There’s a good reason why videos are increasingly popular. They’re easy to consume and, more important for those of us with a message, they are easy to make. You can do a lot armed with just a smartphone. You don’t need an expensive crew, equipment, and studio to produce a decent-quality video.
In a memorable video, the speaker communicates their message clearly and succinctly. We are gripped by the speaker’s call to action. We viewers leap to our feet, ready to obey. Inspired, we share the speaker’s message with others.
Ah, if it were only that easy…
We’ve all sat through DIY videos listening to speakers “uh” and “erm” their way along. The speaker seems lost and befuddled, wanders off into side-topics, gets distracted by the cat (or dog) that comes into the room, and completely forgets their point.
Don’t be that person. Instead, follow these tips to script a memorable video.
Step 1: Grab Attention With a Powerful Title and Opening Sentence
You’ve only got a few seconds to lock in audience attention. Don’t waste this time. Hook your audience from the start. If you can’t communicate your message right away, nobody will bother watching the rest of your video.
Start with a powerful title that piques curiosity, then lure viewers in with an equally powerful opening sentence. Script the opening sentence to support your headline, then polish, polish, polish.
There are lots of free tools available to help.
Check out this article from HubSpot. Yes, it’s about email subject lines. But you can use this approach to craft great video titles.
Use the free headline analyzer at CoSchedule.com to craft a memorable video title. (CoSchedule’s headline analyzer will also score it for search engine optimization (SEO) characteristics.) Aim for a score of at least 70.
Step 2: Close Out On a High Note
It’s counterintuitive I know, but next, write your closing. Script a sentence or two that recaps and reinforces your message and includes a call to action. Polish until it shines. This is what people will likely remember, so it’s worth the effort.
A call to action is the step you want your viewer to take. It may be to enroll in a class, donate to a charitable cause, or hire you. Whatever it is, make sure you clearly state that next step.
Don’t forget to include your or your organization’s name and contact information (website, email, and/or phone number).
Step 3: Fill in With One to Three Talking Points
Now develop the body of your script. Here’s where you tell your story.
Most videos are short (30-90 seconds) — just enough time to make a couple of points. You need to decide whether you want to dive into one point or skim lightly over two to three points. The more you have to say about any one topic, the fewer topics you should have.
Jot down a few five or six words for each bullet point. As you write, hone your message so that it is tightly focused. If there’s a specific example you want to use, note it. Write down specific words or phrases you need to remember.
Worried about forgetting something? Keep your notes on your smartphone or on a pad nearby and refer to them if you need to when you’re recording.
I get asked a lot whether someone should share personal information. It depends on your audience, so you need to know who you’re talking to. For example, bankers, accountants, and lawyers may be more comfortable with bare facts. Parents might want to know a bit about you as a person before they trust you.
A little humor can work, but it can be tricky to pull off. If you’re not a natural with humor, don’t force it. And if you are, avoid snark and irony; even with body language, it may not work. (Your audience may be listening but not watching the video.)
Step 4: Practice, But Don’t Practice Too Much
Practice enough so you’re comfortable, but not so much that you sound rote. Be able to deliver your opening and closing as scripted, but allow yourself to explore your topic in different ways with each run through. You may discover something you forgot when scripting your talking points or find a better way to say it.
An old Toastmasters trick: memorize your opening and closing sentences. Know the major points you want to make, and let your words flow naturally as you move from open to close.
It’s perfectly OK to get excited, even passionate about your subject. Just don’t overdo it and don’t fake it. Too much practice will kill the passion; don’t let that happen.
Do I Need a Videographer For a Memorable Video?
It depends. Some of the most effective videos I’ve seen were shot on a smartphone with no set, script, or video team. They succeed because the speaker is passionate about their topic and they want to share that excitement with you. Their energy shines through and pulls you in.
