All I Know About Management I Learned from My Dog

The Real Story of Angel, a Rescued Golden Retriever, Who Inspired the New Four Golden Rules of Management

Martin P. Levin

• Publisher: Skyhorse
• Year: 2011
• ISBN:
  9781626367920
• Topic: Business
• Subtopic: Management
• Index: Business

When 91-year-old legendary management guru Martin Levin decided to adopt a dog by the name of Angel, he thought he was in for an interesting experience, yet not a challenging one. It didn't take long for him to learn that he was wrong. Very wrong. Following one of the guiding mantras of his life to never stop learning, Levin found that each day with his dog brought new insights. Through interacting with Angel, he began to recall some personal adventures that added to this insight. And as it turned out, his journey led him toward realizing the Four Golden Rules of Management: Rule 1: Trust and Leadership
Rule 2: Communication
Rule 3: Problem Solving and Decision Making
Rule 4: Perseverance In the end, Levin found that his Four Golden Rules of Management were so simple that even Angel understood them. Thus, if a manager can develop trust, it will lead to corporate excellence, provided he or she is able to communicate effectively, make the right strategic decisions, and, above all, persevere. Levin's book is one to entertain, inspire, and educate business executives (and dog lovers).

PART ONE

Enter Angel

After sixty-eight years of a special marriage, my wife, Marcia, died. I was grieving, and I sought help. As weeks of counseling turned into months, my sage and sympathetic therapist said, “You’ll feel better if you get a dog.” This mantra was repeated week after week as he would walk me to the door of his office. “You’ll feel better if you get a dog,” he would say as we parted. I thought to myself disdainfully, I’ve had a dog; in fact, I’ve had several dogs. But I’ve had only one wife, and I’m not convinced that a border collie is going to do the trick, even conceding the devoted loyalty of dogs and the fact they are man’s best friend.

Nevertheless, one sunny Sunday I came upon a photograph in the local newspaper that was promoting the “Pet of the Week.” I shared the image of the somewhat sad-faced pooch with Paula, who had come into my life as a caregiver for my wife and, despite having a family of her own, signed on as what, in more august circles, would be designated as my “chief of staff.” We regarded the photo for some time, until, finally, aware that I was getting a failing grade in grief management, I thought it was at least worth consideration, “Okay,” I said, “it won’t hurt to take a look.”

Little did I expect, when I was walking down a path of barking dogs crying for attention at the Briarcliff SPCA, that by rescuing Angel, a mature female golden retriever/virgule chow mix, I would be gaining a companion in my eighty-ninth year.

When you adopt a dog from the SPCA, all that you are told is the dog’s breed, age (often understated), that it is healthy (often not fully known), and that it has had all its shots. You are not told the name of its previous owner, nor of the circumstances that put it into a holding facility. When you leave with your adopted dog, the SPCA provides you with a leash, a few cans of dog food, and a list of suggestions on how to care for your dog. You are told that the adoption is conditional upon the agency being satisfied that you have adequate facilities and a family setting that will make you a proper owner. On your side, if, after thirty days, you believe that you’ve made a mistake, you can return the dog.

As I sat in the office, signing the adoption papers, I thought of the major changes that had taken place during my business career. Over a period of six decades, I had changed jobs only four times but the first day on each job was always tense. There was always a worry about whether it would be all I had hoped for. There were new people to meet, concerns about the problems that might arise, and anxiety about whether I was really up to the challenges.

When we left the SPCA with Angel, we felt that, somehow, we had been blessed, even though on that first encounter, Angel did not look what would otherwise be called “her best.” Her golden coat was caked with mud, and on the ride back to the house, she sat shivering uncontrollably, crouched on a cover on the backseat of our car. Our repeated cooing of reassurances - “You’re a good dog; we love you” - did nothing to stop the tremors. Angel was not a happy dog.

When we arrived at our home, it was like those scenes from “M*A*S*H” where the helicopter lands with wounded troops from the front lines and the doctors scramble to save them as best they know how.

