The Huge Boss, the Small Boss, and Dogs That Don’t Listen

Some days, I just want to be the huge boss

Our family roles have been defined since my son’s preschool days. According to his 4-year-old reckoning, Dad is the huge boss and I am the small boss. Since this pronouncement happened over 20 years ago, I can only guess at the criteria my son used to make that distinction at the time. Just for fun, here’s the rationale from his point of view.

The toys are bigger

A huge boss plays with more complex toys than a small boss. For example, Dad has a zero turn mower for mowing the lawn. He drives it in a precise pattern, from the outer edge of the property in ever shrinking squares until all of the grass is cut. But the two passes close to the house follow the contours of the landscaping. That way the grass clippings blow away from the mulch instead of onto it.

The huge boss sometimes delegates the lawn mowing duties to his first lieutenant, now that he’s grown. But never to the small boss. The small boss has been deemed hopelessly incompetent on a zero turn mower. That is because the small boss only drives vehicles that operate logically. Steering with two handheld levers that simultaneously control acceleration and spin is not logical. Plus, the small boss apparently does not focus far enough ahead to mow in a straight line. The huge boss does not appreciate the artistry of crop circles in the yard.

You can start fires

Dangerous jobs like fire building fall under the jurisdiction of the huge boss. Whether in the fireplace or the campfire circle, Dad supervises all incendiary construction. Apprentice fire builders learn to teepee their larger logs and arrange their kindling underneath. Small sticks, balled up newspaper and dryer lint are all acceptable kindling materials, provided they are anchored within the teepee. Nobody gets permission to light a fire until the huge boss approves.

As a corollary to fire building, the huge boss has responsibility for all outdoor cooking. While menu planning and meal prep reside in the small boss’s domain, cooking outdoors is squarely in Dad’s wheelhouse. From steaks on the grill (seared first and then cooked over indirect heat) to marshmallows over the campfire (evenly browned, never charred), quality control begins and ends with the huge boss.

Everybody listens to you

Lastly, the huge boss speaks with the voice of authority. The small boss’s voice simply does not command the same degree of respect. Maybe the quantity of words used is inversely proportional to the attention span of the listener. Whatever the reason, Mom’s voice is too familiar, and is therefore too easily ignored by children.

And dogs.

The other day I took my daughter’s dog out for a quick potty break before a forecasted rainstorm arrived. For some reason, Flame was too distracted by absolutely nothing to attend to business. With the first sprinkle of raindrops, I gave up and summoned him back to the house. Flame just stood in the yard, staring at me with blank incomprehension.

As the drizzle picked up, I called louder and added a “come here” gesture for emphasis. Still no reaction. Certainly not compliance.

As the rain began pelting down, I took a page from the huge boss’s book. I pitched my voice low, ominously commanding, demanding, and finally just plain yelling – to no avail. Out in the yard Flame shook himself vigorously, ensuring that the continuing downpour soaked through all the layers of his coat.

The huge boss lecture method

When he finally came in, I adopted another tactic from the huge boss’s manual as I toweled him off. The rhetorical question lecture. “What is wrong with you?” I muttered as I mopped, trying not to gag on the stench of wet dog. “Do you have any idea how much work you have just created for me? What on earth am I going to do with you? How can I let you in the house when you are sopping wet? You’re going straight into your crate, do you know that? What will Daddy say when he sees you?”

Flame, of course, said nothing. But he managed to look so contrite as he ducked into his crate, stoically curling up to wait out his banishment. And I’m a sucker, because it broke my heart. So I relented, and let him stay in the kitchen with me, where at least I could easily mop the puddles off the floor.

I guess that just proves I’m not really cut out to be the huge boss anyway.

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