But there’s a good argument for paying a professional videographer. It takes a lot of pressure off you, especially if you’re not technically inclined. A professional videographer will add polish to the final product, in ways you probably can’t. I’m all for paying a pro to do something I can’t do as well. In the long run, a professional videographer can save you time, money, and a lot of frustration. They can be well worth the investment.
If you want to see a wide range of videos, from polished to home-made on no budget, check out Indiegogo. It’s a fundraising site for everything from start-ups to non-profits, and most projects include a video. Some are great, some are awful. Worth the look.
And stay tuned to my website. I’ve been exploring videos lately and hope to be adding some soon.
Oh, and don’t forget to lock the door to the room to keep pets out while you’re recording your memorable video.
The world is suffering from an overabundance of people who take themselves too damn seriously. Maybe we blame it on social media. Maybe we blame it on the current social and political climate. Whatever it is, people, we need to lighten up! How many of you have abandoned Facebook because of the vitriol, or look at nothing but puppy videos? Not that there’s anything wrong with a puppy video when you’re having a bad day.
The thing about dogs is they force you to lighten up. Most are naturally open, friendly and curious. At least my Huskies were, and they taught me three basic lessons that stick with me today.
Like clockwork, every afternoon at 5:00 the dogs would wake up, shake themselves off, and take me outside for a half hour of roughhousing. Like the littlest kid in the class, I was always “it.” I’d sit on the deck while one plopped his furry butt in my lap. The other two would stage an elaborately ferocious battle to unseat him. Eventually, someone’s teeth would flash a little too close to my face for comfort and I’d call a halt to the proceedings. We’d troop back into the house, refreshed. The boys would go back to sleep; I’d go back to work until dinner time.
It was a much-needed break in my day. It got me away from my desk, and it often knocked an idea or two loose in my head. Best of all, playtime reset my perspective. How seriously can you take yourself when you’re a living sock doll for three dogs?
Lesson #1: Play daily, even if you’re “it.”
I’ve written about Reese, my alpha husky. (He was the guy who dealt with a snake by peeing on it.) His most endearing trait was his welcoming personality. Everyone who came to my front door got the same greeting: an ears-back wiggle, a nod of the head, and a soft woo-ooo-ooo. He’d escort them to a seat and made sure they were entertained, often by graciously allowing them to scratch his ears. The delivery people confused him a bit–they’d never come inside. But even they didn’t leave without saying hello to him. It didn’t matter how he felt. Even when he was suffering from cancer, he’d wobble to his feet, shake himself off, and find the energy to be a gracious host.
He made a lot of friends that way. People would stop by just to visit him. He became a bit of a legend with the Fed Ex guys. He won over people who were afraid of dogs, people who didn’t like dogs, people who were just plain grumpy. The day I put him down, I called a list of people so they could come and say their goodbyes. His last gift to me was new friends I’d never have had otherwise.
Lesson #2: Always welcome new people into your life, no matter how you feel.
My White German Shepherd-Husky-wolf mix, Harley, was endlessly curious. Sometimes this wasn’t such a good thing. I spent my fair share of time in the shower de-skunking a large, irate dog. But I’ve learned that exercising your curiosity can lead to great things.
One spring Sunday, we were headed home after a long walk. Cars were pulling over along the curb. People were getting out to stare at the top of the hill in front of my house. Cell phones and cameras pointed upward. I was busy getting the four of us across the street safely so I didn’t look up.
Harley’s radar dish ears turned toward something. He led us straight up the hill to confront a magnificent great blue heron hunting for her next meal. Yes, herons are water birds. They will also hunt in open fields for a meal. This particular hillside is a condo complex for ground squirrels, and the hunting was good.
We all froze. I had never been so close to such a majestic bird, and I’m reasonably sure the dogs hadn’t either. More to the point, they’d never seen a bird so big. There was some confusion on their part. It smelled like a bird. They knew from decimating the local pigeon population that birds could be caught and eaten. But something this big…? Unclear about how to proceed, three faces turned my way.