I dashed out to Petco to get the essentials: a cage in which Angel would sleep, cans of proper dog food, and a few toys. Until then, I had not felt as if I was involved in a flurry of activities akin to preparing immediately after taking one’s firstborn home from the hospital. Now I did.

Paula remained behind at the house, dragging a reluctant Angel down the hall for a bath. She wrestled Angel into my late wife’s bathtub (I hope my wife was not watching from above, as I can assure the reader that she would not have liked this one bit). Paula needed all the strength she could muster to engineer the bath, because Angel was a big, strong dog, weighing then over fifty-seven pounds, a weight that seemed at the time the upper limit a dog should reach and now, after the years of nourishment and outright indulgence that have followed, puts Angel, in comparison, into the lapdog category (her current weight remains a state secret).

As she lathered Angel with soap, Paula soon discovered that, while bred as a water dog, Angel absolutely despised being bathed. Angel tried repeatedly to climb out of the tub and, when she could not get any traction, sent up plumes of water, drenching Paula. Finally, when Angel was lifted out of the tub, she followed the protocol of all dogs when wet and shook herself off with a mighty series of shakes, covering Paula with soapy water from head to toe.

Still, in spite of it all, when I came home from my shopping, I saw, instead of the scruffy, shaking animal I had left behind with Paula, a beautiful dog with a silky golden coat. Angel looked up at me, her big brown eyes framed by blond circles of hair, standing elegantly, proudly, alongside a smiling (and drenched) Paula.

I unpacked Angel’s new twin dishes and filled one with water and the other with Petco’s best cuisine. However, instead of rushing to the food dishes as I had expected, Angel stood frozen, watching us intently. She moved slowly to her dishes, smelled around the edges of the food dish, turned to see where we were, moved toward the food, ran her nose around the rim of the dish, and then ate ravenously, looking up intermittently to see where we were. After eating, she moved over to the corner of the kitchen, never taking her eyes off us, and rested. It had been, one could easily surmise, in spite of our extraordinary caregiving, a traumatic day for Angel. A nap was in order.

When it was time for bed, we opened the door to the sleeping crate I had purchased, an obvious indication (at least to us) that Angel was to go inside. There was absolutely no movement on Angel’s part. We attempted sweet talk: “You are a good girl, lovely angel, sweet Angel.” This also produced no movement. Angel’s immobility made it clear that she had no interest whatsoever in sleeping in a crate. It sent a clear message to us that she needed (and would insist upon) freedom, but, even more, it seemed that closed areas frightened her. Whether this was on account of her confinement at the shelter - the duration of which unknown to us - or the result of some earlier trauma, or merely a personality trait, we were never to know, although in the days to come, we did learn enough about her earlier history to lead us to a good guess.

Finally, Paula found a mat and put it alongside her bed. Angel approached the mat slowly, cautiously settled down on that mat, rested her nose across her left paw, and went to sleep. I have no idea where that crate is now (another of Paula’s magic maneuvers, I suspect), but I know for certain the it is no longer in my house. Currently, Angel, who enjoys naps during the day, sleeps at my feet when I am working at home, and at night, she sleeps in Paula’s room on a large comfortable mattress sufficient for her now well-fed bulk.

Our challenge was that, without any knowledge of Angel’s previous life, we had to establish a role in Angel’s life, to be her leader, gain her respect and love, and bring out Angel’s stored potential in order to help her solve problems, make decisions, and acquire attributes that would make ours a productive relationship. Not having knowledge of what had gone on in her life before we arrived on the scene meant that we had to probe (gently but persistently) to discover what she already knew and then build on this base.

It was only after we pressed the SPCA that we learned Angel had a history that explained our difficult early adventures. Angel had spent her early years with a family, had run away, roamed in a wooded area, lived outdoors for many months, had been given occasional asylum by home owners in the area, had taken shelter in storms, had found food wherever she could, and had fought off other animals who threatened her. Eventually, she was found by the dog rescuers. The SPCA located her owners and offered to return her to the family, but the wife refused to take Angel back because her husband had abused the dog. This history was enough to know that we had our work cut out for us. It would be a slow and delicate process.

