Milwaukee Flood Fundraiser for @TeecycleTim and @T...

Have you seen the @TeecycleTim post on the not-so-great Milwaukee flood of 2010? If not, please do. Their home is unlivable, and Katie @bootyp and I are organizing a fundraiser.

Milwaukee is an amazing community, and so is Twitter. Folks have started raising their hand and offering help. Will you help us raise some money to rebuild 12-week-old baby Clara’s room and the rest of the house? The unsinkable @bootyp said it best: Tim and Jess bring smiles to so many faces, it’s our turn to bring smiles for them to wear.

The date and place of the event will be announced very soon. If you want to help, and/or if you have a specific idea for what you might be able to offer, let us know. We’re close on a place, but still open to suggestions; needs to be able to provide room for a silent auction and a band and some other stuff. We’re close on a band, but in case the date doesn’t work for them, are open to suggestions. We need more silent auction items for sure; if you know celebrities who will autograph stuff for auction, that’s cool. We’re working on getting a flooring company and a window company involved to provide discounted floors and windows for the rebuild; if you have connections there, by all means, let us know.

If you want to help right now, please buy a Teecycle t-shirt and stay tuned for more information about the event.

You can make a difference. After all, as they say, it takes a village. Raise your hand, here or on Twitter.

Missing the dog that broke my heart....

Four years ago this week, I killed my dog to protect my son.

It was the most brutal decision I have ever had to make, and I am still not sure it was the right one, though I shudder to think what *might* have happened if hadn’t done it. Oddly, it led to one of my first meaningful encounters with social media, in the form of a Rottweiler forum that helped me greatly through my grief. Gomer, my heartbreakingly beautiful 85-pound lab-Rottweiler mix, was my best friend before I met my husband.

He was a street dog through and through. He was brought to the Wisconsin Humane Society as a stray, and he ate rocks and sticks and anything he could find, including woodwork and windowsills. A week after I brought him home at four and a half months old, he ran circles around the dining room table barking and growling. I could have saved myself a lot of pain had I taken him back right then; but I would have missed out on a lot of love, too. He was worth it. Besides, who on Earth could take this face back to the pound?

But, cute little puppy aggressive Rottweilers grow up to be big, powerful aggressive Rottweillers. We went through extensive training. Amy Ammen, the seen-it-all owner of Amiable Dog Training, took a look at us and said: “That is a LOT of dog. I am a bit worried about you.” It was a prescient observation. Gomer earned his AKC Canine Good Citizen award, which would prove to be highly ironic. He was a great friend, but not a good citizen.

Gomer, we speculate, was abused as a puppy. He had aggressive tendencies, especially around little girls of a certain age, and kids on scooters, and always around food. He “nipped” me on the arm once in training. He “nipped” a neighbor who tried to give him a treat. (Why any idiot would stick their hand through a fence to feed a Rottweiler without asking is beyond me, and any bastard that would abuse a helpless animal is the lowest form of life.) He hated the mail carrier, and once broke out a window trying to get to him.

When I was single, Gomer was the perfect companion. I slept at night knowing that he would kick the ass of anyone that tried to mess with me. We road tripped to Colorado together, to visit my brother, and in a highly seedy motel in a bad part of town somewhere in Nebraska, Gomer was your man. He stayed up all night, watching the door and woofing throatily every so often, just to let people know who he was.

Gomer screened my dates; if he didn’t like them, or if they didn’t like him, they didn’t stand a chance. On my first date with my husband Karl, Gomer sat in between us on the couch and looked Karl right in the eye. Karl passed the test.

He had a great life. He had his own play room (yes, really), and as serious as he could be, he was also very goofy. He slept on my Calvin Klein sheets, went for walks morning and night, had frequent romps and training stints in the field, and befriended the cat. He got some of the foam from my morning latte, and partnered with our other dog to steal an entire meal of Italian carryout as well as part of our leftover wedding cake. He went for long swims and hikes, his two favorite things, whenever we could possibly get him there.

When I was in excruciating at-home labor with my son, who had his head turned sideways (another story, speaking of pain), Gomer sat outside the door crying. Little did he know how seriously his life was about to change.

After that, sometimes when I took Griffin for walks in the stroller, Gomer would sit by the window and howl. He wanted his best friend back. Little did I know that I was about to lose him.

We took extreme measures to keep dog and baby separate, for the most part. And, in a too-common tale, Gomer didn’t get what he needed with the baby in the house. His training lapsed. His exercise waned. In 20/20 hindsight, I wish with all my heart that I had become even more sleep-deprived to give him more. Yet, all the hindsight in the world won’t tell me what worse outcomes might have occurred were it not for the incident at Alterra on the Lake.