The heron gazed down at us with considerable disdain and some annoyance. She spread her wings and slowly, gracefully, soared away.
Lesson #3: Stay curious. You never know what will happen.
At some point in your professional life, you’ve probably been asked to write a bio. When you protest, you’re told “It’s simple. Just a few facts. Really, we don’t need much.” Ack.
It’s not all that simple. How do you know what facts to include and what to leave out? What will your audience find interesting? And what the heck do you do if hate to talk about yourself? Ack!
Here’s an outline to get you started, some tips to help you along, and a great resource with examples and templates.
Write Your Own Bio
Find out what the bio will be used for and understand readers’ expectations. There are probably length limitations; it’s best to know before you start to write. No point in writing 500 words when 50 will do, or in embarrassing yourself by handing over something much shorter than expected.
Who are you writing for? Your bio needs to be written so that it that meets your audience’s expectations. Bankers, accountant, and lawyers? Keep it formal and fact-based. Moms and dads? Less formal is fine—they want to feel they know you, so including a personal detail or two is good.
Where will they read it? Is this for social media, a presentation you’re giving, or for a website? Length will also be an issue here. You want crisp and tight, especially for Twitter. Longer and more wordy is OK for a handout or a website when there are fewer restrictions on space. But don’t ramble on! You still want to keep it crisp.
Line up your facts. What is it your audience will most likely want to know about you? How much of your professional life/career will they want to know? Would they care what your hobbies are? Use 10 years as a guideline, but know your audience. Academics will want to know your complete CV (space allowing). Parents and colleagues will care more about your more recent experience. Include your degrees; include certifications and awards if they’re relevant or demonstrate something important about you. Add hobbies if you’re comfortable sharing personal details. Some folks aren’t—and some audiences don’t care.
A bio isn’t a resume. Summarize your facts in paragraphs, using complete sentences and correct punctuation. Start with your present situation and write in reverse chronological order. Next most recent situation or job, the one before that, then the one before that. You get the picture.
Let a bit of your personality shine through. This is you you’re talking about after all. Balance your audience expectations with who you are. A stand-up comedian or improv artist would likely show their sense of humor. A doctor might prefer to show her human side, or perhaps mention a research project she’s particularly proud of. If you have a hobby you’re proud of, mention it. For example, I love to cook and knit. It’s something that I’m willing to share with my audience and it helps them get to know me better.
Review review review. Send your draft to others and ask for their input. Review first for factual accuracy. Then review for flow—does the bio make sense? Next tackle grammar and punctuation. (Don’t rely on spell/grammar checkers!!!) Finally, give it a good copy edit. Have others do this for you if you can—another pair of eyes (or two) will catch things you’ll miss.
Submit and ask for feedback. Some folks won’t care; others will want to rewrite your entire bio. Be sure you control the final product.
if you get stuck, use the grandmother trick. How would you explain what you’ve done to your grandmother?
Watch out for humor, especially if you tend toward the ironic or snarky. What’s funny or edgy delivered in person might seem cold and callous on paper.
Read your bio out loud and see how it sounds. More and more people are relying on the spoken word from their devices. Make sure your bio flows when you read it out loud.
When copyediting, read your bio backward. Errors will pop out more clearly.
Don’t let great be the enemy of good. There is such a thing as too much review where you’ll reach the point of diminishing returns. Time to let your baby go.
If you are asked frequently for your bio and you feel like you’ve got to rewrite it every time, stop. Do you really need a custom bio for each event? If you do (and you may), create a master bio and select what content you want from that. Stop reinventing the wheel.
A number of sites offer great bios, templates, and examples. Among the best I’ve found is from HubSpot. It includes examples for everything from Twitter to longer form bios, along with more tips for how to get this job done.
A lot of life’s lessons have come from my dogs, especially the pack of Siberian Huskies that shared my life for a while. Boy, did they teach me a lot. Making a good decision quickly was at the top of the list.