And, as the process continued with Angel, step by step, I found that what I was doing was startlingly similar to what had occurred in my management career, which spanned over six decades. Working with Angel, day by day, brought it all back: the ten years in public service, the seventeen years in trade-book publishing, and the seventeen years as CEO, rebuilding a major diversified publishing company - all this to be followed, at the age of sixty-one, by obtaining a law school degree (while continuing to manage a publishing company) in order, finally, to achieve my childhood dream of one day becoming an attorney. This second (or, perhaps, third or fourth) career as a publishing attorney, buying and selling publishing companies for clients, teaching publishing and intellectual-property law at a New York City law school, is now in its twenty-fifth year and every day brings a reassurance that, with persistence, I can accomplish what I set out to do - no matter how difficult the circumstances.

Unexpectedly, I have found that my daily interactions with Angel, the frightened, unknown, and once-abandoned dog, have given me both the inspiration and the challenge to reacquaint myself with those essential management principles that have guided my professional and now my private life (both canonical and canine-ical), and have led to the decision to share these with you, the reader.

I find that in facing a new problem, my brain scrambles to find bits of knowledge that have been stored away. It is only after the fact that I realize what old information I have used to solve the new problem. When I needed Angel to trust me, I unconsciously reached back, recalling the first meeting with the staff in a failing company. They were looking at me to save their jobs. I knew then, as I would learn anew with Angel, that first I had to gain their trust. The techniques I used then to accomplish a feeling of trust came off the shelf of my memory. If this is not convincing, let me refer you to Yogi Berra, the former all-star baseball catcher and sage, who would describe this process as déjà vu all over again.”

It is my hope that the reader will find some wisdom, some humor, and perhaps even a great story here and there - some mine and some borrowed and tucked away for this special occasion. I have taken the liberty of providing some photographs of Angel along with the text, not only to offer the opportunity to look inspiration squarely in the muzzle but to establish, undisputedly, what a very pretty dog she is.

Say No to Drugs

I am not sure who created the management doctrine, but it contains the principle of “unintended consequences,” which holds that in trying to do good things, bad things may happen. The event described below falls squarely within the ambit of this doctrine.

Very early in our relationship, I needed to take Angel with me on her first airplane ride. Angel was certified as a service dog, and this permitted her to fly in the main cabin of the aircraft and occupy a seat beside me, or, as she preferred, to stretch out on the floor in front of her assigned (and purchased) seat.

Prior to this airborne excursion, Angel had to be examined by a veterinarian and certified as “fit to fly.” I thought that given the trust we had been developing between us, she would feel comfortable with me and Paula, who by now had become Angel’s best friend. However, the vet, to be safe, gave us some Xanax. Yes, this is the same drug used by humans for anxiety, suggesting still another bond between man and dog. The medication could be given, I was informed by the vet, should Angel become anxious in flight (something I should have known by now would be a given). The recommended dosage was up to two pills for a three-hour trip.

Angel was fine for the first half hour, but, as the airplane gained altitude, she began to shake. We gave her one half of a pill. No visible change. We waited about a half hour; the shaking got worse. We gave her the other half of the pill. And, after another half hour, with no abatement of the shaking, we gave her the second pill.

The shaking stopped and Angel, on the floor near the seat, slept peacefully - one might say like an angel, although, on reflection, I can’t say I’ve ever actually seen a sleeping angel, even in the abundant depictions of them in Renaissance art. And there on the floor, throughout the remainder of flight, Angel stayed, all seventy-one pounds of her (I guess I’ve let the “dog out of the bag,” so to speak, but ...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Table of Contents
• Introduction
• PART ONE - Enter Angel
• PART TWO - The Four Golden Rules of Management
• A Final Word From Angel
• Books Worth Reading
• ABOUT THE PLAYERS