. Dogs love without judgment, forgiving us when we haven’t earned it. They know when we need a nuzzle or a head in our lap, and within seconds of that gesture, they can turn a bad day into a good night. 

I'll miss Ernie for the rest of my life. But losing him took a part of me, and it disrupted my focus this week. On Monday before I had to let him go, I brought him to the office to say goodbye to his coworkers. Many of them cried. They all graciously offered to help how they could so I could go home that afternoon and focus on him during his final hours. I especially want to thank Jacob, who took on several meetings for me to help clear my calendar. 

We went home and gave him the afternoon he deserved:

Resting in his favorite spot—the backyard—the sun warmed his gray face, he sniffed the good smells in the air, and soaked in the laughter of my kids surrounding him. Everyone gave him one last hug, and I carried him to the car for a heartbreaking ride. 

His parting gift

When I left work with him to go spend our afternoon together, I was driving slow so as not to toss him in the back. He had lost his stability, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him more. As I pulled out slow after a red light, someone tailgated me and started swerving back and forth. I was trying not to cry (fairly unsuccessfully) as this person got within a few feet of my rear. Finally when I turned off to our house, they hammered the gas, aggressively swerved around me and made it known I was annoying them.

This was one of my first lessons in Ernie’s death. I have been the person who is impatient. Over the last few years, I’ve tried to be more empathetic, as you never know what someone is dealing with. I have to wonder if the guy riding my bumper would have behaved that way if he knew about my precious cargo and what I was going through.

I think this is something we can all keep in mind to do better at, whether it’s while driving, on the phone with customer service, wondering why someone isn’t responding to our emails, or dealing with a coworker’s bad performance. You never really know what someone else is dealing with. 

This led me to another realization. And it was one that led to me changing our company handbook this week. 

Pets are family, too

A few years ago, an employee sent an email to my cofounder blasting some of his team members for last minute requests, complaining about workload and generally venting about some shortcomings in our process. I was frustrated with the tone, and completely overreacted when I spoke to my cofounder about it. I was ready to fire him, but calmed down with some time. 

Come to find out, the team member had lost his dog that week. I don’t think that’s an excuse for his behavior exactly, but in hindsight, the larger problem wasn’t his attitude, it was my leadership. We forced someone to work through incredible grief, which put him in a position to make bad decisions. We would have given him the day off had he asked, but he shouldn’t have had to ask. The real problem was I hadn’t given the team a framework to make that ask—he knew he’d be asking for an exception to the rule instead of utilizing his earned benefits. 

I had totally forgotten about this event. It was years ago and far from my memory. But this week as I mourned the loss of a furry family member, I remembered it all with vivid color. I was and am embarrassed. At first I thought, “I think we added bereavement for pets to our handbook after that,” but upon pulling up the handbook, I realized we hadn’t.  

Within 24 hours, we changed the policy to give GoWild team members up to three days for the loss of a pet—not just dogs or cats, it’s any pet. While we were changing the handbook, I went ahead and added “loved one” into the policy, expanding it beyond just family members. It’s not my role to tell an employee who qualifies for their grief. It’s my job to make sure we support them through the grief regardless of what caused it.

Live like dogs—lead with empathy

Ernie was my sweet boy, but I had times where I blew up on him for barking nonstop at something (or seemingly nothing), got mad at him for tripping me up (he was part cattle dog so his tendency to herd you around the house could be a hazard), or any number of things I shouldn’t have been mad about. No matter how many times I was angry, he forgave me. It’s as if dogs have an innate ability to stop and think, “I don’t know what he’s been through today, but my job is to make him feel better now.”

We can all learn from that.

Leading with love and empathy is going to make your team better, and it will build loyalty you can’t buy with raises or promotions. There are so many components to employee happiness, but don’t overlook the fact that when someone leaves a company, they’re often leaving their direct manager. 

I firmly believe that by being a good human—the human your dog sees in you—you will be a better leader. 

Rest in peace, Ernie. You were a good boy, and your legacy at GoWild is now written in the history books.

And the handbook. 

Who I’m listening to: The Ballad of Dood and Juanita

What I’m reading: OK this isn’t my current book, but this week I’m recommending one of my favorites about a dog “The Dog Stars” by Peter Heller 

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