As a breed, Huskies are smart, loyal, independent decision makers. They can sense trouble before a human can. If you’re running a sled team, you want your dogs to refuse commands in dangerous situations. It can save their lives–and yours.
One dim, damp, winter afternoon Reese, my alpha husky, was outside on his regular tour of the backyard. I was inside with the other dogs when we heard a high-pitched bark. Reese was calling out the cavalry. We ran to the back door. I let the dogs out and peered through the mist.
A very large snake was curled in the dead leaves, giving Reese the stink-eye.
Snake vs. Dog
Rattlesnakes and gopher snakes are common where I live. As a rule, I don’t mind them. They keep the local rodent population in check. They eat; I save money on rat traps and don’t have to dispose of the deceased. Although rattlers and gopher snakes look alike, there’s one key difference: gopher snakes are not poisonous. On a bright, sunny day the differences between the two are clear. Not so much on this particularly gloomy Sunday.
If you’ve never seen a pack of dogs hunt, it’s a wonder. Each dog has a role. One stations himself at the prey’s head while the rest of the pack circle and distract. Reese took up a position confronting the enemy. The others ran in tight circles around them, snarling and snapping.
I didn’t want to have to drag a snake-bitten, hysterical Husky to the emergency vet.
I called them to heel. The backup unit returned immediately, looking somewhat relieved. This was not their idea. Warm, dry beds required their immediate attention. But Reese persisted, brave and conscientious if a bit nervous now that he was flying solo. He paused to acknowledge my call; however, this was an imminent threat to his pack. He was going to take care of the intruder come hell or high water.
The snake was none too pleased. It lashed out to strike my resolute Husky. Reese hopped back a couple of feet but immediately leaped forward again with a snarl. The snake lunged a second time. I continued to call Reese. I was getting more worried about the outcome of this little tete-a-tete. Reese was torn. He recognized the danger he was in but didn’t want to fail. This was his backyard and the uninvited guest must be dealt with. It was all on his shoulders.
He paused to think things through.
You could almost see a light bulb go off over his head. He launched one last attack. The snake tucked itself down into a defensive curl. Firmly planting himself, Reese lifted a rear leg and aimed a stream of urine at the snake’s head. It hit the target dead on.
I imagined explaining the snake bite to the emergency vet.
The snake shook his head in disgust and beat a hasty retreat, never to be seen again. Reese turned and bounded into the house with his tail curled high, very proud of himself. Job done, he paused just long enough to collect praise from me then promptly took a nap.
Our local hospital has a national reputation as a high-quality institution. If you know anything about healthcare, you understand how valuable that is. High patient satisfaction ratings mean more federal (and sometimes state) dollars. Happier patient stakeholders mean more referrals and more revenue. In healthcare, quality isn’t just a buzzword.
But getting into the hospital is like gaining access to Fort Knox. I understand the need for security, but it adds a good 10 minutes to a visit. The main lobby is always crowded and confused; if you go in that way, bring your patience too.
My husband requires a monthly medical treatment. We park at a back door, in a small lot designed to serve out-patients who need access to the few departments nearby. Otherwise, it’s a long, long walk from the bustle of the main lobby. It’s also a convenient shortcut for vendors servicing medical equipment.
Getting in and out is quick and easy and the security guards are great: they get to know you and greet you with a smile. I don’t know how they stay so cheerful, because there is no shelter from the elements. Even in good weather, strong winds blow around a nearby corner. It gets brutally hot in the summer, miserably damp and cold in the winter. The equipment they need to look up names and print ID tags never works—it wasn’t designed to be used outside.
We asked about the situation as one guard wrote out our nametags by hand on a “Hello My Name Is” label. The hospital refused to invest any money in an adequate guard station. It was only a back door and not as busy as the main lobby. Why bother?
Unfortunately, bad people recognized an opportunity. They began to sneak in. The staff had problems with unwanted guests trying to steal drugs and equipment, or harass patients. It was getting out of hand.