It was a beautiful summer weekend morning. What better way to spend it than walking the baby and the dog to the coffee shop by the lakefront? I went inside to get coffee, and left my husband with his hands too full. A little girl came running up unexpectedly and got in Gomer’s face. And he bit her. Thank God, only on the hand. It was a horrible, but needed, wake up call.

I was in therapy for postpartum depression at the time and talked to my therapist about it. Her opinion was that keeping Gomer was like living with a loaded gun on the coffee table. And that is exactly how it felt.

I took Gomer to an animal behaviorist. She suggested we give him all-raw food, two hours of intense exercise a day, and a newly constructed habitat in the sprawling-backyard-that-we-did-not-have. And when I asked her what she thought the odds were, with all of those totally unrealistic parameters in place, that my son would be safe? “50/50.” Not very strong odds.

I took Gomer back to the Wisconsin Humane Society. They can’t take dogs back that have bitten people. I tried to find him a new home, or an animal rescue, and couldn’t find anyone. Even if we had been able to, it is both irresponsible and a legal liability to give someone a dog you know may be dangerous.

So, I spent one more night with my Gomer in my bed. And then we euthanized him.

We walked a gorgeous, perfectly healthy, five-year-old best friend into the vet’s office, and had him killed.

I believe that was preferable to keeping him isolated in the backyard. He was too much of a free spirit for that, and too bonded to me. He would have been miserable, and so would I.

I cried for days and still cry frequently now, four years later. I just want hold his big silly head and touch his silky ears and coat one more time. I want his eyes to roll back in his head when I scratch his armpits. I want to watch the athletic beauty of him running and swimming.

I will never be able to do any of those things, obviously. Though like a knife to my heart, my son Griffin sometimes asks if we can get “Gomey” back now that he (Griffin) is a big boy. And I will never, ever know if I made the right decision. Though everyone in the online Rottweiler forum I spent a couple of days in after Gomer’s death seemed to think it was the right thing to do. Thank God they were there for me. Whoever you were answering my post, God bless you.

Please do not let this post ever discourage you from adopting a pet; on the contrary, we have gotten another, wonderful dog from the Wisconsin Humane Society and will likely get all of our future dogs there. If you have a good home for a pet, please go here to see the animals now available for adoption. Gomer was one-in-a-million.

Thank you to Michael Caughill who said to me on Twitter this week: “Every story untold goes to the grave unsung.” And thanks to Dr. Seuss, who said something like, “Don’t cry because it is over. Smile because it happened.” Gomer happened, and I was lucky to be his human.

Time to go hold my son, and thank God that he is safe. Thanks for listening; your comments are welcome.

More thoughts on what a great leader is: a backup ...

Last week I posted on how Great leadership is a rare gift. It was one of those posts on which the comments make it so much better. I love and value what everyone said, but a few really get to the heart of what I think is a core issue for many leaders.

I love what Bob Fichtner said: Great leaders know when to get out of the way…they give their team the freedom to achieve the goal in their own way.

I love what Cindi Thomas said: Leadership requires a lack of ego.

I love what Tony Meister said: Some (leaders) had too much ego to admit they were wrong. This created a subtle backlash behind the scenes as the negative chatter slowly depleted their reputation and heart following among the team.

Heart following? What a concept! If you are a leader, ask yourself, do you have anything remotely resembling heart following among your team? This comes back to empathy, which is what I believe breeds true loyalty. Do you show that you care about them as people? Or do you treat them like mere “employees”? Big difference.

This morning, I tweeted about how I am looking for another rock star to join my rock star team. I followed up with clarification that by “rock star team, ” I truly do mean that THEY are the rock stars, not I. Jim Raffel, who is a great blogger and a good friend replied asking (with sarcasm noted) if I am just a roadie. Check out Jim’s blog – lots of great advice from a small biz CEO who tells it like it is.

Jim’s question was fantastic; it really made me think in a different way about what role, as a leader, I do play on my team. And, as someone who spent the better part of her teenage years running around Alpine Valley, an outdoor music theater, amidst musical mayhem (and sometimes adding to it), it is a metaphor to which I can deeply relate.

Sometimes I am, in fact, a roadie. I’m not much for climbing up into the rafters, but I have been known to go get my team Alterra soy honey lattes when I think they need it. I’m not above that at all. Whatever it takes to keep the show going.

Sometimes I am a tour manager and an agent. In other words, a facilitator. I arrange meetings and get the team gigs where they can demonstrate their greatness.

Most of the time, though, I am on backup vocals. I am in the meeting to support the work that we have put together as a team. Not to be the loudest voice in the room.

Being a leader doesn’t mean that you have always vocalize the fact that I AM THE LEADER. More often than not, you are there guiding, coaching, supporting with a firm direction but a soft hand. One that lets the team feel a sense of pride and ownership. Shared leadership. At the end of the day, being a leader requires being one of the team.

