“Warriors are not what you think of as warriors. The warrior, for us, is the one who sacrifices himself for the good of others. His task is to take care of the elderly, the defenseless, those who cannot provide for themselves, and above all, the children, the future of humanity.” ~ Chief Sitting Bull
It wasn’t a death fitting of a warrior. I think she would have preferred to die in a blaze of glory on a battlefield defending those she loved. Not quiet and helpless, lying on a cold, hard table in a place she’d never been before.
I guess most of us don’t get to choose how we die.
But, Miko, my Warrior Princess, led the way into death as she had lived her life – with courage. And, perhaps, in a way both bold and beautiful, she did choose how she died – and I think she may have done it to save me.
Now, some of you may be confused. Warrior Princess? This may not be a phrase you would expect to read in a leadership training Blog. You might be even more confused when I tell you that Miko, my mighty Warrior Princess, was a dog. Yes, just a dog. But, to me and the hundreds of people who knew her, she was “just a dog” in much the same sense that Hua Mulan, the legendary Chinese warrior, was “just a woman”.
Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to equate a dog with a human. What I’m asking you to consider is that sometimes leadership and life lessons may be found in the most unexpected places – and that sometimes greatness may not come wrapped in human form.
Miko was an American Bulldog (think Chance, the dog in the movie Homeward Bound, not the shorter-legged English Bulldog with a pushed-in nose). Originally bred to bait bulls and wild boar, American Bulldogs are a powerful breed, known for acts of heroism in protecting their family members. Miko fit the breed standard in all respects: fearless, fiercely loyal, brave, athletic, strong-bodied and even stronger willed.
Miko and I were the quintessential human – canine odd couple. She was the warrior; I was the wimp. As one of the first female American Bulldogs to be awarded a Schutzhund III title, she was also among the highest-ranking of both male and female dogs of all breeds that had competed up until that time.
For those unfamiliar with Schutzhund, it is a demanding three-phase (tracking, obedience, and protection) sport designed to test a dog’s courage, strength, endurance, intelligence, perseverance, protective instincts, agility, scenting ability, and bond to its human partner. It is a challenging test of a dog’s character and abilities, and few dogs are up to the challenge. Any who participate in this sport will tell you that a high scoring Schutzhund III dog is a one in a million dog.
A national champion, Miko excelled at tracking and obedience – but the protection phase of competition was her true love and what she seemed born to do, despite my reservations. When she performed on the protection field, she ruled the world, and everyone knew it. Crowds of hundreds stood up and cheered when she competed.
They say everyone has that “one dog” … Miko was that one dog to everyone who knew her.
On and off the competition field, Miko thrived on being the center of her universe. She was a show-off and loved entertaining a crowd. Passion, joy, and relentless exuberance radiated from every cell in her being. Her wag could not be contained within her tail; it exploded in a joy-filled, powerful, whole-body, tail-to-head, WAP-WAP-WAP, that surged up like a groundswell throughout her entire, 70-pound frame, and ended in a huge, gap-toothed Miko smile.
I had always wanted a dog, but nothing in my life had prepared me for Miko. I had been thinking of a cute little teacup Pomeranian, not a muscle-bound, bullheaded, bowlegged bulldog who I sometimes suspected had been a champion MMA fighter in another lifetime.
I hadn’t been looking for a “protection” dog that could make grown men cry. I had wanted a gentle friend to walk quietly by my side. I hadn’t been looking for 70-pound ball of exploding energy who was constantly challenging everything and everyone who crossed her path. I had wanted a lap dog to cuddle with me on the sofa. I hadn’t been looking for a dog like Miko. But, in the end, she was everything I needed. And more than I could have ever hoped for.
While I wasn’t Miko’s trainer on the Schutzhund field, book after book, trainer after trainer, compelled me to be the “leader” of our little pack off the field. All of the experts urged me to show her that I was in control, but Miko wasn’t buying it – and frankly, neither was I. She was much stronger and more stubborn than I. And “controlling” wouldn’t even make the top 100 list of my personality traits. In fact, the more feeble attempts I made at controlling her, the more she rebelled.
I’ve often heard that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. It just hadn’t occurred to me that one of my life’s greatest teachers would be a dog. Here are two important lessons I learned from Miko:
1. Sometimes the best way to lead is by letting go.
2. Power, real power, comes by allowing – dogs or people – to just be.
In the end, I learned to let Miko … be Miko. And that made all the difference. By respecting who she was and allowing her to be fully “Miko” she thrived, and she began to respect me too.
Miko was born a warrior and remained one until her death. While at first her warrior spirit frightened me, over the years, I came to understand, respect and appreciate it. Many times over, Miko’s courage literally saved me, and my family, as well.
I remember one time my 84-year-old mother and 86-year-old father were sitting outside, relaxing on our patio. My mother heard a noise in the bushes behind her. She said it sounded like a sprinkler coming on. Curious, she grabbed her cane and got up to check it out. As she bent down and reached toward the bush where the sound had come from, she heard it again – a hissing sound.
Then, pandemonium! Everything happened in a split second. Both of my dogs leapt past my mother, toward the bushes, barking frantically. Heart, my German Shorthair Pointer, leaner and faster, got there first. Another hiss! Louder this time. Then, a shriek from Heart. Miko pushed past Heart, butting her out of the way. Heart went reeling, stumbled backward and collapsed on the cement behind her.
Before my mother realized what was happening, Miko had taken three bites to the face from a rattle snake hidden in the bushes. Miko didn’t back down until the snake finally slithered away, wounded.