The Solution Worked—Until It Didn’t
Hospital security implemented a solution. They installed a camera and intercom system. To get in, you buzzed the security office. They examined you through the camera, asked you to hold up your ID, and then let you in or sent you around to the main lobby. But the hospital was unwilling to invest in a good camera and visitors were unprotected from the elements. Most of the time the guard who answered the call couldn’t clearly see visitor’s faces, much less read the proffered ID card. Many were sent to the madhouse in the main lobby.
A lot of the patients who use that door are in poor health. Walking around the building is difficult, even if you’re agile. Having to go to the front strained parking attendants and volunteers, held up medical procedures, delayed equipment repairs, reduced the number of patients the departments could treat in a day, and, as a result, reduced revenue while increasing costs. Worse, stakeholders were irritated to the point of irrationality. It risked impacting the patient satisfaction scores.
That got everyone’s attention.
Who Needs Stakeholders?
Frustrated by all the complaints, hospital security went for the cheap-and-easy solution: lock the back door. Grant access only to staff with access badges. That was it, problem solved.
Oh, and don’t tell anyone that’s what you’re doing.
You can see where this is going.
Well, That Didn’t Work Either
Not only did it make things even worse, it caused a number of unforeseen problems. The hospital added temporary staff to answer the increased volume of complaints. Because many patients couldn’t walk from the main lobby to the back of the hospital, more volunteers were needed to push them in wheelchairs. But the volunteers didn’t return the wheelchairs when they were done, so the hospital had to purchase more wheelchairs—and find more people to return the wheelchairs to the main lobby. Meanwhile, the wheelchairs were starting to pile up in corridors and waiting areas. (I thought the hospital looked like the set of “Dr. Who.”)
Vendors were delayed further in getting to their repair appointments. Expensive medical equipment sat unused—and not generating revenue—even longer than before. To keep patient satisfaction scores up, a small nation’s budget in Starbuck’s gift cards were sent out acknowledging the inconvenience and thanking everyone for their patience.
Staff schedules were upended because patients and vendors were delayed. Not only did that cost the hospital more money in overtime, it also meant staff was upset. To their credit, they didn’t take it out on patients, though managers sure got an earful.
The Point Is…
Talk to your stakeholders. Start by investigating the following questions for yourself, then check your understanding with your stakeholders.
What problem are you really solving? People were sneaking into the hospital through a back door. The real problem: Security guards weren’t equipped to work effectively. (A little root cause analysis would have sussed this out.)
Why does the problem need solving? Bad people were trying to gain access to drugs, equipment, and patients. Yup, that’s a good reason to fix the problem!
Whois impacted by the problem? Bad people, sure; but also security guards, out-patients, volunteers, parking attendants, staff, and vendors—stakeholders no one thought about.
How would your stakeholders solve the problem? Locking the back door seemed like the simplest, easiest solution. Who doesn’t love simple and easy?
A better solution: Invest in a weatherproof station and equipment to protect the guards, help them do their jobs, and make them more comfortable. Yes, it cost money in the short run. But the solutions that were implemented turned out to have a much larger impact on costs, revenues, quality and customer satisfaction.
How will you measure results? Clear indicators catch problems in the making. In this case, the solution eliminated security problems at the back door and meant the guards could be reallocated elsewhere. (Yay! Problem solved!) But the unintended consequences were more costly by far–and weren’t uncovered until much later. Oh, and in all the confusion, more bad people were getting past the guards at the main lobby. (Boo! Hiss!)
A final note: By the end of the first week, the back door was reopened and smiling guards were once again greeting us. It turns out cranky out-patients are a force to be reckoned with.