At least that’s my way. What’s yours?

Dear grownups, please make less carbon....

Yesterday, I watched IMAX Under the Sea on DVD with my son Griffin, who is turning five years old in two weeks, and it was a beautifully heartbreaking experience. The film documents the incredible beauty of undersea life surround Papua New Guinea and the islands of Micronesia. And then proceeds to show and discuss coral reefs bleaching and dying and marine life species like sea lions struggling to survive due to global warming and ocean acidification. Let me tell you, those sea lions have some big, sad, powerful eyes.

Griffin has a few things he’d like to say to us grownups, so I’m turning this blog over to him, Q&A style.

Q: Griffin, what did you learn about what’s happening in the ocean from Under the Sea?

A: Carbon dioxide is making the sea lions and the sea rays be dying.

Q: What things do we need to do at home to help the planet?

A: Don’t turn on lights. Don’t go so far downtown. Recycle.

Q: What one thing would you say to all the grownups who read this?

A: Make less carbon.

Do you worry about what kind of planet we are leaving our kids? I do. Sometimes, I even wonder if I should have brought my beautiful child into it. Frequently, I honestly wish that the car would never have been invented.

After seeing this movie, my husband was going to drive downtown to pick up some burgers and we told him not to. And today, I was going to drive downtown and pick up a book, and decided not to. We’ve all got to start getting serious about emissions reduction. I’ll be the first to point out that I’m being a bit of a hypocrite by even writing this: our family has three SUVs. I’d love to trade those in on three hybrids, but that’s just not practical. Hopefully at least one hybrid in the very near future.

We are keeping it top of mind. Talking about it. Taking small steps, like fewer unnecessary trips. And asking you to do the same. Please. For the sake of the kids. The coral. The sea lions. And everything else that lives Under the Sea, and above sea level.

The film ends on the assertion that we finally seem ready to take responsibility for our actions. Are we? Any response to the five-year-old boy asking you to act on it? Or can you share things you are doing?

Great leadership is a rare gift....

I have been thinking about leadership quite a bit lately. After 20+ years in marketing, observing the collective experiences of me, my colleagues and friends, I am struck by how truly great leaders seem to be few and far between. I could easily count the ones I have known on one hand. If I had three fingers.

I have been accused from time to time of being a decent leader. Yet, believe me, I know I have a lot of room for improvement. Truly outstanding, inspiring leadership is DAMN HARD.

The hardest part, in my opinion, is finding it in yourself to rise above all of the myriad obstacles to optimism and inspiration, and somehow pass inspiration to those around you — even when you may not be overflowing with it yourself at a particular moment in time. Now THAT, if you can do it, is a skill worth talking about. If you can do that, you have my utmost respect. Period. Tell me who you are and how you do it. I would like to take you to lunch. Seriously.

But if, like me, you are working on this skill very hard, here, are just a few thoughts on truly great, inspiring leadership.

First and foremost, people will do as you do, no matter what you say. I am a huge believer in leading by example. If you work 9-5 like clockwork, don’t expect your team to burn the midnight oil in search of greatness, no matter how many times you tell them to. Like it or not, culture rolls downhill. And it rolls from the very top, not from the middle.

Listen to what your team tells you is going on. Not halfway — ALL IN. Really listen. They are closer to most situations than you are. Not listening and responding to their concerns is the fastest way to communicate to them that you a) don’t get it b) don’t care or c) do not appreciate what they are trying to accomplish or how hard they are working. Empathy is critical. And I don’t care if you are Mars or Venus; if you plan to lead a team, you need to genuinely give a damn about what your people are saying. If your team has no empathy with you, you have no team.

Do you understand and practice the simple power of “thank you”? For highly self-motivated people, a little bit of sincere appreciation for what they do for you day in and day out means a great deal and provides more fuel for their fire than any amount of making demands ever will. When was the last time you told your team “thank you”, like you REALLY mean it? I have had a couple of leaders who did this really well, and it was a gift. You know who you are – THANK YOU.

Great leadership, like social media, is mostly stuff we learned in kindergarten, but forget to do. Behave well. Listen. Show you care. So why is it so often overlooked? There is more to it, obviously: Vision. Strategy. Being tough when you need to be tough. But I believe that the basics of quality human interaction are just as important.

When @deziner and I were road tripping to Madison last week to speak on social media strategy, we talked about more than our impending visit to the Lazy Oaf Lounge (and the attached Urgent Care). We talked about what makes great leadership. And she has a fantastic metaphor in her video post: Leadership in times of trouble or tornadoes.

What would you add? How can leaders can go from good (or not so good) to great?

Photo credit: Dunechaser; Flickr Creative Commons