Miko saved my mother that day. And she saved Heart too. Once the snake was gone, dazed by the poisonous venom now coursing through her veins, Miko stumbled over to my mother, then to Heart. She gave a little tail wag when she saw they were okay. Then she collapsed.
It wasn’t the first or last time Miko’s warrior spirit shined through. Over the years, she led me out of the wilderness when I was hopelessly lost and dusk crept near; she faced-off with a coyote that leapt onto our path just inches in front of us as we hiked a remote canyon trail; and she chased off an intruder when I was home alone. There were many other times too.
During her short 13-year life, Miko survived the often fatal parvovirus, hemangiosarcoma, mammary cancer, more than 20 (yes 20) cancerous tumors, a dog attack that nearly took out her eye, anaphylactic shock from a bee sting, and, yes, three rattle snake bites. During it all, her courage never faltered, and her tail never stopped wagging.
Then came that day. The day that even the greatest of warriors must face.
I had been in the Veterinary Emergency Hospital for 34 hours straight. My mother, then 86-years-old, was by my side the entire time. Miko had collapsed and been diagnosed with ventricular tachycardia. Finally, the veterinary cardiologist said she was improving and had stabilized. My mother was physically and emotionally exhausted by this time and I needed to get her home. So, leaving my heart with Miko, I began the hour’s drive home.
As soon as I got home and walked in the door, the cardiologist was on the phone. Miko had gone into cardiac arrest and had died. She had been dead for several minutes, then, just as the cardiologist was about to stop attempting to resuscitate her, against all odds, Miko’s heart began to beat again.
Nearly blind with tears, I drove what seemed the longest hour in my life, and made my way back to her. When I got there, she was laying alone in a small plastic enclosure with oxygen being pumped in. She was laying facing the wall, with her back to everyone in the room. Then, I saw her tail wiggle. That famous WAP-WAP-WAP was gone. I went to her. She was too weak to even turn over. She struggled to turn her head toward mine and gave me half of that Miko smile and licked my nose. Then Miko, my mighty Warrior Princess, laid down her head.
It was the last time I saw that gap-toothed Miko smile.
The cardiologist later said she’d never seen a dog revived after having been in cardiac arrest for so long. Think what you will, but I believe Miko held on to life because she had needed to say goodbye to me. And, on some level, I think she knew that something deep inside of me would have died if I hadn’t been able to say goodbye to her.
Miko lived a life more full than many people do. When she died, more people cried for her loss than for most of the humans I’ve known. Miko’s song was fully sung, as only Miko could sing it, clearly, loudly, beautifully, with every chord ending in that marvelous, whole-body-wagging chorus of WAP-WAP-WAP, and framed by that glorious, gap-toothed Miko smile.
Many of you may argue most of Miko’s actions were based on instinct, not intellect. Perhaps. Personally, I believe it was a combination of the two, as it is with most of the decisions we humans make. If by instinct, her actions are no less because of it. And the lessons she taught, the loyalty she earned, remain the same.
Hua Mulan, who purportedly lived during the Northern Wei Dynasty (386-557 AD), was one of China’s most respected heroines. To save her aging and ill father from having to go to war, she disguised herself as a man and took his place in the army. Trained in martial arts since childhood, she fought for 12 years and received many military honors for her bravery and skill in battle. After the war ended, the Emperor honored Mulan by offering her a high-ranking position within the government. Mulan declined, asking for a good horse instead, because she wanted only to return home to the family she had sacrificed for and loved.
While some may still say Miko was “just a dog,” and they would be accurate, I believe she was also something more. I believe she held within her heart the same warrior spirit as Mulan. Whether by instinct or intellect doesn’t really matter. With unflinching courage, she put her life on the line, many times over, and kept her family safe.
“Warriors are not what you think of as warriors. The warrior, for us, is the one who sacrifices himself for the good of others. His task is to take care of the elderly, the defenseless, those who cannot provide for themselves, and above all, the children, the future of humanity.” ~ Chief Sitting Bull
As I was contemplating Chief Sitting Bull’s words on the anniversary of Miko’s death, it occurred to me they were not only a fitting tribute to her and how she lived, but, they also capture the essence of something I believe is important on a much broader level.
I ask you to please read Chief Sitting Bull’s quote again. And this time, substitute the word “leader” for “warrior”.
Perhaps this is not a concept of “leadership” you have often seen put into practice. Perhaps it could be.
The Harvard Center for Public Leadership 2009 National Leadership Index revealed that 69% of those surveyed believe there is a leadership crisis in the U.S. European studies report similar results. My guess is that you may be nodding your head right now in agreement with those survey results, or may even be thinking that percentage should be a little higher.
Of course there are a variety of complex, contributing factors to this leadership crisis, but I believe there is one common thread at their core: leaders have put their own self-interest above all else – above the organization, above the community, and above the greater good for humanity and the world we all share.
As a reader of this Blog, you may be on the pathway to becoming one of our world’s emerging leaders. Will you continue, as many leaders have done in the past decade, by measuring success only in monetary terms and by asking “What’s in it for me?” Or will you be a leader – or perhaps a Corporate Warrior in the same spirit as Hua Mulan, and even my Warrior Princess, Miko – a leader who sacrifices and serves for the good of others and for our global community? Perhaps not by sacrificing your life on the battlefield, but by serving others through the decisions you make in the boardroom? Decisions made in the boardroom are as far-reaching, if not more so, as those made on the field of battle.
Serving with courage for the good of others – this is the most important lesson I learned from Miko. She lived these words, with all her heart, much as Mulan did on a human level. Personally, I’d say that’s quite a legacy for “just a dog”.
What will your legacy, as a human, as a leader, be?
Let us put our minds together and see what life we can make for our children. ~ Chief Sitting Bull