If you know me, you know I love dogs. Actually, I love all animals, but let’s be honest, dogs are my absolute favorite. My husband and I take our pups everywhere, including our favorite watering hole, because what’s a cold beer or mimosa without a little dog hair in it? Also, please take a moment to appreciate my “Dog Mom” hat—it’s basically my crown.

Now, being the devoted Dog Mom that I am, I even found a way to incorporate my dogs into my Psychology 101 class. Enter Sophia, my adorable, all-white pup, who just so happens to be deaf, but can still perform an impressive lineup of tricks. She’s living proof that positive reinforcement works, which makes her the perfect assistant for my lecture on reinforcement and punishment. The plan? Bring her to class, let her show off, and wow my students with her talent. Easy, right? WRONG.

The Great Trick-Tastrophe

My class starts at 5:30 p.m., so earlier that day, I brought Sophia to campus with me because timing is everything when you’re managing both psychology lessons and a diva dog’s schedule. Naturally, I spent the afternoon parading her around like a proud stage mom, showing off her tricks to colleagues while showering her with treats. Because, obviously, when you’re a star, you deserve unlimited snacks.

Fast forward to class time. I set the stage, tell my students to prepare for an awe-inspiring demonstration, grab a treat, and give Sophia the hand signal for a trick. The students lean in, ready for the magic to happen. And then…NOTHING.

Sophia stares at me, looks at the treat….then casually turns her head away like I just asked her to file my taxes. Okay, no problem. Maybe she’s just getting her bearings. I move to face her, give her another hand signal. She turns away again.

I try once more. Nada. Zilch. Zero effort from the star of the show.

Meanwhile, my students are giving me the look, you know the one that says, Uh-huh, sure, lady. Your dog does tricks. And I’m the Queen of England.

At this point, panic sets in. I’m flailing. I start doing the tricks myself, demonstrating each one as if my body flopping around like a fish out of water is somehow going to inspire Sophia to follow suit. ‘Sophie sit!’ I desperately request with exaggerated hand signals, then I sit down on the floor explaining this is what Sophie would do. “She rolls over!”  I roll over. “She spins!” I spin in a dizzying circle. I am now fully performing my own dog’s tricks in front of a room full of bewildered college students!!! I’ve become the entertainment.

The Peanut Butter Plot Twist

At last, I accept defeat. I remind my class that I train Sophia solely with positive reinforcement, no punishment, just rewards. And even though she didn’t perform, she still deserves a special treat.

So, I pull out the good stuff – a peanut butter bone, her all-time favorite.

Suddenly, Sophia’s head whips around so fast I’m pretty sure she invented a new canine dance move. She sniffs the air, locks eyes on that peanut butter prize, and BAM – she’s in full performance mode! Trick after trick, with the energy of a dog who had definitely not just spent the last ten minutes ignoring me.

The students go from skeptical to cheering in seconds, applauding Sophia’s newfound enthusiasm. And me? I take the opportunity to turn this epic disaster into a teachable moment: positive reinforcement only works if the reward is actually valuable. After a day of tiny treats, Sophia was over it. But the legendary peanut butter bone? Now that was worth working for.

The Moral of the Story

Sometimes, no matter how well you plan, things fall apart in a spectacularly humiliating fashion. But when disaster strikes, just roll with it – literally, if necessary. Because at the end of the day, the show must go on! And if you can’t convince your dog to perform, at least be willing to steal the spotlight yourself.