I love my honey, I really do. He’s a fabulous organizer; without him, our home would look considerably messier than it does. (He and I disagree: his “mess” is my “comfortable.” Right there we have a problem: we lack a shared vocabulary. More on that in another post.) When he’s bored, he’ll re-organize the garage, the bookcases, the closets and the kitchen. He’s a dream that way. Mostly I appreciate his considerable efforts to bring order to our lives. He doesn’t organize things like I do—he’s an engineer, for one thing. He takes any mess personally. But one man’s entropy is another woman’s pile, or stash, or clothes closet. Or kitchen.
Don’t Touch My Toolbox
We’ve already had the “don’t touch my toolbox” conversation. I could find things in my toolbox, but he couldn’t. We agreed that was his domain, so he took it over. I don’t mind; toolboxes aren’t all that big and his system is obvious if counter-intuitive to me. He applied the same rigorous logic to the junk drawer in the kitchen. It is now organized to within an inch of its life and has been renamed the “utility drawer.” I get reprimanded if I slip and call it the “junk drawer.” I can’t find anything in it but he’s usually around to ask, so I live with it. Then he oh-so-helpfully organized another of my toolboxes, the drawer of cooking utensils under the range top. I was making pancakes one morning, happily ignorant that the organizational elf had paid a visit when I wasn’t looking. Time to flip the pancakes. The spatula was not where it should be. Now mind you, I have several specialized spatulas: one for pancakes and hamburgers, one for fish, one for eggs. Different shapes and sizes, slotted or not, each specific to its purpose. I’d have settled for any spatula at that point—the pancakes were starting to burn. Couldn’t find any of them. Shouted for the engineer, who was reorganizing his closet again. Somewhat offended, he showed me his new system. This, he proclaimed, would make my life easier. He opened another drawer entirely. Et violá! There were my missing spatulas—and everything else I hadn’t thought to look for—organized by material (wood, plastic/silicon, metal), color and size.
No, Really. Don’t Touch My Toolbox
He ate burnt pancakes for breakfast and we had our second “don’t touch my toolbox” conversation. I tried to explain wood/plastic/metal + color is not how I look for tools. I failed. (it wasn’t logical. Thank you, Mr. Spock.) I got his attention when I said he’d be eating a lot more burned meals if he messed with my tools. I thought we’d gotten that resolved until I decided to make a stew that called for fennel. I could have sworn I had fennel, but I didn’t see it in the spice drawer. I bought a bottle and opened the spice drawer to put it away. That’s when I noticed things looked suspicious: bottles, boxes, and cans were organized by material (glass, metal, plastic), color and size. The organizational elf had struck again. As I reorganized, I realized we had four bottles of fennel, three of cinnamon, no salt (turns out that was stashed in another cabinet across the kitchen), no cumin (a staple in my kitchen), and a bottle of mace I thought I’d thrown out years ago.
The Point Is…
Build a common vocabulary.
Get stakeholders involved. Understand their perspective. Cook in their kitchen—understand why the spatulas are where they are and the spices organized the way they are. And know that every stakeholder, like every cook, is different.
Clarify vocabulary. Get definitions. These will often conflict. My microplane is my honey’s rasp; my French rolling pin is his wooden peg. Have you ever asked Sales, Marketing, Operations, Customer Service, Accounting, and HR to define a customer? It’s an interesting conversation.
Document what you learn. Build a dictionary if you need to. Agree to disagree. Note differences and conflicts. Publish/share it across your project.
Meanwhile, I’m looking for more recipes to use up the fennel and cinnamon.
Like any maker, every writer needs a good toolkit. Professional writers, like carpenters or iron workers, have a basic set of reliable tools they use every day. I’m sharing some of my favorites with you here. Most of them are free or have a perfectly usable freemium model, with one exception.
That exception is my favorite all-purpose tool, the sticky note. I love these things. They’re great for capturing ideas, getting organized, making notes in books, jotting down an important bit of information (like a password…just kidding), and tracking progress on a kanban board. Their uses are endless. You can color code or not, depending on what you’re doing. They’re inexpensive and don’t require special training to use.
