Quick thinking on the part of a new instructor saves the day when he dodges a cultural misunderstanding.

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The Stick and the Carrot

The two old dogs chewed their morning rawhide snacks slowly, accompanied by sniffs and sips of tea heavily dosed with milk. It was a morning ritual years in the making, but today they expected an interruption in the person of a new instructor at the school. The International Canine Finishing School for Good Boys and Girls always took on new talent, but it was only recently that new additions to the faculty were not alumni.

The older dog was Dr. Charley Carlo the eighteenth and was the headmaster of the school due to not only his impressive breeding and family connections, but by competence and the ability to keep a steady course. He self-consciously dabbed at his long black fur on his chest as rawhide sometimes brought out a bit more drool than was proper, and his Newfoundland clan had an unfortunate reputation for this harmless distraction.

His companion was the Division Director of Diplomacy, Manners and Socialization, a certain Mr. Willie Stenglein. He had much shorter, golden fur and a pleasant, gentle expression that belied a great courage and faithfulness, proven in his prior career as a bodyguard.

As this was the first day of the new term, they wanted to have a chance to get a final assessment of the new fellow. They also wished to impart a bit more encouragement to him since they felt he would need it; he was, after all, not a canine. Most of the other non-alumni faculty in prior terms had performed adequately, though it was usually after some difficulties and some false starts. Some extra direction at the beginning, the pair felt, was perhaps the missing ingredient.

This new fellow’s name was Mr. Benjamin Brighty, and he arrived on the early side. In other words, he was perfectly punctual, which showed good enthusiasm.

“Now Mr. Brighty,” began Mr. Stenglein, “you have had quite a lot of experience in educating the young up and coming generations of herd animals.” He stood and paced back and forth before the new instructor, whose long ears perked up as he listened. “I have heard that you suffered some discrimination at the hands of fellow instructors at your prior institution. The Georgio School of Agricultural Endeavors, was it? I’ve known many fine horses on the staff there, and I am aware of how you, a donkey, may have fell short in their eyes, for their own reasons. But I assure you that will not happen here.”

“I join in Mr. Stenglein’s guarantee,” said the headmaster. “Experience with teaching young members of herds will serve you well here. Young pups like our students respond well to authority. But forget that nonsense of alphas, betas, and domination! You must represent yourself as the one who makes the rules, yes, but if you are fair and communicate that fairness, that consistency, I believe you will win over your students. We’ve assigned you a promising cohort, class 3-B, all youngsters from distinguished families who, to be honest, could stand to be exposed to individuals of different bearing, temperament, scent and species; we hope many of them will follow the traditions of their families and go into diplomatic service.”

“I understand, sirs,” said Mr. Brighty. “Establish to them that I will be fair if they follow the rules, earning their respect and trust?” He shuffled his feet and made soft clopping sounds, still a little nervous on his first day here. Nonetheless, he was a professional. “A natural strategy, and sensible. I thank you for your advice.”

“Yes, that’s just the thing.” Dr. Carlo picked up one of the small rawhide chews and used it as a baton to punctuate his speech. “There are rules; and discipline can result in punishments, but also rewards!” He snapped up the rawhide and chewed, smiling briefly at the pleasure of the taste and sensation. “Rewards are important too.”

Mr. Brighty thought back to his own school days as a young jack and nodded to the two canines. “I believe I know just what to do.” He took his leave and went to his classroom.
Upon his arrival, the sixteen pups in class 3-B attentively turned to face the door and stayed in their places as their equine instructor walked to the front of the classroom. “Good morning, boys and girls. It is my pleasure to meet you for the first time today.” He wrote his name on the blackboard. “In life you often find yourself on one trip or another. And more often than not, fate has bestowed upon you a burden that you must haul along, with rules you must follow.”

He paused, remembering days of training in pulling carts and wagons, and brayed softly to himself as a calculated gesture to connect with his audience. “Yes, there were some positive motivations, but some negative as well. There was the promise of the carrot, and there was also the stick.”

There was a sudden sound that made Mr. Brighty’s ears flex and reorient in confusion. He mistook it at first for applause, but it was in fact the sound of sixteen syncopated slaps on the ground of his pupils’ tails.

“There’s a stick?”

“A stick?”

“Who has the stick? Where is it?”

“Will we each get a stick?”

Excited murmuring gave way to yips and yelps, and the chorus of thumping tails increased in volume. Mr. Brighty felt the beginnings of panic welling up in his chest. So much for his precious chance at a first impression! The young canines were beginning to stand up and survey the area, losing focus.

Benjamin Brighty was a donkey, but he was no jackass. His career had been made and he had kept his cool whether he was put before or after the cart; he could be stubborn, but he could also adapt. He stomped and brayed at the pups, bringing attention back to himself. The dogs returned to their seated positions, looking at him intently. “I sense you have some questions,” the donkey told them.

A young Saint Bernard in front raised his paw. “So, there is, in fact, a stick? Is someone going to be throwing it?”

There were some more thumps from tails in the group, adding to the tremendous weight that the answer would carry.

Mr. Brighty straightened himself, ears tall and proud. “Yes,” he said. “And furthermore, I promise to you that I will never pretend to throw the stick, but actually not throw it. You can trust me.”

There were howls of delight and a great deal of panting and tongues lolling about. The semester was off to a great start due to the promise of the stick, without much need of the carrot.