The behavior of dogs has fascinated me since growing up around black Labs and golden retrievers. It has continued through my adulthood working with five wonderfully stubborn and quirky guide dogs.

When I moved to Columbia, Missouri, to marry Lisa, my prior guide dog, a black Lab named Jules, vied for dominance with Luke, a cantankerous, kingly standard poodle currently ten years old. After several days of noisy posturing, they seemed to decide to ignore each other. Yet Luke learned the basics of guide dog work by watching Jules perform in harness while Jules’s dormant food-stealing talents were awakened by watching Luke swipe steaks, bread, and turkey carcasses from the kitchen counter or garbage cans.

Then along came three standard poodle puppies within a year: Luna, a small fireball insistent on exerting authority (no longer living with us); Heidi, a cat in a dog’s body (currently eighteen months old); and Hunter, an eighty-pound goofball who thinks he’s a Labrador (currently seventeen months old). Three or four times each day, dogs growl, bark, leap, and cavort about my feet as I shepherd them outside while my oldest stepson imitates them and youngest stepson bellows at them to shut up. “Sometimes I feel like the Pied Piper of Poodles,” I tell Lisa during quieter moments.

Outside, the other dogs have learned to ignore King Luke’s efforts to bring them to heel with barks, growls, and howls, but inside, they usually yield to his orders, allowing me to pet him without complaining too much. Over time, the younger dogs began joining Jules’s food-stealing excursions, and Luna and Hunter learned Jules’s game of wriggling between my legs to get attention.

Last August, I came home with Heath, my current black Lab guide dog (Jules has retired and lives nearby with friends). In harness, he plays the role well of professional guide dog. With the harness off, he has become an honorary poodle, matching their energy, impatience, and wackiness outside and their more civilized behavior inside. The poodles have encouraged him to jump on the bed. Heidi, Hunter, and Heath regularly patrol for food in the kitchen and living room. Heath mimics Hunter’s attention-seeking techniques of wriggling between my legs, lying or standing in places where he is likely to be stepped on, barking shrilly, or grunting. Hunter has learned from Heath to lie down quietly at my feet while I work in the office.

Like poodles (honorary or not), we often look towards our “pack” for guidance. I sing in a community chorus, and during last Friday night’s dress rehearsal, the conductor reminded us basses once again that we were singing too loudly in a particular place. I should have known better, as I understood the effect the composer was trying to create. Yet I too was singing too loudly. Why? Because I was following the “pack of basses.”

For better or worse, we humans are wired to mimic the behavior of those around us, even though we often know that doing so is not in our best interest. Like King Luke, parents, teachers, bosses, and others in authority cannot fully control the behavior of those they lead. Sometimes, disciplinary strategies work, but run the risk of alienating those who want more control. Sometimes, giving the group more control works, but confuses those who feel more comfortable being told what to do. I have found that reminding myself that I can influence, not control, the actions of others is the first step towards leading more wisely.

In closing, I sadly and nervously steer the wheel a bit to the right.

As we in the United States prepare to elect our next Pied Piper of Politics, I find it fascinating that the right-wing echo chamber is emphasizing nationwide polls (which seem to be trending towards Governor Romney) while the left-wing echo chamber trumpets the polls predicting the results within swing states (which seem to be trending towards Governor Romney, but not as quickly). With this in mind, I think it likely that Governor Romney will win the national vote but lose the election. Whoever wins will have a hard time leading.

I need to stop writing because the poodles have yet to teach Heath how to jump off of our four-foot-high bed onto our hardwood floor.