For some ideas on the many ways to use sticky notes, see this post by my colleague Shawn Greene.
Hands-down, Evernote is my favorite note taking, idea capturing, judgement-free writing app. It’s available across platforms; there are versions for Mac OS X, IOS, Windows and Android. Content syncs seamlessly in the cloud so you can start something on your smart phone and flesh it out on your laptop or tablet. It has a few more features than a simple note-taking tool but it’s a whole lot easier to use than Microsoft Word. The free version is robust enough for most folks, though you may prefer to buy a subscription if you want to share your work with a team. I use it to rough out content outlines, store document templates, and even develop drafts of my work.
To polish my work, I rely on two grammar checking tools: Hemingway and Grammarly. Both have wonderful free versions.
The Hemingway app isn’t for everyone. It’s all about terse, concise writing, a la Earnest Hemingway. If that’s not your style, you may not want to bother with it. I like it when I’m trying to tighten up my writing and add more punch. Hemingway works in two modes: Write lets you compose on a blank screen. Edit mode checks spelling, sentence structure and word usage, among other things. It will give you a reading level score, which can be very useful when you’re targeting a specific audience. You can purchase a version of Hemingway that works offline and lets you save your work. I spent the money–it’s inexpensive and I do a lot of writing in coffee shops with unreliable internet access.
You may find Grammarly more useful than Hemingway. The free version is pretty powerful. It includes a browser plug-in that can check your spelling and grammar in text boxes on websites. It’s a handy feature when you’re filling out a form and don’t want to sound like an idiot. The grammar check is basic but useful: it catches inconsistent voice (singular vs. plural), punctuation and other simple problems. The subscription version does a more sophisticated analysis. I have not tried that version yet, but I may be letting my professional pride get in the way.
Don’t Forget Toolkit Basics
Finally, don’t forget the writer’s oldest friends and toolkit basics, a dictionary and a thesaurus. Online versions are free and convenient–though there’s something to be said for leafing through a print dictionary.
I’ve read what seems like a bazillion books on how to be a leader.
I bet you have, too.
Most of them are awful, a few are OK, but none has rung my chimes. Yet I’ve been consistently told I’m a good leader. So where did I pick up these skills?
Other than the trite, “treat people the way you’d like to be treated,” the only idea I can come up with is a life lived with dogs. Seriously.
A Life With Dogs
I grew up in a big house in the country. My parents had a soft spot for any dog that needed a home, and the word got out. Back then, we were the crazy people who lived up on the hill with all the dogs, not a family engaged in rescuing strays. The dogs were an integral part of the family: protectors, varmint-removers, a great alarm system, snugglers on a cold night.
Let me clarify: I’m not talking about two or three cute little moppets. I mean a pack of 12-15 large Dalmatians. You know, those big white dogs with black spots that Disney made a few movies about. They run about 60-75 pounds, and they can be formidable protectors. They need a lot of exercise and make great companions for country kids looking for adventure.
When I was very little, our alpha female took a strawberry ice cream cone away from me.
I cried about it to my father but got no sympathy. He told me I needed to be the alpha. So the lessons started. The alpha female was deaf, and all commands had to be issued using both words and hand signals.
Pretty soon I was giving commands to these large dogs–and they were obeying.
Getting Feedback–Whether You Want It or Not
Decades later, I flew home for my mother’s memorial service. In the interim, I’d built businesses, led teams, learned to be a good project manager and, eventually, a leader.
After the service, a tiny, elderly woman approached me with great determination. Peering up at me, she shook a finger in my face and claimed everyone in town thought my mother was crazy. And that it was creepy to see a little girl have a pack of dogs do exactly what she wanted without having to say anything.
Lessons for a Leader
What did I take away from this experience?
People remember leaders–even when they’re little kids in charge of a bunch of big dogs.
You can learn a lot from dogs.
Stay tuned for more in this series, Leader of the Pack.